Short Poem of Difficult Emotions and a Continued Desire for Death

The past two weeks have been colored by an inescapable numbness and an immutable passion for fading into nothingness. No creativity has rummaged through the abused, decaying hallways of my mind. No sense of motivation has possessed me, no artistic calls to action. I have been existing in a twilight state of gnawing nothingness; incapable of actually living my life and forging some sort of purpose to make sense of this nightmare of existence, but still not motivated enough, or perhaps strong enough, to end my life. That's all to say, I haven't been able to write much for a while. I don't have the passion, I don't feel much of anything, and I don't have the will. But, despite it all, I did manage to sporadically write this short poem that is likely just as nonsensical, ridiculous, and useless as the rest. I forced myself to cut this one short, I have a few more lines and a few more ideas that are just barely grasping onto life in my pathetic skull - but I will use those for a future poem that will hopefully be finished soon. But I doubt it. 

Anyway, this short poem is a sort of continuation of a series of poems I wrote last year. Not that anyone would know that or pick up on that or even care. Everything I write has the same imagery, the same ideas, and the same difficult and troublesome and malignantly useless emotions portrayed. I don't know how or why I am still on this earth. 

Return to the Fall

You planted a swelling constellation

Into the opened, ragged contours of my neck.

Dug your bleached rodent skulls

Underneath our converging bruises,

A violent reckoning of confused ecstasy,

Following your convulsions with my discolored eyes,

My numbed head floods with dreams of dead insects,

Strange architecture,

And ancient autopsy chambers 

Calloused with sickening light, replacing every time-worn brick

With sacrificed star-crossed youth. 

I lose track of every one of my futile thoughts 

As I sink deeper into the reverberating trench 

That shares your name. 

Moth-covered curtains burn up,

Shotgun-blasted faces stained in their wings,

Calling out through mists of formaldehyde 

Piping through broken air conditioners

And haunted, plucking piano keys.

Moonlight crucifies us in our contorted heaving,

Flickers through falling trees

And slaughtering wind turbines

Erected from carrion masses of conjoined musculature

Pulsing and shining in corroding rain,

Illuminating all the searing holes and infected keloids 

Once stitched between us,

All sorely undone. 

Your spit deliquesces down my radiated palm,

I’m escaping once more 

Inside of you

As the dreaming mountains fold over

And swallow up the melting, carnal motel.

I’m dead in the fires of dawn,

Found rotting in morning dew

Shaking with infliction in puddles of drowned aphids

And screeching winds of dying fox breath.

Coagulating and emulsifying underneath

Someone else’s gravestone 

Names forged in hardened bodily fluids

Dripping in waxen inscriptions,

And regurgitated syrup.

-

I can still feel your breath,

Your caressing perfumed smoke, 

In every hungry little maggot

Marching towards my remains

Eating away at all the burnt-out stars 

You once kissed into my flesh. 

-