Something’s amiss, but I can’t find what’s missing.
Trust me, I’m trying and nothing is clicking.
Waking, an overpriced meal that’s disgusting.
Getting dressed feels like pulling a sleeve that’s resisting.
Inhalations fill me anew, unintended.
The face I reflect triggers hate, how I dread it.
Every breath I exhale is one wasted.
I’m encased in a tomb of self-hate, can’t escape this general malaise.
It’s dark like the spark of a sun that’s imploding,
warping and twisting the light it’s absorbing,
guts wrenching in violence, empty of substance,
expelling its mess across distance.
The world’s been exposed like the horse of the trojans,
once a towering gift, now I question my hold on
the truth of what’s really out there I’m perceiving,
or the value of me pretending believing.
Can’t open my mouth without straining to fight it,
the thoughts in my head, well, I’d rather just hide them,
or forget it, I’m really not sure in the first place
if I’ve even got a damn horse in the horse race.
So I sit and I swallow these thoughts that don’t matter.
Like still sitting waters, the flies breed and scatter and brood like a brood of insidious chatter,
spreading illness ‘cross networks of reticular matter.
And lastly, my drive to help others has wilted –
a tower of cards toppled after I built it –
Doesn’t take long, you start giving up caring.
Some call it fatigue, but it might be truth glaring back at you:
the abyss at the end of existence.
Give, rinse repeat, against all this resistance,
while the candle is fading away, heat expended,
The dark is all that remains when it’s ended.