541 Words on Personal Dissatisfaction

     I am never satisfied. Any joy to be had always seems to be quite short-lived. I feel expired, as if I was allotted only so much happiness and somehow I’ve used it all up in my random outbursts of ridiculous excitement, which I miss and long for dearly. I’ve attempted to instill some type of love for myself inside my heart, but somehow I always come back down to being absolutely disgusted by every aspect of my being. Do I even really exist anymore? I breathe, I eat occasionally (and most of the time gluttonously), but I don’t feel like I’m really here (often I find myself expressing my mood as “out of it” and/or “weird”). I can pretend to convince myself that everything is fine, or that there’s some simple key I can gain to unlock the chains of my (seeming to be self-inflicted) torment, but it only lasts so long. I can try every anti-anxiety / anti-depression technique (which seem to be mostly breathing and self-brain-washing methods), I can consume chemicals to try to fuck with the way my brain works, I can talk out every last thought and feeling and experience, but it’s all just like sticking a bandage on an accidentally amputated limb. Just closing my eyes, singing “la la la!” to block out the dreadful way I feel because nothing works.
     On top of all of this, I am just completely exhausted from and sick of working so hard, every. fucking. second. to get just to the point of average, of “normal”, of “manageable”. What I really want to know is why the fuck can’t I just feel good about what I have? I know I have plenty to be thankful for, and even many things to look forward to, but I get in such a mood and all I see are negatives on top of setbacks on top of uncertainty and worry and fear. The future just seems to hold disappointment, and a lack of time and money – bringing me back to the constantly resurfacing thought, “Why bother?”. It all seems so pointless and routine. I keep thinking I should just end it now before I work myself to any less of a person than the lack thereof that I already feel.
     All-in-all, who really gives a shit anyway? I’m barely here, if I disappeared completely what real difference would it make? Probably a positive one, considering all I do is complain and cry, besides I’m just an annoying, needy, sinning assortment of cells. What do I have to offer the world? What difference does my existence make in the lives of those around me? I just seem to bring everyone, myself especially, down. Those close to me, who were once close to me rather, can easily complain of my incessant pathetic ramblings. I can’t even control it. Every time I open my mouth I just vomit a bunch of depressing words onto the victim of the conversation.
     It feels inescapable, I always seem to fall back to this. Underneath everything there’s just this miserable soul wanting more.
     I can’t even stand myself, why should anyone else be able to? Then again, I can’t stand being around other people either. Like I said, I am never satisfied.

The Serpent

limblessly maneuvering yourself
closer to the ground than the insects that pest you
such is where you rightly reside

what a clever disguise
to husk the pelage of a gazelle
but the corpse you don is decomposing

sarcophagidae writhing throughout
deteriorating the deceptive image
inside, your putrefaction

your crypsis performed through mimicry
mimicry of something graceful
yet immoral in evading this exposure

and now the forest can see
the true being that lies underneath
uglier than the repugnant carcass of your camouflage

and you are the detestable vermin
with the vulgar audacity to prey
plaguing all with your revolting existence

any simple motion, in absence of cowardice
could have transformed this perception
yet that you have neglected to provide

Limited Horizon

the flick of a sharp tongue
has demolished the town today
the gullibility of the young
desecrated at your doorstep
stepping over the line
crossing the threshold of your patience
never thought i would dig
the trenches we lie in

this city’s my horizon
i hope it’s not too late
i’m standing where you left me
still i wait

the city’s growing darker
the stars aren’t shining tonight
i hope this one’s a new moon
so we can part the clouds and see the light

alongside a dirty creek
you’d weep for hours
today you want to clean the creek
but it wont dry your tears
well, at least the woodland creatures can rejoice
and the woodland creatures can rejoice
and they can drink from your clean slate
and they can frolic in the woods you once called home

this city’s my horizon
i hope it’s not too late
i’m standing where you left me
still i wait

when the sun sets on the rooftops of the towers
you can breath a sigh of relief
for once the city’s been demolished
nature will take over again
and the roots will break up the streets
and streams will flow freely again
and flowers will bloom where we once took a shit
at least, that’s all we can dream of
as we lay our heads down
as the sun sets on the rooftops of the towers
stretching high enough to break your neck staring
when it all falls down
who’ll be left around
can we all come together again
to watch the flowers bloom in the end?

this city’s my horizon
i hope it’s not too late
i’m standing where you left me
still i wait

when it all falls down
who’ll be left around
can we all come together again
to watch the flowers bloom in the end?

Thermoregulation Failure on Stage

in my own torment i’ve severed the very cord that keeps this heart beating
in my haste to divert my eyes from your seemed lack of concern
no time was wasted in pulling the plug on the whole operation
yet it seems to escape through your peripheral

when i put you high atop your pedestal
i never thought you’d look so far down
and from my unwilling stage
the curtain fell on another bridge burned to the ground
when i fell so low on the bar
i never thought i’d drink myself to an empty fold
and from my inauspicious audience
the silence fell on a cast gone cold

dark and screened to perform the sacrament of penance,
in confessing my sins, dear Father told me to pray
to be cleansed of the demon that bid me such ill
but with my unorthodox nature, Lord likely turn me away

People Made of Popsicle Sticks

i’m the condensation on the edge of the glass
and i’m slipping lower with the weight of the sweat
are we all just lightning in the sand?
i never expected you to understand

my stomach is turning
my eyes are burning
my shell is breaking
my whole body’s aching

if this was all pointless than why
were we all communicating
what with all of the fornicating
and the urge to keep mating
breaking nature, controlling each other

i’m the condensation on the edge of the glass
and i’m slipping lower with the weight of the sweat
are we all just lightning in the sand?
i never expected you to understand

and no shit, the mud is sloppy
the tar is pulling everything in
if it was simple it would have never happened

Psychobabble

eyes that once swam through the hair on the back of my head
lips that once held float above the atmosphere
you are my oxygen
and i’m the thorn in your side

the knife that slipped from my hands
fell through the cracks in all of our plans
you are my shoulder
and i’m the rock in your shoe

i blink you away
the machine in my chest that keeps me breathing
i dont want a favor heart in pity for the empty sigh

they switch off with closed eyes
the machine in my head that keeps me going
i cant watch a pity heart with a favor left

all cliche emotional descent aside
the tissue in the machine that denies up-turned corners
a display of emotion, automatic self-expression
obvious when denied

i cant let an empty body be somebody’s anybody
i wont take anybody’s somebody
i just want to want nobody
i just want no body tonight

i’ve got another hour to go

can you feel me stepping in, sinking forward?
i try not to let it bother me
i’m slowed down in a landslide at the speed of light

should have, could have, would have,
but i didn’t so i’m not gonna
sit around here any longer
maybe i’ll try later, maybe

there are people just standing around
once in a while they make unfamiliar sounds
in passing through the folds of destiny
time and space are irrelevant, relatively

i’ve got another eon to go

you are my one fatal moment
and i’m the key ingredient in the fabric of this perception

Raw Human Exposé

maybe I’m pathetic
I’m probably just paranoid
I’m being stupid
I feel all used up
I don’t know how to say
exactly what I mean
I don’t know how to show
what I’m feeling
sometimes I stutter
mix up up my words
I know I’m stupid
I’m really pathetic

but I’m human
and I feel this
and I’m not gonna try to hide
all of my flaws
cuz I’m human
and I feel
and I can’t just cover up
all of my flaws

maybe it’s getting hard now
to follow along
listening to all of my stupid thoughts
in the form of a stupid song
but I feel I need to sing it
cuz obviously I can’t talk
trying to work out everything
going on in my head

but I’m human
and I fuck up
and I’m not perfect
I know I’m far from it
because I’m human
and I fuck up
and I’m just trying
to make the best of it

I’m human
and I feel

it might not be beautiful
how I’ve just exposed myself
but sometimes
it has to be so