This is Hell

-

 I am a very anxious person

the outside world seems so frightening and unkind

expressions on the faces of others seem so foreign

so 

cold


I am so disconnected

from the life I'd lived for so long

it seems distant

a faint whisper twisting through flesh

this useless fucking mind of mine


what is the fucking point of anything anymore


everyday melts into the next

smearing lines between the marijuana 

and the reality

I have so gracefully lost grip 

on what feelings are

I am so numb

sedated

and absent

my soft folds in my mind

folded and tucked just so

that each train of thought

just 

disappears 


it all just stops

I constantly 

foolishly 

reach for hands out of reach

my family has fallen apart


I never see the sun


bask in gentle sunrise 

so soft

warm

its cold in the world these days 

every ending of nerves dissolve

I am so defeated


Done


the music is but a cheap imitation

flipping through the albums of my mind

looking for the track

that connects the dots

and keeps me blissfully unaware

that the world is silent


all I see are dark floors

flashing lights

booze

and women

it slips into my throat

tightening the knot right in the center

gagging me with a rope

of my own perfect design

every drop seeping its way deeper


I chase everything I can

for that spark

that cannot even singe the ends of my hair

these days there isn't much


how is it possible

to live in hell

and be so numbly content 



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