The dreams I dream.
Dwarf my hyperbole.
In the absurd.

Most people die.
Old.
Slipping on wet showers.
Others.
Choke on candy.
Life is mostly.
Stupid.

In sleep.
All the pain goes away.
To be replaced.
With fragments.
Of her.
Ghost.

Every hope I had for a future.
More meaningful.
Than just dying tomorrow.
Has disappeared.
And, now I like to stare.
At that liminal state before death.
That spot.
Somewhere far away.
Distant.
Like my gaze.
Trying not to get stuck in the.
Tomorrow.
That's no longer there.

I don't want to.
Breathe.
I just want.
To pass.
Away.
Into the absolution.
At the end.
Of the abyss.

Everything seems so.
Pointless.
A burden I'm putting off.
Doing.
There is no catharsis.
From this omnipotent overwhelming feeling.
That I'm doing something wrong.
Just marinating in the stew.
Of one more bad day.
Til this depression wears off.
Perpetually.

You stop crying out.
In pain.
When you realize.
No one cares.
But you.
So instead.
You figure out how to not.
Communicate.
Any discomfort.

I'm staring into that hole I see in reality.
I'm vacant.
Hopeless.
My mouth agape.
My eyes.
Fixated on that distant nihilism.
At the end of the Apocalypse.
A cataclysmic crescendo replaced with the absence, filled with I and other Sons of Perdition.
Wiped off your feet.
Like so much.
Random dust.

I wanna burn.
In that ecstacy.
Of overindulgence.
Unaware.
Of my own retched.
Self.
Destroying both.
Of our lives.
Erasing our.
Existence.

There's supposed to be something.
Profound.
At the end.
Of this suffering.

But all there is.
Is the knowledge.
You.
Were.
Right.

It never really mattered.
Either way.
All there is is emptiness.
And that wretched.
Inner voice.
Just.
Repeating itself.

Shrouded in the darkness of another.
Anonymous night.
Eternal dark, obsidian dawn.
I creep through the brushes and reeds.
To the sacrificial mount.
That the spirits told me were there.
The impulse of an evil God of hidden.
Places.

And,
These delusions can be made poignant.
With good enough prose or ritual poetry.
As my offering of tobacco is accepted.
My austerity of poverty and insanity, reinforced.
I do the dance that comes to mind.
Flaring out my peacoat.
In raven's dance.

I walk the earth with bare clad feet.
As the dirt embeds into my sole.
I become the black foot.
Pale skinny
Satan
Opposer.
The Gaelic gaoler of lost souls.
Wirey, taught, and high tension.

The one who said no.
I'd rather go it alone like Esau Lord.
Find my way in the wilderness.
Castigate the humans.
Too proud to bend the knee.
To an abysmal race bereft of creativity.
I bring nothing.
For you.

And, I illumine you.
I cast my own shadow on the wall.
The light shines out of me.
Into.
The truth in disgust.
The beauty in filth.
The righteousness in rebellion.
I die on every hill.
Kamikaze existential destroyer.

Clad in taboo things.
Dripping in the disgust.
Of the unclean.

I am a beast.

I am filth.

I am a warning.

Don't get too close.
I ******* bite.

She's still around.
And it's not too late.
So I can still.
Think of her.
And smile.
I.
Can.
Love her.

What's it matter.
She is good.
In my mind.
Always.

I don't even remember.
Any happiness.
In the last half decade.
Just.
A lot of let downs.
And suicide.
Attempts.

Ain't no one never.
Come to save me.
From ****.

I had to figure it out.
On my own.

And,
It's made me more.
Anti social.
Cause I can live all alone.
By my ain **** self.

I'm just waiting to die.
Passing the time.
From here to then.
In a miserable way.
Sublimated into a dream.
Perpetually unconscious.

Maybe one day.
I'll get myself out of this.
And, maybe.
Just smile.
Hoping tomorrow.
Never comes.

Stuck in the warm embrace.
Of I can.

When I get caught.
Up in a moment.
It's like I'm nothing.
More than.
Right now.
Here.
With you.
And, I've never.
Been anywhere.
Else.

These purile placid waters.
Are dreary, dull, and depressing.
Rhythmically lapping against my barren shore.
The obligations of my regular raucus routine
Are unsatisfying
As the still waters linger in staid stagnation.
The excitement.
Evaporated.


These calm terse trade winds
Don't have much to seeemingly say.
Festering in this standing water
The pent up pinnacle of radical resignation.
To this biohazard of my life
Where the smell
Is as pungent.
As the mildew makes me mouldy.

The cascade of pent up emotion and energy.
Cusps over the pinnacle.
As the friction from the frozen emotions.
Deigns to break the dam.
Of the calm.

This is discouraging.
Dreary dismal boredom.
I crave excitement.
Bustling life and algae blooms.
The uncertainty of getting lost in the frantic energy of entropic disorder
The irregular arrangement of intrinsic energy and form.
Entices me with promises of
A sudden subliminal bursting
Forth from the chaos of life.
Into my own subjective sonnet of
Kamikaze choreography.
Music dripping with ******.
Kaleidoscopic cacophony.
The dischordant choir.
Singing the sanctified song of self sundering.

I pray

For Dionysian ecstasy.
The feeling of flying without wings
Light headed and lit like a sentry on the horizon
Dizzy on the dangerous down ***** drugs.
Weaving in and out of reality.
A phantom pharmacological pyre burning with spontaneous combustion.
I want the frantic fury of a fragile furious fiasco.
I want the sublimation of the self as a Saiva sadhu
Avatara of too much stimulation.
A caffeinated catastrophe.

The raucus road of righteous rage.
Leads to squander and squalor.
To trauma and decay.
It all leads to death.
Funneling me into
Minutes away from the 2 seconds too short.
Accidental overdose on purpose
Apathy announcing my altered state
I made a deal with the devil and the payment's due.
The deflation of failure.

The pain calms me down.

I'm living in that
One overgrown pauper's grave.
Where
Even beautiful boughs of begonias.
Dry up into dust.
Passion won't push me through.
This sudden mood swing.

So.
I keep at the Apollonian ordering of chaos and revel in the frustration of simple.
Altering this abject asymetry of forms into Euclidean geometry.
Predictable boundaries for
Classifying this chaotic confusion
This scatterbrain lawless lolly gagging
Into something sensible.
Something, coherent.
Rational.

Order.

And I'm less inspired.
More frustrated that I have to
Wade
Through all this linguistic graffiti.
Sprayed haphazardly across my neurosis.
Feeling the frustration of
The energetic editing that edifies
My fragile ego.

But I'm a husk of an interesting person.
My addendum is short, curt,
And concise.
I'm more genuine when I'm blunt.
More authentic when I'm apathetic.

As usual though.
I
Failed
At being anything.
Other than confusing.
Seemingly desperate.

I'm always.
Giving up.
Annihilation natters at my mind.
It bores into my skull.
That familiar earwig.
Lying about its nature.
A disappointment to fear.

Potential is better than failure.
Who I could be would be anything
Other than what I am.
A failed dream.
Like my unfinished books.
Like my drug induced amnesia.
Like all those missed opportunities.
All those possibilities slipping through my hands.
Each fantastic potentiality getting more and more.
Uncertain.

I start off strong
Then taper out into.

Unfulfilling.
Low energy.
Dysjointed from reality.
Forcing myself to review my past.
In these irregular self criticisms.
Longing for meaning in whatever I throw against the wall.

Afterall.
I understand my own glossolalia.

If that tooth.
Would just.
Catch.
On a small.
Piece.
Of your skin.
And tear open your throat.
I might be.
Happy.

The walls of my life are falling apart.
Into the rubble of pathetic despair.

My body starts to fail.
Again.
******* away each fragile opportunity.
Until there were none left.

It gets hard to enjoy things.
When everything gets worse.
My hermit hiki ko mori stasis.
My isolation in my room.
Poignantly hits me.

And,
I am strange and unusual.
Poorly worded
and dumb.

I breathe self loathing.

Loneliness is a temporary thing.

Comes and goes with bad dreams
Of people I used to know.

I don't think someone else
Can fulfil me
Or bring me peace.

It would just be nice
If another ******
Would take the time
To tell me about their day.

The first time I smelled the
Pang of death,
It took my breath away,
Stole it,
Befouled it,
Tainted my living flesh
With rigor mortis,
And the certainty of lungs.

Wafting out a
Lounging acrid bitter spasm
As I scrape the corpse
Of the coyote,
Off the highway
Into a garbage bag,
Limbs agape and asymmetrically bound,
In place.

Undertakers don't make coffins
For road ****,
And,
I unceremoniously dump them into
The trash.

Life is a reflection of death,
No one knows you passed on
Til someone tells someone else
So if I keep it to myself,
No one will know.

Till that bitter offal odour
Floats out my door
And,
Takes someone's breath away.

It burns.
Going down.
But I'm used to it.
Like it's normal.
And, I pass out.
By choice.