Folded into crazy homes
Frozen behind windows
Staring out, eerie eyes
Hazy behind rasping gusts of breath
Before curtains close
To hide this poverty
Once swept aside
Anguish always follows.
I know this. But I’m an angry bastard anyway!
And shall I act the gentleman when intoxicated by anger?
Simply twirl my moustache and walk away?
For what fairness is this, If I am the victim
Of an abusive charade?
What if another, an outsider lets say
Walks in and witnesses my anger on a particularly bad day
Would they not side with him, my nemesis?
For they would not have the eye that beholds
The images of all our yesterdays
And his bitterness and abusive ways
How does one act with stoicism
When anger curdles the blood within one’s veins
When there is injustice being etched
Upon the lines of my face
Perhaps one day becoming my age
And for moments in glimmers of time
I see to it that he remains only human in my mind
But then a sadness my own and his, I should well imagine
Leaks from my eyes
And empathy kicks in
Only to find it makes me angrier
The next time he crosses the line
For I burdened myself with sadness for him
When I have my own dark abyss
Fearing I haven’t experienced the scars
That are his
And thus undeserving of this sadness
For surely I haven’t been through enough
For such madness
And that makes me a terrible man
To think I’ve suffered enough to be sad!
Yet here it is, it beckons in my heart
An emptiness that is full
That could tear even oceans apart
A depression so deep
I never really know where to start.
Tethered to this space
The dripping of a tap
Like a clock
But not fixed to chime
On the hour
Of every wasted moment
Just a drip of
In baubles of water
Till it crashes down
Reminding us of being mortal
There is no target
We sold our souls for individuality
Only to become faceless
And everyone is drawing their guns
Angling for all that is wrong
thinking they’re right
While they flap their gums
Talking utter shite
About things they know none
And the world carries on
Indifferent to this war
Waged with words instead of swords
You might think that’s an improvement
But the wounds aren’t healing this time around
And a hangman’s noose is what brings these soldiers six feet underground
And these words right here are a symptom
Are you the underdog or the villain?
And if you don’t see what’s wrong with that question
You don’t understand what I’m saying
But this poem is part of the equation
So I’m just as guilty as you
I guess we’re all human
I guess I don’t have a solution
I’m just biding my time
A part of this noise pollution
I’m terrified I’ll want to die
When the news travels down
I’ve been to that place
I’ve had my neck in the rope
I’m scared I’ll still fight
Against my own conscious will
When it comes to the kill.
I’m tired of life again. Or I’m tired of me. I feel a darkness surround me. Enveloping me. I don’t actively want to die, I just have a sense of hoping I might. It’s not the world is bad and people are bad or other such nonsense. It’s that I’m painfully indifferent to life. I don’t care if the sun is shining, or if something is just ‘wonderful’ I don’t care if it’s shit, or who is evil or who is not evil. I just don’t care because life is just a bleak blanket of useless nothing.