There's a resentment that grows in me,
and I don't know when exactly
what day I became this bitter old man
stuck in the body of a **** young idiot.

I take my love wherever
it'll ******* come from now.
I yearn for anything.
Everything.
Death especially.

I don't wanna survive another winter.

I'm sick of having what should be
a discussion on a serious topic
turn into,
"You're ridiculous for thinking
otherwise;
this is how it is."

I am;
something you forget.

Remember
after.

You don't really care
about me. If you did
I wouldn't be.

Your care for me is
a consolation prize.
An apology.

I'm there after the people.
After the places.
Behind the background.

I'm after words.
After reaction.
After thought.

I commit a crime.
Deviate.
I sin;
I don't believe in.

I shoot myself in the foot
to learn how to walk
differently.

I do something evil.
I bleed.

Something particularly crazy happened
the other day and
I can't remember it already,
and all the old people
tell me I'll be
just like them

except,
I can't even begin to understand
because I can't listen to how many
opportunities I'm supposed to have
and everything is so great
and the kingdom is wide open
if you're young and willing.

Salivating, eager to get ******
for the idea of getting ahead.
We all ****** our way to the
bottom
&
the glass is small.
Not half full,
ain't half empty.

Idiots speak to me with
a flavor of prejudice
because I
don't care
how much money
they never made.

You're one to believe in god,
so tell me Grandfather;
You believe everything has a meaning
and war can be righteous
and war can be hell.
What does the rain mean?

It's not a metaphor for pushing life
into the festering corpse of a beat horse
in the late fall, early winter, is it?
Is it a drowning of that mistake?
A bed to sink your imperfections into?
What is this grey sky speaking to?

Was it WW2's tail gunners dead in the back
and pilots swarming like flies in vicious harmony?
bloodthirsty dogfights, and the folk guitarists
standing in awe,
jaws unhinged,
mouths open,
wondering,
"What the everloving **** just happened?"

You believe in God, so tell me;
They stuck your body in the dirt
over 2, or maybe it was 3 years ago.
You never told me anything about this.
You never told me anything
but empty threats.
God is a mass hysteria;
a mental disability,
a harmful fantasy.

But what does the rain mean?

Wrecked on the couch,
my victims asked me who I was
or who I thought I was
or who I was trying to be.

I resented them, like most people
who play into my empathy for
some luxury or to **** out a sucker.

I live on a seat of noise.
Everything is deafeningly loud.
Sinking in screams
like a stale mattress
full of bedbugs,
but you need a place to sleep
for at least another night.

I fly on a deranged bird
that knows one word,
and that word is made-up.
Fictional.
I fly by inches, crawl in the sky
crawl towards death with my
head tilted backwards.

I don't even bother asking
many questions anymore,
especially about people.
I'm not so upset that nobody
particularly cares.