" you’re a walking expression" he said confidently, his head tilted on it’s axis, gazing downward into the wine that he swirled so violently. i felt a little empty. he was handsome. i could see the winged tips of his ribcage protrude toward me whenever he stretched or adjusted his posture. "lately i feel like i’m always having miscarriages with my creativity." i said, my eyes transfixed on the miniture hurricane of burgundy. "like i’m there, everything is correct and pure and plentiful- and then it just kinda crumbles halfheartedly back into chemistry". i never say things like this. he nodded wistfully. i couldn’t tell if it was forced or not. he followed it by adding some statement more profound than my own and suggested that we head out into the night. it was getting late. i nodded lightly a few times and began to clumsily button my flannel up across my flat chest and noticed him staring strongly at me across the table. "you know" he smiled, zipping up his coat, "any woman can look **** getting undressed, but it takes a charming one to carry the same effect while putting on clothes.” i laughed, admired the wit, wondered if the line was borrowed, felt nauseous, carried on.

Corpulent, relaxed, you’re watching Netflix,
The softer we’ve become as generation.

Your function is unknown like your appendix,
Toil now is just imagination.

The days go by as you grow older,
But never faster than the lies.

You told yourself when you were bolder,
But lies catch up you realize.

That you could make it, become stronger,
Reach your dreams, that was the prize.

But you gave up, and now you ponder,
That dreams can die, in your surprise.

I am swimming in my coffin,
A plush cage of silk and satin.
Hollow housing what's gone rotten
Cold vacuum of the forgotten.

Backfired plan, ran from a quagmire.
"Departure" from unquenched desire.
A notionless naivetty,
Breeds ambitionless apathy.

I'm placid, pallid, on the floor,
In yearning dreams from days of yore.
An idyllic end depicted,
To deep rooted pain inflicted.

Yet...

Curtains' fall is ill-begotten,
By memory I am sought in,
A cacophony, my casket.
No sanity can outlast it.

Alone the mirror,
Cracked and ugly
Stares blankly at nothing
Waiting for a face to draw upon
For images protruding
From behind my glassy eyes
Reddened without sleep
Speak softly to the morning me
And tell of unwanted future’s plan
I recklessly endanger hope
For self-satisfying ambitionless wishes
Defying optometry, optimistically,
I see beyond the pleasant and mundane

Untying
lighter I do feel
in my pocket there's nothing
empty from head to heel-

let others do their shouldering
layer upon layer to peel
ambitionless all I do is dreaming
in contention with none to deal.

I'm walking barefoot into a dark room,
No sight of what is to come,
No foresight into my destiny,

I walk barefoot into a dark room,
Knowing all too well that the windows
were sealed shut, that the curtains were
pulled down, that the room was never
meant to be opened.

Unleashed was a fear so great, I lost
the fear of the dark itself.
I'm but a shadow now, navigating
past shapeless figures, uncaring of
surroundings, but ambitionless in
motion

I walked barefoot into a dark room,
knowing now that a room is not
built without windows, knowing that
curtains were meant to be opened,
knowing that doors were made to be
unlocked.

Alas, I'd walked into the room with
eyes closed. How foolish of me, for
I'd missed the fire surrounding me.

Steam
the aura hissing with negative energy
it rises from my back and scalp, hands retract
no affection touches me
no niceness do I attract
evaporating upon near-contact
I am scattered by duress
seeping out of myself under a boulder of stress

This enduring dream
sell-out and garner adoration
fame and following, applause
roses at my feet and signs of appreciation
I want nothing from you, I write for my own cause
and as always if I ever reach one person in need
I have met the pinnacle of all I could achieve
that is the highest of my duty; my only deed
fill my paperwork in with whatever they need to believe

All the nastiness in the air like gnats
I direct it with my hands, focus on the flow
gather these foul winds fanned from my chest
and force the currents to retreat from whence they've blown
all gusts of bile spilled across my brain
absorbed back into the cracks
with a brief and painful refrain
I survey the wake of an ambitionless life, for all the luster it lacks.

What is that I want?
What is it that I seek?
How do I fill the emptiness that always seems to lurk in my heart.
Haunting me day and night
Like an insatiable demon
I know not what its fodder is
I know not what to feed it with
That cold hearted demon that hides behind all the facade that wanders outside
The empty heart fills me with hate, cold anger,
Trying to make me into a being that feels nothing.
Ambitionless, filled with just desires for things
Cant there be a live wanting nothing seeking nothing
Just being.
Not planning for what lies far ahead
But living just for the here and now.
How nice would that be were it not possible.