don't tell me **** about
being okay.
that's not what i'm here for.
complacement is no more satisfying
than the empty -ness
and less interesting that loneliness;
thought it might be cheaper.

i can't expose these nerves in person.
even alcohol isn't enough to allow
myself to touch,
barely enough to talk.
i could blame it on not finding the
right person (and that probably is the
actual reason). but i am far more
likely to blame myself, or my surround-
ings. or

i would love to say
"this has to stop" but it doesn't have to.
and i believe it drains me of the drive,
and steals the better part of my breath
away.
i'm ready to end a paragraph, ending a
chapter. to enter a new home to make me
a bit more clear-headed, if not necessarily
more.


i get into a daze, almost convincing
me that i'm in love. but with who?
no face touches my memory, it's just
an anxious, empty wish. that there could b
e someone worth wanting.

unrequited love is my best relationship,

one-sided lie to myself, easy enough
to swallow whole. hope.

What's it worth?

Power and money can't go with you when you get put in the earth

I mean what's it worth?

Leaving a legacy for your pedigree
Who go around porting your livery

What's it worth?

Ain't no free will, you just bound to be
Ain't no one give a ****. Dont bother with secrecy

The ****'s it worth?

Ground em up, pound em up, build em back up

Just so they can go and face the day without having to ******* sack up

What're you worth?

Running around seeking adulation
From gods abombimal creations

What're they worth?

Theyre nothing, and they're nothings everywhere
Without a hair of deceny, ******* plans easy to see

What's it worth, kid?

You need a plot,
One life that's all you got

Smoke a little ***
Pop some little pills

Until you are unable to enjoy the thrills
That's the **** that kills,
What happens when happiness is blasphemous to an Übermensch activist?

What if there is no me left?

Soul stolen slowly by surplus serotonin circling the synaptic cleft

Reflection in the mirror looks like death.

Wait.. it couldn't be clearer

The figure in the mirror is

some sort of fear or hatred that has allowed me to be

complicitely complacement in the fact i'm just
alive adjacent.

I'm living without meaning, I'm latent.

And I don't have the patience to do things of greatness.

Wait, no! **** that. I'm intelligent and I'm gonna do diligent

Belligerence to be the next GW, Johnny Cash or Eric Clapton.

I'm in charge of my life, Nietzsche, call me captain.

And that very next day, all of a sudden, nothing happened