Sixteen Lines of Self-Pity

Empty feeling

People make time for what they care about most,
And no one is making time for me.
I shut off my phone out of spite
In the hopes that you will check in
And maybe worry when I don’t respond.
It would be my little revenge against you for this desolation—
This isolation—
You have subjected me to;
That’s the kind of asshole I am,
Because I no longer want to be nice.
That is the key, is it not, to feel no pain?
You don’t let yourself care, strip away the compassion;
It’s kind of like becoming a zombie,
Because you are no longer alive
But you also don’t have to worry about feeling anything,
And at just this moment, that sounds pretty good to me.


Groom of Eris

Death skeleton

“This isn’t real,” the voice says,
Whispering through the ether of darkness:
A black void that occupies my mind.
It is without form this voice speaks,
No consciousness but my own
To sustain its malevolence,
Subsisting entirely on my paranoia
Because I don’t know how to exist
Free of the anxiety born from my insecurity.
Would I slay this love before it even flourishes
Because of the ramblings of a nonexistent madman?
Reality has offered nothing but assurance
And a smile now etched into my memory,
But I would lay waste to it within the fabrication
Of the personal hell that resides inside my mental bastille,
And shout aspersions into the vacuum of space
To mollify the injustice of this war I wage
On the innocents I intend to sacrifice
To this god of death and despair
Who rules my perverse dominion with a pale hand.
While in rationality I accept
Every word I hear is insanity—
A plea from a deity losing his power—
I still listen when he says, “This will never last.”
And god help me, I’m beginning to believe it.



I was never yours,
And you were never mine.
Why, then, does it feel
Like I’ve lost something wonderful?
From every angle of this pentagram
We never intersected,
Never touched,
But I could swear to any god
I knew you, I felt you, I breathed you.
I carve scars into my flesh
And then cry tears into them,
Making little rivers to gaze upon
And capture my reflection,
Because I have none to cleanse myself in
To sweep me away in their currents,
Or erode the dirt from my skin;
But these rivers are filled with blood
And flood over from this deluge
I pour into them.
In the end, I am horrid and wounded,
Just the way, I think, you always saw me,
Never looking past the flesh
To see any strength within
Or any redemption behind my ghastly face.
So I make these rivers to overflow
Until, one day, they drown me,
And maybe erode the dirt at the surface
To bare what’s left of my soul beneath.


Mannequin hug

My fingers feel heavy,
So that even putting words to paper
Exerts every ounce of energy.
This is a complete 180
From where I was a week ago;
What I thought was my better half
Smirks with derision from the firmament
Saying, “I was never a part of you.”
It must have been delusion, then,
And now I have come face-to-face
With a reality soul-crushing and typical:
The exact story that my life has told
Every fucking chapter.
I’m tired, I’m beaten,
And totally disconnected from everything
And everyone I thought I’d never lose.
I may stand before them,
But they aren’t looking at me;
They’re looking at a shell,
The hollow, substance-less form I present
So that no vulnerability or weakness is seen;
But the cracks are there, and growing,
And I’m too weary to put the mask back on,
So the only recourse is exposure,
To show the world the chaos and hopelessness
Occupying this far-too-fragile mind.
And when I am deemed too far gone,
Too inconvenient to bother with,
Maybe then I can finally convince myself
To find the release I’ve sought my entire life.
What a glorious day that would be.


I'm fine

You are hopeless,
A tumor infecting my mind.
Where I once found you a light
Raining hope on this bleak desert,
I now see you are the opposite,
Only serving as stress
While you wallow and writhe,
Unwilling to stand on your feet
And take hold of the hands
That strain to raise you up.
As much as I’ve struggled
To be your pillar,
The weight of this onus
Has proven too mighty,
And innocuous consternation
Does not mend your wounds.
If this ungodly terror
Has taken such hold of you,
Then I must accept
You’re beyond my help.

I guess all I’m saying is
I lied when I promised you’d never be alone.

The Sole Expression for the Impression You’ve Left on Me

Color black white tree

Now I remember why I choose not to care:
Every time I do, I’m plagued with neurosis.
The flames of passion only enrage me
When they’re not fed with the affection I crave;
So many emotions left dormant for years
Burst to life, shattering my equilibrium,
And though the observer may call it beautiful,
It only serves as the instrument of my torment.
I am a child holding a weapon I know nothing of—
No concept of care or handling—
And in the end I only hurt myself trying to wield it.

I hate to lay the blame on you, my love,
Because the issues are my own,
But with your vibrancy
You have shown me a world of color,
And though it’s insipid,
I prefer my own world of black and white;
There my sanity is intact,
And I don’t obsess over my own demise,
Wondering why it hasn’t yet come
And how much longer I’ll have to endure.



If I had to describe the sensation
Of stepping into your iridescent presence,
Knowing I can only get so close—
Never close enough to bask in your light—
It would be the panic of suffocation,
The constriction in the chest
That paralyzes all rational thought
And ignites a frenzy of apprehension,
Except I can still breathe;
And no matter how long I struggle,
I cannot escape the pain,
The sensation of life fading,
The realization that death is creeping into my soul.
Everything turns grey;
Nothing amuses or mollifies.
All ambition that once burned
Has now been doused, smothered;
Sometimes it makes me scream out
Or pace back and forth
Within the confines of these sallow walls,
But most of the time I just sit and stare:
Vapid, nothing more than a shell,
As if I am dead already,
Because once you stepped into my world,
Vivacious and ethereal in every breath,
I realized in your absence, there is only death.

Death by Paper Airplane

Paper airplane words

I’m lying on the floor
Waiting for a goddamned text,
But the phone is silent—
The only sound the hum of the laptop
And my own stilted breathing.
I’m waiting for an indication
That I’m not alone in this struggle,
That there is someone out there
Who cares, who feels this pain
Simply because it’s infected my heart,
But the phone is silent.
I think of reaching out,
Being proactive for once,
But crippling trepidation stills my hand
And my mind collapses in on itself,
Pressured by the weight of insecurity
And one stupid word that derails my train of thought.
The cacophony in my head is stifling,
But the phone is silent.
I don’t even know which is worse anymore:
The loneliness or the total lack of productivity,
Because this imbalance is repressive,
Halting any motivation to stand up or even breathe;
And then the panic sets in:
Knowing I am wasting the hours by lying here,
Accomplishing nothing, becoming nothing,
And again I try to reach out
But I’m paralyzed by the fear of your disapproval.
The clock speeds by like a freight train,
But the phone is silent.

You’ve given up on me, haven’t you?

Cadaver’s Muse

Man at edge of world

This isn’t life;
This is death.
I am a corpse masquerading,
Feigning feelings I do not possess.
Inside, I am a wintry wasteland,
Perhaps at first attractive,
But caustic and moribund when the charm evaporates.

Another wave crashes,
Another force pins me down,
Holding me under,
Watching me struggle for air in a sea of despair.
I yearn for the surface—
To see the sky as it is—
Not refracted and darkened by this manufactured poison.

In the corner of the world’s consciousness I subsist,
Wondering in throes and lamentation
What life is like in the center.
Can it be these smiles are more than façades?
Is the trilling laughter sincere,
Or is the rest of the world a portrait,
As lifeless and desperate as I,
The shadow of existence?

Truly, this is the difference
Between mere existence
And actual living.
I fight—
To cross the threshold,
The gates of Hades,
And breathe once more.