A Broken Vase

Me talking to the therapist voice in my head

"okay, so what do you say when someone says they're not worth anything"

"Who the hell says they're worthless I'll fight them" "Alright, now what should you think when you're the one that feels like you're worthless" "Well I'd be right, I am worthless" "no-"

Loneliness

A tree falls

Nobody around to hear

It makes a sound.

But it doesn’t matter.

I tell a joke

Not particularly good

People around

Nobody listening.

I laugh with myself.

I laugh at myself.

What a funny joke!

Both are funny jokes!

Is this how

God feels, in his kingdom

Of everything

High up above, alone

Decisions

So many decisions all the time.

Like a hydra, each head popping out two more

and each of those heads doubling up again

like it wasn't decision-anxiety-inducing enough at the start.

And that's all very well and good if you didn't force me to interact

but nooooooooo I have to actually choose the singular right one

or at least one of the few close enough to the right one

which, of course, is none, since the only "close enough" is on the dot.

You know what? Take it away from me.

You're the smartass here. You know which one is correct.

Why don't you do it? Take my autonomy away from me, pilot my life?

Anyways you clearly know how your hydra works. Won't that help mine?

But no, you have to hide the whole concept of the hydra away from me

Making it my fault whenever you hit the wrong head like a fucking idiot

So that when I am first introduced to it I am met with a thousand heads

and little clueless me is told "yeah that's your fucking problem I quit."

And with each wrong, clueless swing I make

the number of heads only ticks higher

A Tree Falls

A tree falls in the forest.

Nobody is nearby. Nobody to hear.

Does it even make a sound?

A tree falls in the forest.

It will impact the ecosystem

even more than it impacts the ground.

A lighthouse stops its beacon.

A ship nearby is lost and weary.

It cannot see. It runs aground.

A man dies alone in his hut.

He was kind, he was friendly, he was good.

At his funeral, no friends of his could be found.

But one kind lady far away might remember.

He had helped her find her way, a long time ago.

And so his memory, perhaps, will be skyward bound

as the man who loved everybody but himself.

Forever That Child At Age Five

Do you ever wonder if people can really change beyond their formative years?

"Sure they can. Maybe not the whole, but a solid chunk? Yeah."

Well, I suppose that's true to some extent.

A man can live the first 20 years of his life in a constant state of movement.

Studying, working, doing chores, being what he needs to be in order to survive a harsh environment.

Then he can live the next 20 years in a carefree state of relaxation,

and live the last 50 as the hardworking man once more to provide for his family.

Or at least, that's the story of my father.

But I fear I am still going to be that same child I was, back when I was five, ten, fifteen.

I fear I am forever going to be under the shadow of that man,

that man who had two children without even realizing how fucked up his own childhood was.

I fear I will never become anything more, at my core, than that five year old child.

Sure, I suppose I'll change, superficially; maybe I'll know a bit more, fit into society a bit more, and so on.

But at heart I will still be that same, sad, scared little child,

a child who would do anything for a bit of affirmation and approval.

I fear that when I am thirty, or fifty, or eighty, or a hundred-twenty, or however the fuck long I live,

that I will still be no different from the child I was when I was five.

I fear that I am always going to be the same little boy who begs for just the slightest bit of love.

I fear that I am forever that child at age five.

Depression is a Drug

Depression is a drug

and I think I have become addicted

To that sense of despair.

It tells me, softly:

"it's okay. Nothing matters anymore."

"You can be as lazy as you want."

But what's more is that

I have built up a tolerance

and it no longer excites me.

I am no longer enthralled

By the infinite sadness.

I am only bored by it.

I want for more.

I hope for the moments that crush my soul.

The moments where the guilt and anger and sadness come in waves.

I look for the moments where my soul goes dark and my heart empties out.

But I am stuck in the quagmire of boring, base sadness.

and I am still controlled by it.

Cycle of Pain

Let me be alone.

Let me be in suffering.

I have earned nothing less.

I have failed you.

I have failed them.

Throw me to the dogs.

Throw me on the fire.

Throw me like paper scraps.

Let me achieve penance.

God Will Weep

God will weep

for the souls of the damned

and the sins of the holy

when I shove my fist through his chest

God will weep

for the poor and suffering

and the mistakes of the greats

when I kick his corpse off the cliff

God will weep

for the sins he has committed

and the suffering of the good

when I shove my foot through his skull

God will weep

for the wrongs he has done to me

and the defects he made me with

when I throw his ashes into the wastewater collection plant

God will weep

because when I find his house

and break in the door

he fucking better cry.

"In case anyone missed it, the tuberculosis outbreak in Kansas has now spread to Ohio.

[The Republican Administration] has ordered the CDC to not report on this"

There Once Was A Child

There once was a boy who hated himself

for he was afraid of punishment, afraid of failure

so he looked to the world for happiness and joy

and only found short-lived self-deprecating jokes

There once was a boy who thought he was happy

but every day when he came home

tired of his happy clownish facade

he sat down in his chair and thought

as both the jester and the king

in his own court of delusion

There once was a man who knew what went wrong

who hated those who made him go oh so wrong

but inside, deep down, the same man that knew

also knew it was unfair to hate those who wronged him

so the boy kept it inside, the smoldering rage

for he was not a man yet, not in body nor in mind

There once was a boy who convinced himself

that he was happy enough to live in the moment

nevermind the man in his head who told him

about all the things he did wrong, or the wrongs done to him

he was content to live in the moment with the joy of friendship

until that friendship was shattered in every single way

There was once a boy who loved those who wronged him

for he was full of that childish love to give to those undeserving

until the young man burst out with the greatest anger

to speak his mind and wield his fist in the most primal way

for those who had wronged him had aged too much to wrong again

and it was now his turn to wrong them, and assert his own power

but those who had wronged him had aged too much to wrong again

and so the child stopped him, for the child was naive,

and the child still loved all.

There is now only a child who wallows in anger and doubt

about who he is, why he is, and what he should do

who had all the love to give others but found none at all from them

and can no longer love for the sake of love

but only for the hope that someone will love him back

There is now only a man who is thoroughly dissappointed

at the weakness of the child and the perpetuation of failure

who explained how to win as the child chose to lose

for he was only a child who had never felt love

and naively gave away his soul along with his love

and these two continue to bicker and fight

about who was right and who was wrong

and as always only time will tell

only after it is already too late