Word Play Minus the Play

I have such a ridiculous amount of rage right now. Sometimes I have no clue what is going on up there. Why do such subtle and small things cause me to simply almost explode with rage and violence?

I hate being here, living here. There are no words in the English language that can just convey the amount of disgust I have for my egotistical and narcissistical bastard self right now.

I want to rage and rant about being told to do things, being treated like a child...how infuriating it is to not have my pain taken seriously.

It feels like a bad joke being taken too seriously.

A little compassion or empathy to ask?

Not just for myself but for people who actually need it.



There are just parts of my mind and soul that are beyond definition, beyond phrases, beyond comprehension. Beyond the loose definitions of anything around here, beyond the misconceptions and derisive laughter.

I'm just sick of it all and want it to be ripped away. I want the curtains separating the physical with the metaphysical ripped down and torn into shreds. I want to see the existential dread and look it in whatever passes for eyes. I want to take the fear in my hands and unleash visceral hatred and feel the pain of busted knuckles and broken bones and taste the dying blood of something that has been a part of me before I even knew of me.

It's exhausting running in pointless circles, being tripped up on useless medication that does nothing but make me question the point of my next breath. I don't hate the beast I am underneath my wool, I love it too much and do not know how to let go and be responsible with reality.

I'm sick of having to develop excuses for every breath I take, to feel I have to justify every last bite of food I take. I'm fucking tired of having to look in the mirror at you and give excuses for why I'm still sitting in this rotting house with the vain hope that it is going to collapse in on me and snuff out this inexcusable life of mine.

I love to talk about love but am loath to give it.
I am all about embracing this hate, this anger, this lust of desire and letting it run its course until I'm embittered and angry about being angry.

I can keep running these circles or violently end it while I can still choose to choose because choice is the only choice for this imprisoned.

But this, this lethargy, this cancer eating my soul...I'm sick, sick of it.

I'm so tired of pain and nausea and hurting with no purpose or reason other than I simply am.

That is not enough and never will be.

So As

My mind is much too fried for poetic expression.
I'm so tired, oh so worn down.
When was the last time I could breath?
I'm not even sure about direction
or where it was I was heading.

The only thing to cause this much pain
can be love.
The only thing to bring as much pain
is the memories of hope.

I can't imagine time with you
any more than I can imagine me.
Or reimagine things
as they could
and should be.

Imaginative really.
Trying to make thoughts rhyme,
making them fall in line.
Peace, hope and love
just fair thoughts really
victims of apathy.