Helping the masses understand insanity
Just a little bit better
Aiding contemplative suicides
And real men that don’t bother to use a mask
And already my heart aches
Like a swelling, slowly inflating
Far beneath my ribs, and decalcified bones.
Where I forgot
That I too am human
Pump me full of another drug
And I’ll soon forget again
Hopefully I won’t remember
How it hurts
To be real
Masturbate, music, migrate, massacre, mediate
All of the things
At the disposal of 18 years
These are the tasks of a writer
Changing the world with words of wonder
While asleep on the girlfriends couch.
Fighting hate and fuckery
From the armchair, blue pabst in hand.
So I’m an alcoholic
I started and I’d be insane to stop
For once in my life
I’ll finish what I started
There will be an end. A point.
I’ll drink myself straight into the grave
And the children in grown torso
Will speak of how they tried to save a lost soul
But that soul was nowhere to be found
Well I’m here and I know
Just as they must somewhere,
Beneath the layers of rotting termite wood
That they aren’t here with me.
That they couldn’t give a shit’
If they were paid
But that’s okay.
I can’t depend on masturbating assholes
Torn like carved turkey
I have to be alone
It’s the only way
I have to strip back the skin
And the love
And find the reality within
The reality of self-loathing and to give up eagerly
On everything I’ve ever “loved”
The truth being I never loved it
I never loved you
I never loved.
I just waited for you to stop talking
So I could get back to the written word
And write my own little truths
And my own little shit piles.
It doesn’t matter how much I write
How many wrongs I right;
It’ll never be enough
I’ll never achieve the impossible
Impossible only to me.
Only I know the passage of inadequacy
I gave up the best
So I could learn what it means to suffer
I gave up love and happiness
So I could scratch shitty poems into human flesh
Maybe eventually flesh other than my own
But I doubt it.