I said.
Set it on fire.
As I got lost.
Silhouetted against.
The blaze.
Glowing with heat.
Consumed.
In fantasies.
Of destruction.

Feelings come and go in irregular patterns.
It's always most joyous.
When I have my flat affect.
Something very hard.
To read into.
Some very cold fish.

We all have.
A rich existence.
We just never.
Think about.
It.

She feels like.
Somewhere I"ve been before.
And.
I can't help.
Going back.

What am I except.
Mean and sinew.
That breaks at inconvenient.
Times.

I desire.
Nothing.
More.
Than a catastrophic.
Chaos.
To die in.
Ecstasy.
Over stimulation.

I am constantly escaping.
From right now.
To get lost.
In.
Never was.

I would rage against that inferno.
As though I'd carve my name on destiny.
Something, permanent in a see of has beens.


But, I don't.
I just, get ****** up.
Everyone loves an underdog.
Set against infinity.

I never wanted to play.
Nice.
With the other kids.
I just.
Wanted to be alone.
Now.
I just wanna.
Recede on back into that nothingness.
I know so well.
My good friend.
Cushioned in silence.
Drifting by myself.

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

When she smiles.
I feel good.
And a lot of the time.
I'd like to just hold her.
Hear her laugh.

A personal.
Private.
Moment.

I remember how she'd laugh.
And the way she felt laying there.
When we just looked at each other.
It was warm.
It was comfortable.

She said the most endearing thing.

You make me feel safe.

Now.

I just feel bad.
About ******* it up.
With nothing,
Gained.

Everything,
Lost.

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.

I hear that low dull buzzing din.
Of my internal monologue.
Running around.

And I want out.

But, I'm sickeningly.

Meanderingly.

Bothersomely.

Alive.

We live in old stained run down.
Modernist apartments.
Stale.
Mouldy.
Dead.
And, we do nothing outside.
Of trying to forget.
How menial it is.

To be.
Alive.

To be.
Average.

To be.
Poor.

Permanent idle hands.
And medicating away.
The boredom.

We sang drunken requiems.
To the loss.
Of our future.
In those old cities.
When we were young.
And.
Idealistic.

Yes I will take the blame.
For things that you've done.
And, I won't shirk from it.

Your guilt.

I'm more or less meaningless.
It bothers me naught.
I'm already dead.
I just keep walking forward.

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.

Every action
I take.
Is unilateral.

You'd call it
Narcissism.

But,
I don't care.

I do.
What.
I.
Want.

I am not
That person
You fantasize me
To be.

And,
It always happens
That one day-
I fall out of
The clear blue.

Right
Into left
Field.

My story
Is kinda pathetic.

I'm just some
Loser
From some
Bumfuck
Nowhere.

I love poetry
Though,
I cope with it.

I have
long before
You knew of me.

It's always depressing and
Dark.

I sir,
Am,
Depressing'n
Dark.

I asked her if I could sing.
She wasn't expecting me to be good.
And she smiled.
This ***** I just met.
We got high and the drugs said I loved her.
Then, she almost got me killed.
I probably should have just.
Stuck to myself.
Like I always do.
Set to mute.

There was never any way out.
And forever seemed like another thousand steps.
Forward.

Then.
When the impossible happened.
When I found a home.
Nothing got better.
Even though it did.

The same old fried brain.
The same constant depression.
Only.
I'm fat.
I'm boring.
I'm weak.

Only.
Life on the streets might.
Have been better.
For me.

I feel as if I have passed on through.
The mortal veil.
And come to my judgement.

One that does not bode.
Well for me.

I'll be condemned.
To more of this torpor.

This inadequate existence.

Hopeless.
As all that potential dried up.
Into oh so much ash.
Placed in an urn.
Scattered on the sea.

It's just that reality.
Never turns out quite like it.
Should.

A withered future.
And nothing gained.
So I stick to now.

And,
Medication.

I breathe poetry.
Like chlorine gas.
It infects my being.

And,
Who am I to extinguish it in you.
I'd like more of it.

To be honest.
More intimate moments.
Immortalized in a small scale.
Voyeurism.

Anything.
To see.
Anyone bearing their soul.
For that one moment.

Of.

I been there.
I done that.
I'm here with you.

In the static of self doubt.
I love poetry.
It courses through my veins.
Everything is a twenty lined poem.
Struggling to be born.
In the mind of someone.
Living.

You.

You should write more.
I like the threads out here.
In the darkness.

There is no concern for the feelings of a loved one.
When you're lost out there.
In the comfortable silence.
Of aeons.

Unconcsious.

Subsumed in the warm bath.
Of annihilation.

Beyond speech.

I slept through tomorrow.
Woke up in why now.
And I'm about to recede.
Back into the nightmares.
I have every night

I'm a useless eater.

So I starve myself.
So as not to waste the food.

Just everyone's expectations.

Words are
Always
Real consistent.

Unlike people,
My vagueries
Are intentional.

But,
It all comes from
Somewhere
Authentic.

If only
Hyperbolic.

Now adays.
The days.
Just blow away.

And, I'm left in hesitation.
Wondering what went.
Wrong.
Hoping I have enough time.
Left.
To do something more.
Than passing the time.

It's that potent despair.
Standing over a dead life.
Gone before the miracle appeared.
And mundane.
Some realization I'm not quite where I want to be.
Or as high as I'd like.
But tomorrow is a curse cast from my yesterdays.
Today is a wallowing disgust.
And, my past, an abomination.
Why am I alive.
Just to struggle through the hard bits and reward myself with sloth. I spend a lot of days staring at nothing.
Hours.  Just.  Passing by.