She forces me to hang up
at 12:30
I think she's uncomfortable talking to me.
I know she's going to tell
her friends people like me
Feel too.

I'm not people
like I told her.
I'm a lot like the criers
The people in black
Self obsessed in their own self pity.

I'm a horrible mix
Of normal person
And complete social degenerate
To where I can't get along with either.

She's going to tell
All her buddies
who think she's such a great person
That she heard a person like me
cry.

Even more
She's going to tell them
She made me laugh.

She was telling me
How I felt.

“You feel like nothing matters”
She's the world's most depressing hypnotist.

“You feel like you're living shallowly”
Yes.
She's a genius.

I couldn't help
But laugh at the silliness
Of it all.

An addict for
Several years now
I find myself
Huffing ink
And snorting paper
Because in this
Economy
I can't afford
Those expensive highs
Anymore

So I turned to the pen
To the blue and black
Smudges on my hands
But the pen is
Just as dead as my ends

Just as dead as me

Technology has taken over
And I have friends across
The Atlantic
And I have emotions bleeding
Into pixels

This instability
Is slowly killing me
What will my next
Addiction be?

I am only human
The fact that I am fallible
Is quite inevitable

But maybe these are
Subtle excuses
For my relentless actions
And maybe there has
Been a decline
In my wits
And my brain has
Rusted over

Every addiction
Lives inside
Waiting to surface
As though they are all
Old poker buddies
Sitting around the
Heart shaped table
In my rib cage
Placing bets on
My mortality

There must
Be some way
To crawl into my
Computer screen
And flow through
Infinity

Because this reality
Can't be real

This girl with the bags
Under her eyes
With the bruises
On her arms
With the regret
In her smile

Can't possibly
Be me...