i sleep on the couch because the bed is too big

it isn’t comfortable

it is just the only place i can find solace

i eat brown rice everyday because i don’t care

it isn’t good

it is just enough to make it through another day in hell

i don’t live

i survive

i don’t dream about anything but bloody handprints on the window

of flashing blades and arterial spray

the sunshine burns because it reminds me of joy

i song too loudly because they are poets and their words actually mean something

unlike the trash i vomit on the sidewalk of life

i think i died somewhere along the way but my body didn’t get the memo

everything is blanketed in gray

monchromatic misery

when the kids are here color shines for the few fleeting moments

muted shades of pearlescent light pierces the haze

gone before my eyes can adjust

i long for the touch of something that would be repelled by my presence

i get what i deserve by the bucket

i can’t even quit this

because without this release i would explode

aimless odes and antique notions of what i want, what i have and what the world should be

meaningless nonsense

a sludge filled bottle of time

the syptomatic dissolution of illusion

a rubber blade against the wrist

the ugliness within in step with the hideousness with out

another wasted wish upon a fallen star

the greatest trick one can play is that of hope