Ceiling

Ceiling

06/03/2020

The black ceiling calls,

The silence aborbs all.

The thoughts are just dying,

But that black ceiling is memorizing.

In it you see a future you desire,

Now all burned up in greed’s fire.

There’s even smiles of the past,

But now they aren’t around, they didn’t last.

The gray ceiling begins to bloom,

This bed begins to feel like a tomb.

“You’re alone,” your mind repeats,

It’s reconfirmed as your heart alone beats.

The gray isn’t the black,

But doesn’t mean it stops you from wanting to go back.

How do you step forwards from this place?

So much is lost. So much more to face.

But then the white ceiling arrives.

Night is over. You survived.

Being alone can be, being strong.

The past may be full of hurts and wrongs.

But the present, it is a gift.

Time to heal and the wrongs to lift.

No matter how long the black,

Or the gray that always comes back.

The white will always come with the sun.

A reminder the despair hasn’t won.

No Hero

When I was young, I would never have thought I’d be who I am today. In fact, my child self would probably tell me to be happy. Would probably go out of his way to try to make my day better. He did that for a lot of people. Sometimes selflessly other times hoping the girl would like him or the person would be his friend. He would have willing taking on the worlds suffering, because he cared.

But now there is me. That child has grown into a monster. Full of venom and rage. I always thought I’d be a hero, but I’m much closer to a villain, but society makes it so easy does it not? Everyone is so selfish and just pieces of shit. I look at people and they aren’t worth saving. They treat each other like crap and use whatever excuse is relevant at the time to do so.

I just lied. Stopped typing to lie to someone. Didn’t think twice. Just did it. Why? I wouldn’t have when I was younger or I would have felt a massive guilt about it. Now it is so easy and those pieces of shit I hate; I am one of them. As a kid I saw the villains and I believed they could be good. That good was greater than evil.

When we are born we are empty. Neither good nor evil. So why am I so filled with evil. I want to blame the world, but I’m not even part of this world any longer. None of it belongs to me. I belong to none of it. In fact it may be my enemy, whether I’m the hero or the villain is yet to be seen, but years ago a kid would have believed I could be the hero.

A Poem About a Monster

(Strong Language and graphic)

It’s a cold silence that fills this room.

One that seeps inside my soul

With a weight no mortal should assume,

But it effortlessly swallows me whole.

I sit in the darkness of my mind and cry.

For a life that is as true as a lie.

I’m not happy. I’m not okay,

But round and round this game I play.

Don’t give a fuck. Hold back a care.

Look at all the people who aren’t there.

But that is the lie. People are there.

I’m the one who doesn’t care.

A piece of living breathing shit.

That’s compiled of corn, meat, and spit.

When I walk around, I leave this stinking trail.

Sucking sounds as each foot lifts.

Always growing quieter, as I turn tail.

Hoping no one ever catches a whiff.

For I’m the bullshit monster.

Soggy with piss instead of covered with fur.

I haunt those close to me.

Fucking up their lives and who they want me to be.

I write stuff so people will see,

I’m self-loathing, please feel bad for me.

This fecal line I craftily spin,

Is just another way my victims let me in.

I’m the bullshit monster.

Be careful how close you wander.

This is Breaking Down

I want to write something to change my own life. Nothing I’ve written has been for anyone else. I want praise. I want meaning. I want someone to notice me. I want some one to say I’ve been there. To say they understand what it’s like to be like me. Its all about I, My, Mine, and Me. I’m a selfish asshole who wants people to care, but doesn’t have time to care about anyone else. I want to say here, “I wasn’t always this person”, but that is a lie. Was I ever nice for anyone but me? Was God ever real or just a vise? Did I care only when it mattered to me? Convenience. A show. A fake. Me.

I’m a pretender. A type of person I shit on without realizing that person is me. I can blame life, people, circumstance, or fate; but in the end I’m to blame. I don’t finish anything, I just exist. I hate existing. Life isn’t suppose to be hard. It’s not suppose to be complicated. Everyone else does it, but I fuck it up. My whole life I’ve been waiting for something big, but never doing anything big. I’ve lost touch with so many people, and I only see how it effects me. Because I’m a selfish piece of shit.

Megan, the first girl I obsessed over. Is it where I fucked up? Obsession not confidence? A shy introvert who thinks having morals actually matters. A fucking loser who couldn’t talk to girls. I fucking hate that guy. I hate him, but now I’m this man. Fucking broken. A wreck. Not some wreck you can’t turn away from, but one that has been there so long you don’t even notice it anymore. Just junk on the side of the road.

What do I need? Maybe a new question.

For all who read this. Never become me.