I was asked once. just once
to piece together a puzzle made of rubble- made of me
only the edges were jagged/ and nothing fit.
and the picture faded- it's pointless
it's always. so. fucking.
...pointless

and honestly- I don't think I could care less.

-
these cold-hardwood floors. so spastic- yet never alive
and this ashtray. collecting the dust of moment past- a moment longed for
and these hands. these -god-damn- hands. are so heavy
trying to grasp the past. while trying to push it away
everything was once ok/ everything was once [copacetic]
and now another empty glass tells me
that tomorrow is so close- while yesterday is so.fucking-far.. away

and there's no one here to push the hair out of my eyes
so I stare into a slightly distorted mirror- it's hard to recognize myself. sometimes
these eyes. slightly darker than before- so catatonic.
un-yeilding. are these thoughts.

like a broken trophy. won for something so meaningless/ so asinine
a mere- problematic sub.note in this futile struggle for remembrance
a schism of self. I fell apart.

.
staring at this enigmatic mirage of who. I used to be. who I am no longer-maybe
a post-apocalyptic persona. piecing together an impossible puzzle
one thousand pieces- and not one to fit the mold of the next

what ever happened to apathy...






because this.
this intolerance. this consistency of failure
this realization that nothing really matters. at all
yes. this.

this is [fucking] killing me.

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