I’m tired of death

Like 16:30 in a crack house

Yellow, fading light of dusk coming

Cigarette burnt lace curtains
I’m tired of life

Lungs filled with ash and dust

Reflected life in broken windows

Diseased, unable to move 
I’m tired of staring at the ceiling

Waiting for the same damaged dawn

Pieces of dreams litter the floor

Staining the carpets with memory
I’m drowning, I don’t care

I’m at the inevitable collapse

Diluted, a dirty blocked drain

I woke here in the dirt

here in the dirt I remain


I imagine that emotional death, is similar to a terminal disease. 

At first there is denial, the grey food that doesn’t taste like anything is sickening, and you cannot believe this has happened to you.

Then there is the bargaining and trying to fix, where everyone has a remedy or an idea “try online dating, oh I know so and so is perfect for you”, until you feeL so drugged and worn out, tried every possible thing, and 117 dates later you have met so many wonderful people and not one, makes you feel like you once did.

Then comes the acceptance, it’s not anyone’s fault, but if it is it’s probably yours. The grey food is still grey, and it’s ok. The days all roll into one another, next paycheck, another episode of game of thrones…

Yet somehow, you still long for that one thing each human wants and money can’t buy, but you’re so broken…3 women smile at you in one morning and you just look the other way…

Why bother? It ends the same, and we die as we were born, alone.

Yet I wait, and hope, and pray.