Man In The Radiator

I don't particularly want to talk about this one. Or say what it could possibly be about, I think that should likely be very obvious. Writing this one took a tremendous amount out of me, and was originally poised to be something that would act as a sort of catharsis. A method to get me to further understand and categorize a perpetual issue (or issues) of mine. But I've failed at that. It's all just a dirge of endlessly nauseating misery and nothing more. Life limps along, tomorrow I will likely wake up, everything will be the same.    I Can’t Let Them Go From the ashes of your corrupted womb I lost my voice And emerged ill-formed, desolate  Unformed in your image  With recurring nightmares  As the rattling screws Barely holding together  My marionette existence. Wake up shivering In the heavy echoes of All invisible fists pummeling their heads in, My frail body cowering  At the monstrosity I unleashed And the hideous destructor, Troubled little fated m...

 I'm extremely tired and fading out of my meager existence. Nothing works at all. Here is a strange, nonsensical, and extremely poorly written poem that was born from a dream, from a fevered vision in the disgusting, damaging daylight. Speeding down the highway, I only ever hope for a violent crash to mangle my body beyond recognition. Perhaps I wish to pour all of this self-hatred and perpetual discomfort in the inescapable reality of existing as myself into an empty, unsuspected vessel. Maybe that's partly what this poem is about. Maybe it's partly about trying my best to maintain my weakening grasp on the few things and people in my life I have truly loved, even if it only causes more mutual pain and mental decay. I don't know. I wouldn't read this one if I were you.  Get Rid of the Body I woke up outside myself Twisted inside a skinned pocket of earth Vomit glued to my arms  Flecks of pestilence trapped inside Streaked with rainbow trackmarks Untanned scars  And...

 This is a sort of different one from the rest. What started out as a simple journal entry that poured out of me in the middle of the night during a moment of nightmare-inducing panic was slightly reworked, restructured, edited, and ever so slightly expanded upon to try to make this poem. Mostly because this is what I am fixated on, and also because I haven't written a poem in a bit and my notes and half-starts at new poems have become completely overwhelming and out of control. So I thought I'd ease myself back into it with a simple poem. A simple poem of the same regurgitated personal confessions of pathetic emotions as a strange ritual of self-harm. Needless to say, I really do not like this poem. Potentially more so than the rest, but here it is anyway because whatever...who cares. No one is here, no one cares, it's all collapsing rapidly now and the end is surely in sight.  art by Ken Currie Faded Out  Another failed attempt Trapped under ropes and sawblades Lithium ...