Ahh, yes.

The most philosophical inquiry of our times

Why
Am
I
Like
This
?

We used to ponder about the stars

Now I wonder why I feel so sad every time I watch them twinkle in the vast loneliness that is the reflection in my eyes
.
We used to question gods and create epics and fables to better understand the world around us

Now I want to never see this planet again
I'm tired of fantastical stories, unrealistic expectations and faith based interpretations of my broken reality
If there is a god, it owes us all an apology
.
We would strive
A pursuit of knowledge, the ultimate form of nirvana

Now I wish I didn't think at all and could be a mindless, happy follower

But I know too much

And somehow still manage to be a fool
.
Why am I like this?

I sit around on the floor, naked and alone
Waiting for the phone to ring to take me home

How am I supposed to reach out when it's not manly to cry

Or want to die

Or want to give up when everyone tells you to smile

Your arms can't embrace my soul
Only the carcass that holds bile
No one wants to deal with your *******
Not even for the slightest while

You're better off dead
Or offline
Or on meds
On your off time
On your soft bed
With one leg

Swinging off the edge



Hoping there's no bottom when you land upon your head
Because

You've landed on your feet and broken both ankles
Pulled a muscle
Tore a meniscus
Bruised your hips
Split your lip trying to stand
Just to be told
Don't beat yourself up

What the ****

Am I both the bully and the victim?

Can this vicious cycle called life create such a ****** up system?


I'm no martyr.

I'm just a sorry ******* who hates himself knowing others have it harder
And still feels so desperate

Love is such a desolate area in my chest that it
Seems remote and unwelcoming
But with a well rested estimate
Of all the energy that it takes the human body to frown

And make sure that there is still enough fuel to run that trip, but not turn around


I swear I'll drive us in to a river.

Say one more thing to **** me off
I've been searching for the excuse to deliver.

I don't just want to die
I want to erase any part of my existence so no one will hurt or cry
Or wonder why

It would make it all so much easier

Life's not a *****,

She's simply a tease with no way of ever truly pleasing her.

You watch a smile as it drains the life from your cold lips.
Speechless.
Amazed and disappointed.
Painful joy.
Bittersweet, as they say.
But i say...
Fluttering
Fleeting
Fleeing
Feeling too ******* much.
You watch as starry eyes turn yours in to a black hole sun
Star man.
Your flight is over.

Yes, I

Pitter patter
On a bitter pattern
Of broken memories that I chitter chat about with little matter

And according to the middle latter statement

I'm a little out of place when
I reminisce about that nasty past

That mask... THAT mask.

The one that covered the area where my face belongs


Which matched PERFECTLY with the shoes I would step in **** with

Telling myself:
"My socks are still clean"

Thinking I could use more chemicals than a Sheen to be Pristine
But that's just artificial heat from a blanket with no seams..

I try to tear apart this quilt
Threaded with empty promises in vain

Inside veins that don't pump blood
They pump shame

I'll never be wrapped in this again..

Covered in unfamiliar skin
Wearing a questionable grin

When in the hell did I begin this transformation?

Self surgery.

Murdering false idols!

******* the very fabric of entertainment.

(Yes I can be a ****)

But I rock an S on my chest over the D..

I'm so sick

My thoughts are so vile
They will leave you ill on your lying lips

There is no use in trying to switch
The shattered reality you now have as a dying wish

If jumping to conclusions was an Olympic event..

I'd have my medals stripped after finding performance enhancers in my blood.

Being the best isn't always a good thing.

I see empty beer bottle corpses scattered around a ***** lobbie

While ciggarette butts twerk around these lonely bodies

If only there was a light that didn't come from a dead matchstick

Slumped over and burnt out

Because we turnt up

Then it turned out that we're made from plastic

Fantastic.

This dull pencil has filled me with lead and weighed down my soul

This canvas is blank
Save for the bruised marks of an angry quill

I shake as hard as I can
But the pen has fallen to the might of frustration

I am but a broken type writer