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.

I used to say I found.
My joy.
In the Kali Yuga.

But.
I really found.

A quiet.

Dead,
place.

Where endurance.
Is all that.
Matters.

Abysmal desolation.
Washes over me.
And all I can think.

Of.

Is how peaceful annihilation will be.
As I'm always cast adrift.

In the doldrums of melancholy.

Life?

All this creation has given me.
Is a lust for death.

An end.
To my half remembered.

Mediocrity.

Silence.
Here on this particular mountain.
Is deafening.

As I scream to myself.
For sympathy from someone else.
Or even.
Life.

But,
I'm still here in the ditch.
Laying in the grass.
Worn down and worn out.
Sleeping rough in the rocks

And,
No one hears my pleas.
For a meaning to all this.
Suffering.
Not God.
Not you.
Not anyone.

This is the furious rage of being inadequate.
While my scream pierces the sky and reverberates.
In my mind.
No one hears.
One of the few times I've been vlunerable.

Even if they did.
They wouldn't have cared.
What is a hobo to a man, but a moral failing?
At that moment.
I lost whatever faith I had in other people.

Nothing answered me in the depths of my rock bottom.
Scraping the jagged depths of my impotence.
Just the still subtle silence and the wind.
Blowing through my hair.

So I slept in the ditch.
Stopped asking for help.
Woke up in the morning.
Staving off another.

Reminder of how useless.

I truly am.

I want to be forgotten.
By everyone.
And just appear.
On the shores of reality.
A different person.

Depressed.

I'm always depressed and punishing myself for not being well adjusted.
And, I'm always hungry and overthinking.

This oh so familiar ennui.
My isolation.
My grand delusions.
Are really just the most effective time waster I know.

This is all just some strange daze.
Some kinda washed out broken device I can't fix.

My misanthropy has made me give up as all I long for.

Is.
Sweet.
Release.