In an age of social media and technology
We waste away so many hours of our days
Scrolling through snapshots
Of incredible things and places
From all over the world and beyond
We are so amazed by
These glimpses
Of other peoples lives
That we often forget
To live our own.

My words wasted on your ears,
Love ****** dry by lips
Undeserving of me and mine and
The nothings you whispered
Fell flat on your tongue.

I couldn't even call them sweet.

Is it just I who muses late?
Into the veil of the night?
The laconicism is crisp of darkness
Black and cold, menace foretold?

Am I the only one
In the whole of humanity?
Who cannot cease to wonder of
The thoughts of worthlessness

That my every trivial thought
Is a waste of lives that fought
To come into the world
To breathe and dance and rot,

In the deathly tempo of time
Reminder of lives gone by
In philosophical demise
My trouble helps not anything...

Still I lie here, heaving through,
I cannot finish this song for you.
That would be misleading, to falsify
That my life showed an inkling of purpose—

*Of anymore than just a cry.

Even with the mood lighting inside
this lethargy induced spiced chai
I find these things elusive
like good cell phone pictures of concerts
or, dare I say, a happy poet.

Despite generations of artistic indulgence
I find these things apathetic
androgynous, as it were
with indiscernible discrepancies drawing
daft conclusions from the quick-sought eye.

I too struggle to find the truth behind the lines.
I craft as though I know my medium.
I create broad sweeping arcs across
my own right side brain
but see them smudged and distorted, distended,
dripping their dynamics through the cracks in my floorboards.

Cinnamon vanilla maple ginger
shots at first class from coach
and here on my three foot throne
I squander the warmth of my ******* latte.

You don't get to choose 
The country you're born in 

You don't get to choose 
The parents you're born to 

You don't get to choose
The name you're given 

You don't get to choose 
The *** you're born with 

But then you get to choose 
The people you surround yourself with

You get to choose 
Your first crush
Your first love
Your first kiss

Then I wonder
With the very little things 
We all get to decide on 

Why do we choose 
The people who just waste all our firsts 

Why do we choose 
The people who hurt us?

Binge boar
Sink your tusks
Play dead and rot
Your pillow lungs

Wear your fur over fester
Clean your mouth with mud
Tear your remnant upon
Your blackened tongue

I've never been so interested in a somebody.
I've seen love,
but have never felt love.
I'm not quite sure i know how,
none of the less know how to show it.
I'm a lost cause,
just another messed up individual
in this very large world.
I will soon become nothing,
and mean nothing
to this very ground i walk upon today.
So why waste my life
trying to learn how to love
when in order to do that,
you must first love yourself.
And that,
is the hardest thing of them all to do.

I had hoped to find a sort of love this fall. One that might have kept me warm through the winter.
I had hoped to make treats and nice things for someone who liked me enough to kiss my face.
I had hoped to find someone who would waste Saturdays at home with me watching Netflix.
I had hoped to find someone to pour my heart into- even if only for a moment.
I had hoped to find someone I could write about- someone who would be good to me.
Hoped.

Earths anxiety; she feels too crowded her heart beat racing; volcanos erupt and the ground shakes. She's just trying to get rid of all the waste