Just keep on
selling myself
until the pieces
are gone.

She's very much alive
But she is dead to me
The decision wasn't mine
She wanted to be
A tombstone in my mind
A grave inside my heart
A perpetual funeral
That has no end or start
There is no wreath to set
No flowers to lay
The only place that this exists
Is buried in my wake

There’s something just so odd about
always balancing on the fence over God
whatever that is
one morning you’re eating your breakfast next to him
and when your coffee gets cold, you go to refresh it
returning to an empty chair in the kitchen
despite checking the closet and under the bed
driveway empty, he disappears without a trace.
I shrug and I go back to my monotonous day
it never made a difference to me in the first place
smashing my moral compass into the bowl
and stepping on the eggshells


there’s something just so strange about
always being so apathetic about the afterlife
one day I’m staring at my own creation in the face
the next I’m jotting down my signature on a check to the nearest
*** store, florescent green lights against the pavement
******* and live chat rooms
and I wonder if something is watching me
peering constantly over my shoulder
nodding his head in disappointment as I crumple up the receipt
stepping out my burning cigarette **** on the concrete
flickering parking lot lights
Angels spreading their wings
Angels spreading their legs

there’s something just so dreadful
this self-indulgent craving to feel loved by something
twiddling your thumbs at the dentist’s office
the clawing from inside your skull
daydreaming the stains on the carpet into animals like clouds
smile and nod to the receptionist
listlessly discussing the weather
slitting the throat of each arising thought
every last insatiable woe, your vexations left behind
a shell of emotions asphyxiated and blue
bleeding out on the waiting room floor
achieving peace means to destroy what kills you
Isn’t that how He always did it?

there’s something just so pathetic
seeking to blame a deity for being this way
i did not forge my own existence,
but I place the pieces of myself back together every night
that was never anyone’s responsibility but my own
the ego’s entitlement to believing an omnipotent being
owes me some sort of answer
selfish enough to just not want to face that bitter lonesomeness
the emptiness, the void, oblivion
being too much of a ******* coward to face it all alone
greedy little ape, just hungry for any answers
I just want my hand to be held
i’m so terrified to be human
but aren’t we all