Me, againA Poem by IsolophobeIt's depression's best friend, here to give you that empty feeling once again back in prose poem form.Adults don't apologize, real men are sexualized. I fit into neither category, so I'm here for you to ostracize. Please be sure to point out even the least subtle insecurities. No use in making me think I'm normal in any sense. Due mention the sleeping bags under my eyes that prove I've not slumbered with anyone but myself. Please note my virginity as the result of shyness and exagerrating the qualities of a woman to the point that they all run away. Please criticize me for actually chasing a few. Don't fret mocking my underdeveloped voice. Perhaps my balls haven't dropped and thats the real reason I haven't had sex...or maybe thats just another one. Also, don't forget to say I overcompensate for my distress by purshasing enough music to provide relief for famine. Ignorance is bliss, I hope I depress the f**k out of you. If I had a penny for every tear I've cried, I'd drop out of college, quit my job, move out of my house, make love to as many emos as I possibly could. And finally support myself as an adult as the world's first professional sobber. There aren't enough demeaning words in the english language, perhaps no other language either, to successfully describe how I feel about myself.I could call myself a mistake, but then again, what would have made me otherwise? Being aborted? No matter how many hours in a day I sleep, though I surely have pushed my limit persistently, I can never really stop wishing my life would be better...or different for that matter. My bed is beginning to be a dungeon. Harvesting the worst of depression and solemnity. I wake up in the same sheets and covers that I've cried in so its only right I feel drenched in memories and horrors I can't repress. These are all complaints, really. I'm just a bag of bones and impulses that aren't even mines. They're like fragments of highways that used to lead to perdition or peace, even, but now only curve and curve and curve into the same cycle of insatiable desires that I can't escape from. I have no real reason to say anything to anyone any more, except in hopes of attaining pity. I've no choice but to interact from time to time in hopes of being granted some sort of help...help that I've yet to receive. Yet I persist. Yet I continue to assist. Yet I am still so helpful and hopeful of some provision to be handed to me. I don't want a handout because I don't even know what the f**k that is. What will an opportunity someone directly hands me give me that I couldn't have had already if only I had tried from time to time. Nothing. I can attain nothing from no one, so her I stand, there I'll lay. I won't be happy for at least the nexst 5 years of my life. I hope by then I'm still alive...what am I saying...I don't hope I'm alive then. © 2008 Isolophobe |
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Added on December 19, 2008 AuthorIsolophobeLos Angeles, CAAboutI am an engine. Do add me on facebook, if you're bored or uh want to. more..Writing
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