my eyelids feel heavy
it's been too many hours
since i recall what sleep felt like
my hair and beard are a disheveled wreck

working on my sixteenth whiskey sour
On the rocks, hold the fruit
and smoking another cigarette
countless crumbled packs sit empty
on my hardwood desk and the surrounding floor

it's a mess in this darkened writing room
lit only by the computer screen
and one dying lantern soon to extinguish its flame

outside the snow continues to fall
piling high and deep
pulling the frigid chill of white
into my writing room

my fingers caress the keys
of this battered keyboard
stained with ashes, alcohol,
and things i couldn't even guess upon

nothing of any good quality being written

words i've used before
words i've used incorrectly
words i am past the stages of being tired of using
words i've given up on

i listen to listener, orchid, saetia, envy
and more bands that no one has ever heard of
screaming poetry thru the worn out turntable

aggravated by the fact that i have to keep changing sides
but appreciative of each records quirks and pops
i continue listening to the echo of their verses

i should just give up, give into failure, i'm good at it
but i can't, even in this disheartened state

somewhere between the flipping of records and the
bombardment of keys being slammed
my lantern finally dies
leaving me in the glow of my computer

and the warmth of another whiskey sour

in my writing room i am left lingering
haunted with the words that i am choked upon
haunted with the last page of my story
haunted with these final words:

The End.

First I was born
                                                          Th­en I began to die
                                                             ­ (there's no way out)
                                                           ­       (and there never was)
Nursing wounds                              
Gangrene and obscene                                        
Promiscuous and unwanted                                                
                                                             I favor the blessing of the Black Mass
                                                                           Shrouded in the catastrophe of disillusionment
For the first time in my life                                            
I’m disappointed in your crucifixion                                                          
And all the reasons you said you did it for                                                                    
                                                                              Antagonistic misanthropy in Maplethorpe grays
                                                              Humanity cultivated arctic aspirations
                                      First I was born                                                                                           ­  
                                Then I found a way out                                                              ­                                      
                               First I was born                                                             ­                         
                                (Then I found a way)                                                            ­                                      
(Away from you)