This carving knife
Tears skin
Like plucking threads;
The pain of the mind
Let out
Through physical response,
Immeasurable.
A tear,
A grain of sand,
Time ticks
Present to past.
It’s an awful state
To survive
In such a way;
Not even living,
Just pulling through
On a razor blade
To appease the nightmare—
The shadow;
What an awful presence.

It's upon these cold stones
Which now, I choose to sit, and wait.

Alone at sunrise, fear, hatred and of course, this synthetic 'Art of Doubt'....become me.

The ridged steps- my only companionship
the true essence of cold.

as my fingers numb, and I can barley type this out
Honestly know
I wonder how long and painful
death by ice
really must be.

Beside me; a building filled with everything I could ever ask for want or even need.

Everything.

And yet , Upon these Cold stones
I sit, just a while longer
To remember what I still have. Not mourn what I've lost.

But mainly, to be a man who doesnt deserve anything inside that wonderful, overwhelming sentimental house. Be it people, possessions even the animals-on those cold steps of reality-he deserves where he rests.
They all deserve more than what I thought I could haven given them.
More than this.
I am so sorry Dad.
Im very sorry Mom.

Thank you, for these cold stones.  You will never understand the gratitude, which one day
I must leave behind,
of all the these priceless blessings.

But for now
It's upon these
Oh so cold, disgracelesss stones- you and me are too alike
melted with liquid burned and with fire, me and these cold stones
know true
desperation.

I'm asking you to look at me
What do you think you see
Chances are it's not what's really there
A color faded through overuse
In search of a simple truth
Chances are it was never really there

Can't pacify the unsatisfied
Or rectify hurt caused by lies
Can't change the past
Can't change the past

Dying behind a liar's grin
Just let me sleep again
Chances are I'm rotten to the bone
If I'm around you should walk away
I've nothing good to say
Chances are I should always be alone

Can't justify how I terrorized
Your entire life with all my lies
Can't take it back
Can't take it back

A billion or so other men
Would treat you better than I ever can
They'd give you the world and
Ask nothing in return
Honestly I'd like to see
You kick the dust from your tired feet
And never look back
Just let me ******* burn

But your eyes show another life
Where maybe I can make things right
Forget the past
Forget the past

"It's just so hard to live with someone who is
        so ******* miserable
        all the ******* time."
"He's always been such a frustratingly
        depressing guy."
"I don't like you."
"You do nothing. You're useless."
"What do you mean, you feel like a failure?
        Never mind. I don't want to talk
        about that."
"You've got so much potential."
"Well, you're a ray of ******* sunshine."
"Have you tried being happy?"
"You're giving off vibes of tension and
        frustration."
"The kids are scared of you."
"Jesus! What are you so sad about?!"

They're not wrong.
Eggshells,
        eggshells,
                step gently around Joe.
I don't bring joy,
    and I don't get more likeable.
I am miserable.
        I just wish I didn't bring others
                down with me.

No, they're not wrong,
but I really wish they were.

Mirrors are not the worst, but I sure don't like them, though I like them more than what they show me.

I look into one,
afraid and armed only with
determined resignation.
I'm finally feeling old, and it's a lonely thing.
I'm tired of outliving friends. I'm tired of losing.

So much time I've wasted. So much pain I've caused. My sore back is not the only reason I slump.
I ignore my own advice, though I think it's good advice.

My heart is rough and there appears no fair way to stay on course. I disguise my overuse of metaphors and think myself clever.

But I'm still breathing and
my family loves me.

And now what?
(now nothing)
Self-saboteur,
unhappy with being only unhappy,
will you not stop
until you are completely miserable?
(i do not deserve happiness)
Will you continue until
nothing is good and
your company is avoided?
(i do not deserve goodness or friends)
Why do you so strangely insist
on thwarting contentment?
(i do not deserve to be unbroken)
Why will you not love you?
(i am unlovable)
But we care, we do care.
(then you are wrong)
We want to see you smile.
(only poison comes from my mouth)
We want to see you happy.
(you are not listening)

HELP, I woke up.
                           Again.

Every day it's more disappointing to do.

Pessimism and a general
lack
of


motivation

               for breakfast, then on to
the fun stuff:


          self-DOUBT
                  self-LOATHING
   ­       self-ABSORPTION
           SELFFULFILLINGPROPHECIES

and i can't change. or i won't.
     ¿and is there any difference or hope?

sometimes i think i think too quickly
or not at all. i feel sticky.
please do not call me, though it's tempting.
i'm a weakling and empty.
i'm entirely, undeniably irredeemable
so don't get comfortable
with the thought
that i might give you anything at all.

i'm restless. it inhibits peaceful sleeping
i'm such a ***, only weeping
instead of doing something useful. being truthful,
nothing i do feels fruitful.
i'm entirely, undeniably irredeemable
so don't get comfortable
with the thought
that i might give you anything at all.

It's so easy to romanticize,
slipping on that cloak
of self-loathing;
Reminiscing on those failed dalliance days.
You make me think of what might be
If I could have been someone else,
making me lonely for a rewind
back to before my trajectory slid.

I'm just one of those
tortured people
who leaves their mind on
like a light.