Melancholic Piece of Shit Poem

 

The Burning Mausoleum (the end of a cycle) - written March 5th - March 7th, 2023 -

Torn-up circus tents,
Bereft of any color,
In piles of pale flames,
Burning up what little is left of our surrounding forest.
Spiraling, dazzling structures crash down in slow motion,
And all the once fabulous freaks 
Clog up the sewer drains  
With their emaciated, bleached corpses.

Dried-out leaves are left stained with my blood.
The whole graveyard we built together 
Tilts and careens further into hellish caverns of reeking mud. 
The sky forever fragmented, the night buzzing with 
Hovering sheets of shimmering gray flies
That descend upon my body 
As eyeless vagabonds knot their rot 
Through what remains of my bones.

I’m unable to believe in anything,
As my body sinks deeper into the puddle of grease paint
From the crucified performers left dissolving in the trees.
Everything around me is being taken away 
Shifted suddenly back, beyond my control,
Into nightmare variations of terrible past familiarities.
Everything you’ve created with me now fading pillars of dust,
But you’re nowhere to be found. 
-
I can’t let go of the silence
The ear-rending silent chasm 
Of hollow unknowing,
And of losing all aspects of our pieced-together sky. 
This pain makes me less than nothing,
All parts of me feel transfixed in death
And doomed numbness.
I want to destroy what we left of this world -
The only paradise I’ve found,
Denied me. 
Our mausoleum burns. 

All around me is noxious breath
And keloids reversing in time,
Snaking up and diverging, 
My arms split back open.
Where do I go now?
The circus destroyed, 
The painted children scattered 
To be picked apart by anemic, crying wolves.
I can’t hold on to any of this.
A spectral wind makes your image haunt the falling clouds,
But all things are still forgotten, 
You’ve pushed it all into the eroding mire.
I can’t crawl my way out, I beg for the rocks 
To all sail down onto my head. 
All the time I took 
To die several times over for you,
But you never tried to prevent my collapse. 

Spending years looking forward to the conjoining of our skies
And longing for what would become of it all,
Now the skies are shattered and crashing to the ground
Weighing heavily with the ghosts of your eyes
Slaughtering my survival 
And binding my disintegrating laughter 
To an unobtainable past. 

All crumbs of what used to be
Disperse into the once-dancing shadows
That we used to stroll through,
But are now violently eating into each other
With violent tenebrosity.
And yet I escape into the excruciating reminders,
So as to hook onto what remains of the shadows
And rend my flesh apart -
I’ll prove to the world that I wasn’t supposed to exist. 

But it’s not your fault. I don’t know. 
Maybe I should have swallowed more sleeping pills 
The months before I met you. 

I never wished to invite you 
Into this long-standing conspiracy against myself.
All of this is too incomprehensible
And I never wanted to leave. 
Now all metaphors fall away,
And the words flower into meaninglessness
And futility. There’s nothing to explain,
But I wish I could only know for sure
Why you stopped caring so completely for me.
We devoured each other,
And you spat me back out with venom and
Hatred. 

But I don’t blame you - everything is motionless
The world, a disgusting barren lesion,
Unable to foster and nurture anything everlasting. 
I can’t think of anything worth anything at all
Without you here
Or me there. 

Struggling to crawl out of the ruins of the woods, 
Escaping my body destined for an untimely death, 
I find myself on the embankment
Of something I don’t feel I can face,
And hurl open the worm-eaten crypt I built for you
All that time ago. 

Once inside, I hack away at myself
Again. 
These old scars mean nothing to me anymore,
My survival is NULL. 
Drowning in the blackened pool of my own blood, 
I’m bathed in your putrid moonlight.
Around me, all structures and carvings in our crumbling mausoleum
Screams with your name,
And of trapped memories, forever piercing through me,
Eternally bonding me to this place
Of inaction, immobility, and reminders of loss.
The great deceit.
There’s nothing left of me, and nowhere for me to go. 
I pray for death to no one that will listen,
I can’t move on. 

I’ve become something worth your hate.
Willingly suffocating under the brittle ash,
What little I hold on to 
Of our burning mausoleum. 
-