There are worse things than being alone.

Here I am again. Stuck and beside myself with the felling of "everything turning to shit, and it's all my fault." There haven't been many words lately, maybe that's it -- maybe this is what I need. It's a hard thing, losing yourself, and worse even is losing the parts of yourself that make you feel whole.

One word that keeps coming to mind, or what's left of it at this point is "fuck." Giving a fuck. Wanting to fuck. Fuck it all. There are stronger words, but I can't think of very many right now. The heart, the proverbial heart anyway, is a strange and gruesome thing at times. It possesses that terrifying ability that will more often than not, and other than anything else in this.. world break a man. 

I am broken. 

Of Words
What a cliché you’ve made of me
And the epitome of every one;
If to gain the last word was to eat my own;
I’d gladly starve

We had an idiosyncratic routine,
You and I --
You’d tell the lies, and I’d believe them
Sweetheart
It’s lost it’s charm

So here I am
The undesirable (sch)muck
At the bottom of that well you’ve proudly spry;
Or a boot heel from the bowery

You’ve left me
Fumbling, stutter stepped
With nothing
But the ecstasy, and redundancy
Of words

Audit.

It’s another night of useless dribble
In this dead end cow town
And it’s always four in the morning

There’s no such thing as empathy
For the boredom you endure
..and the people walk around here like they own the place
when it’s merely the room, and re-heated sausage they pay for

smoke your cigarettes in the corridor,
go on
I dare you
Your plastic wallet’s a click away
And my door is always open

You don’t scare me
You know.
With your threats of southern drawl
Your promises
Of ghastly letters; written in spite
Over a broken iron
Or a barking dog

I don’t really give a shit where your towels went
As far as I’m concerned you can drip dry
Because tonight I am one with the answers

I am the map
I am the door mat
I am the lifeline to things you think you need

So go on now
Get your 80 dollars worth of sleep in
There’s a cold morning in store
For you
A long drive of nasally complaints to endure

It’s never the bothersome that bother me
It’s the ones who have the answers
The one’s they think are theirs
…They’re mine;

Truth be told.

Because when you get back
Home
You’ll realize how good you’d had it
You’ll miss that phone that always answers
Your every beckon call

Night's mad song comes howling--
Piercing through the pains of sleep.
A tangled mess of yawps, and scowling,
As though t'was cast from pyre's heap.

The O'verture, this mass allusion;
Etched upon this wretch is still.
Fot it far exceeds this minds delusions --
Brought on not, by tastes of swill.

What deity casts such sounds as this? -
Such ghoulish mimicry, scarce is heard!.
A souls last breath, risen up with fists
--Breaking through the soil curd.

Seraphims laughther; wasted breaths
Encumbered by the dew, and rot
Marrowed bone, and sinew zest;
Meagre food for souls forgot.

You're bristles are running deeply.
Oh, and what a glamorous scheme of colors;
You've concocted this time --

The greenest hue of envy,
Yellowed teeth stained blood red from clenching.
Flushed cheeks of pink and crimson.

Even the coldest hearts can flare my dear;
And they tend to burn up;
Twice as quickly--

As those who still lay in ember.

As you lie before me now, like a shadow
On a pea green sea
Never thought that I could find you so hollow
Laying into me

But this cup of wine
All salt and brine makes me sleepy
A sorrow so
A field of tears that will never yield a single penny
But I don't know
I've got nothing to hold on to

Wished for gold so I could buy you a palace
By the riverside
You'd come in and I would fill your diamond chalice
You were still alive

But this cup of wine
All salt and brine makes me sleepy
A sorrow so
A field of tears that will never yield a single penny
But I don't know
I've got nothing to hold on to
I've got nothing to hold on to

Were you sleepless, tearing at the air?
Was the water everywhere?
Were you fretful, to wade into the room?
I'd been wanting to hear from you
Oh, no

Hand it over
Hand it over
You're weary, lay him down
You did your time so thank you very much
Hand it over
Hand it over
So now your hopes are all laid
But you hand it all away

Did his eyelids fix on empty chairs
You had traveled to lay beside?
A gentle torture to watch it all recede
And all the while your mother slept beside him
Oh, no

Hand it over
Hand it over
You're weary, lay him down
You did your time so thank you very much
Hand it over
Hand it over
So now your hopes are all laid
But you hand it all away

Were you sleepless, tearing at the air?
Was the water everywhere?
Were you fearful, and long to run away
From the cold clasp of Illinois?
Oh, no

Hand it over
Hand it over
You're weary, lay him down
You did your time so thank you very much
Hand it over
Hand it over
So now your hopes are all laid
But you hand it all away
But you hand it all away


Sleepless, The Decemberists

There is nothing left to be discreet about We've become shadows; casting shadows.
Saying it again will only ruin everything.