I fucking ran away,
and even though I found food here and some sort of shelter,
all I want’s something that might vaguely feel like terry cloth.
I’m constantly searching for something to warm me…
but empty speech keeps me and everyone else apart.
differences are ribs that cage my heart.
but I’m tired of hiding behind metaphors and vague statements.
I need to make clear that I’m feeling estrangement,
‘cause every talk just leaves me feeling alienation
and each action I take ends with hopeless frustration.
I might just give it up.
I haven’t been naked since I was a child.
I’ve been staring composedly out at green lights.
Sleeping restlessly as an uncomfortable chrysalis
and running futilely, gasping for lungs full of frigid mist.
I’ve had enough of this so-called “hope”.
I feel like it’s time to finally give up the ghost.
it’s awful, the struggle we wage for complacency
when these glimmers of light can only be illusory:
closeness just kills me, ‘cause it fucking fades away,
objects are useless, except for cluttering,
rivers of vodka won’t ease up my travesties,
forests of ganja won’t freeze up the gravity,
sounds will not soothe me, no matter the quality.
there’s nothing here.
it’s hope that keeps me suffering…
deludes me into taking breath,
but now it can’t deceive me.
I’ll never call this “happy”.