The emotions I've had.
Must miss me.
As I cast them aside.
And relied.
On myself.
With no need.
For, you.

I've been places.
I think.
Maybe somewhere.
Exotic.

But I can't run away from these.
Nihilistic chasms.
Of self doubt.
Perpetual boredom.

Unnease with being alive.

Everything is left.
Empty.

This frustration.
Doesn't end.

It haunts me.

A peculiar poltergeist.

As all my ambition.
Coalesces into feeble.
Poetry.

My metaphoric mantra.
To keep.

An impulse to write.

Everything is discouraging.

Right now.

As I can't muster enough dopamine up.
To make me feel better.

Everything is ****.
Everything is pointless.

I can't feel happy.
With this poor diet I'm on.

If I could feel like you.
And trust the rest.
Then maybe.
I'd be normal.
But, that's never the case.
So, again.
I broke my hand.
And, the endorphines.
Made me feel better.
Than your concern.

It seems that poetry has become.
A place to whine.
With form and rhythm.
Simply a minor concern.
In a sea of mediocre futile teenage angst.
Thousands of poorly written love poems.
And possession.
All of it mandated good.
By your own banality.
And fear that you aren't.
That good.

Am I as important to you.
As you are to me.

I hold onto these memories.
Even though I've tried to forget.

And, you were my everything.

And, you were my light.

And,
Now.

I just stare vacant into the soft whimper I've become.
Feed my isolation.

Stare at the wall.

Ain't no one.
Not always no good.
Neither are the good ones.
I find.
But.
Doesn't really matter.
You heal or die.
It's it.

Care.
If I die.

I'd get lost in these grid roads.
If the moon.
Didn't show me the way.

I came in on a monday or a tuesday.
I blew in with the wind.
Some seed who drifted into the imagination.
Of some woman.
Who shyly followed me around.
Waiting where I used to be.
To talk.
About something or whatever.

I just never came back.
I was blown with the chaos in my mind.
To go somewhere else or wherever.

I leave the abominable destruction.
Of what could have been.
In the minds of strangers.
Who are always cautious.
And never felt this before.

I got stuck there in that.
Sunset.
I left in my memory.
Hearing songs.
You remember.
From years ago.
That never sound so sweet.
As when they remind you.
Of something happy.

One day it will all.
Catch up to me.

An onslaught of.

Bad habits.
Poor diet.
Self destruction.

I'll disappear.
In an instant.

A week.

All that's left.
Of.
What could have been.

The mountain won't show you.
Any intrinsic value.
Besides the difficulty.
To get to the top.

I dance with my shadows.
Until the music in my mind.
Dies.

Sublimated into something.
With no words.

Just a rhythm.
Twitching muscles.

Maybe if I think through a thousand ways.
Of saying this.
I might find the one.
That's always right.
Instead of a stream of consciousness.
Designed to help me think.
Through a thousand ways.
To say this life.
Just, isn't enough.

I'm safe in this room.
As I ossify my dysfunction.
With more excuses.

I was born a violent man.
Even though I'm not good at it.
All of my vindictiveness.
All of my resentment.
All of my things which percolate and bubble up from my rotten core.
Consume me.

In the euphoria of rage.
I've bled buckets in the aftermath.
Broken ribs from kicks on the ground.
Broken fists on someone's face.

I might not be the flame that consumes your car.
But, I poured the gasoline.

I am divine.
I am holy.
In my furious furor.
I want to explode.
As my bones tear through flesh.
Amputate lest it gets infected.

A tribute to Cybele.
I want towers shot with RPGs.
Clothing racks on fire.
Trumpeting your broken body.
With concussive force.

Headless corpses lining the streets.
Awash in a thick puddle of fetid blood.
Coagulating in my compassion.
Lumps of human blood sausage.
Rotting in the sun.
The smell of iron and taste.
Of adrenaline

Life is never short enough.
And, I swear to cause as much damage.
As I can.

Hack the hands off the wicked.
For every thief that stole a part of me.
Never to give it back.
I want my.
Vengeance

I will become Abaddon.
The angle of destruction.
A stray bullet.

And I want anihilation..
I want it to all fall apart into rubble.
Reigning over my empire of broken dreams.
And broken bodies.

I will conquer the refuse left over.
With persistence.

And vile.

Putrid hate.

I want.
To be.
Normal.

I gave up on.
The basics.
Of life.

Now, I'm not sad.
I'm just.
Not here at all.

And, even if these sensations.
Stop.

I'll still be stuck.
Ten years too late.
My body breaking down.

And, my age.
Etched in my face.

The sun out here is so bright.
Around the snaking slippery banks.
Of this creek.

It's still winter.
But the snow is melting into peculiar puddles.
That line the slushy snow.

There's always reserved ravens.
And a couple of crows.
Looming ominously over the skeletal remains of the glen by the creek.

Stillness.
Dried out carcasses.
Of recycled animals.
Brown and black with dirt.

It's quiet.
Out here.
In the boonies.

With the shrill cold wind blowing through leave-less trees.

I am the blasphemy.
Of apathy.

And,
flat affect.

In this feminized.
Extroverted society.
Where you're expected.

To be nice.
To be friendly.
To be social.
To be emotional.
To be a woman.

I don't quite know what equality is.
When the deck is stacked against me.
Cause I'm quiet and unemotional.
I suppose buffoons who bluster are better.

Sorry I can't smile today.
That's part of the diagnosis.

Sorry, I can't chit chat about.
Literal nothing.
That's a personal vendetta.

Your tolerance is showing.

Living in a ******* preschool.

I'm always depressed.
I'm always down.
And I get up.
Oh so very slowly.
On days like this.
When nothing is left over.
But hating myself

I'm always on the verge of another.
Breakdown.
Feeling my soul extricate itself.
From the premises.

Absent mindedly.
I stare into the darkness.
The permutations of my hallucinations.
Swirl in the darkness.
Lights in the dark.

Or is it
the blood coursing through my eyes.
Fluctuating in spasmodic undulations.
Something moving in a shadow.
A face my brain places into the dark.
Patterns associated with mind states.
Anger, depression, empitness.

It's all just such.
A trick of the mind.
Counterfeit spirits.

And I am  
Feeling the buildup of repressed.
Emotions.
But I gird my *****.
Tolerate the bottleneck.
Stave off the breaking of the dam.
By receding into apathy.

I must stabilise my circumstance.

Til the dam breaks.
And my life is ruined.
In yet another catastrophic incident.
To add to the list.
Of reasons why.

I'm broken.