A Poem About Decompositon, Experience, Chance Encounters, and Further Self-Hatred

 These were two separate poems I hastily wrote down with no real idea of what to make of them or how to continue them or how to make them any good at all. I expanded on each a bit and combined them, which probably doesn't work - I'm still not sure what I am going for here, but that doesn't matter. Nothing adds up, my brain is surely disintegrating from prescribed chemical interference and my writing has suffered because of it. What I can manage to write palls in comparison to what I used to be able to write, but then again, what I used to be able to write sucks too. Living each day indefinitely until I'm fully decrepit and old doesn't seem worth it. I don't know what I'm living for. Creating means nothing, people around me mean nothing, I can't sleep, my dreams are hellish reminders of everything I'm struggling with, and I go on here to complain to no one at all. Sometimes I look at pictures of napalm victims and simultaneously realize that I have nothing to complain about and also envy them. My purpose would be realized in total disfigurement, disease, and death. I have to hold out for something, right? It's very late, nothing I am typing here is anything I should probably ever reveal, but I don't care. Here's the poem. 

"If you and I were one
Within the eyes of our designs
It would still not change
The fact of our leaving."
- Brendan Perry

A Chance Encounter With a Fellow Undead

My right arm is disintegrating to the bone

Tied up in a coiled razor wire

Left high on a fence in a lonely field 

Stretching out

Into the great devouring horizon.

All my surroundings are scabbed over

With a bioluminescent rust

Breathing into night’s many tendrils 

Every muscle grows unbearably taut

I feel myself resigning

Declining into my destruction 

There’s no control 

My crackling fingertips cling to the fading light

Headwound gash obscures my vision

Does time mean nothing? 

My left arm is fully devoured.

Gnats bigger than my bisected joints

Swarm around my leaking, exposed veins 

The sun slit its wrists a long time ago

What was left of the stars seeped out

And tore a multitude of flesh-burning holes

In my tilted, evaporating head

I bleed nothing but cold air

And memory dust. 

Memories are all I had left,

Burning screeching holes

In the back of my dispossessed skull,

No other means to populate

Distorted and graying days.

Dancing marionettes, wearing a mockery of your face

Slash away at my eyelids,

Piercing at my strung-up carrion.

I wish I could at least be witness to my own end,

But I’m disabled and blinded by 

Nonstop paralyzing visions of everything I loved

Becoming consumed, crippled, 

And feverishly dropping dead.

-

Something shudders out

Of pummeling shadows 

And flashing hospital sheets.

Stand in line and watch,

Something wrapped up in inky gauze,

A chemical head,

Spiraling bouts of venom 

And carnival barker shouts of sharpened hate,

Foaming fluids pulsating off of gray flesh

What’s in front of us all commands,

Shaping static and violent electricity

It’ll consume us all 

So it goes. 

I stop,
I see you somewhere

Among the dancing voids.

You’re ripping the skin off your fingers

Picking into wounds to the frantic beat of the drums,

Same dirty nervous habit as me.

A palpably understandable unease bounces off

I want to sink into the gnarled, resonating voice 

And rip my flesh away

When I realize I don’t know what to say. 

Chaos is imprisoning us,

A stinging urge to reach out,

But my tongue is dead flesh trapped in cement,

And I know I don’t belong anywhere,

Except for ensnared in razor wire, 

Left high on a fence,

On a hill of anemically held hopes,

Festering in the swarm,

Filling my lungs with the smoke of my own sorrows,

Till I make my useless self drown.

Why should you be the one to help?

Something is calling,

Permeating the room, flooding us with noise.

Hissing and snarling

I can’t find you 

The screaming alien skull explodes
A gathering storm cloud of blood

That I want to be lost in and allow to 

Bring on a premature end to this unrelenting existence. 

Stampedes march toward my head,

What am I going to do when this is over?

Too late for the habitual recluse,

Someone, please turn that taser around on me.

An ocean of applause,

A possession silently takes hold

The freakshow buzzing in every corner of my head, 

I watch 

As Smothered Hope makes you melt.

-

We expunge each other

Of all our weighted-down disturbances,

And keep the rain from dissolving us 

Into the endless slipstream of midnight city grime.

Moonlight on the suicide steps,

You understand. 

I should have never gone home. 

The canvas of your eyes,

As you follow my wild gesticulations,

Lies a brief respite, 

In there, I want to remain.

Now is the only thing that’s real.

A foreboding embankment of steam

Rolls off sickly green lights

Swirling the perpetually starless industrial sky.

There doesn’t seem to be anyone around,

Either way, I don’t care.

Nothing - not the frolicking filth, 

The noxious night dwellers,

The thrashing rain caving in my head,

The speeding cars beckoning me to collide -

Nothing exists at all outside of you. 

I lay awake at night wishing to recreate it all.

My mind, an unraveling, uselessly thumping muscle,

My limbs strung out and incessantly buzzing,

My stomach, aching like a whipping torrent of acidic barbed wire.

Sleep exists only as infinitesimal explosions of panic,

Littered with all the aching imagery

Of derision, coalescing nightmares, and fervent worries,

All the agents of my demise. 

I’m shaken awake before sleep truly overwhelms,

My entire body,

Still a twisted lump of discomfort

And randomized sharp twinges of pain,

Purely as reminders of broken humanity.

I repeat - I should have never gone home. 

Never back to dissolving useless chemicals

To patch up my obliterating, boiling brain. 

Lost in the downpour,

Fading away under ugly shadows 

Of endless skyscrapers and airborne trash,

But alone with you.

For the briefest moment,

I could have fooled myself into believing 

I was where I belonged - 

I dream of watching Smothered Hope making you melt. 

Waking up with pharmaceutical nausea creeping up my throat,

An ice pick placed firmly under my liquefying eye,

My sheets stained with decomposition,

My rot left on the fence to fester into eternity,

I ask the fatal question,

Where are you now? 

-