an alternative to ennui
Tag Archives: anger
I realize I have no one. I lost my best friend when I ripped out his heart and fed it to the wolf. I keep thinking the wolf is domesticated and won’t hurt me. But the creature snarls every time I get too close. At 12:10AM I have no one but myself. And she’s poor company.
On December 30 you told me you were thinking about me. On January 24 you didn’t recognize my number. On February 10 you messaged me for the last time. It’s June and you don’t answer me. Ever. I wish you could see me. Maybe then you’d care. Sean, I think I’m going crazy.
I’ll never fight with you again. I’ll get a noose tattooed around my neck. The more we fight, the more knots it acquires. So that when it looks tight and thick, I’ll have chocked myself into being good.
Creatively jacking each other off,
I saw them demonize the intellectual –
the rational, the sane.
All that matters is Art,
and with that comes suffering
Only from darkness can creativity reign supreme.
The paintbrush caresses the canvas,
The pen strokes the paper,
all trying to get each other off.
These phallic instruments clutched tightly in clenched fists,
Vigorously pumping away
and what comes is —
What fucked up / sad / insecure place does this stem from?
To speak on things which you don’t understand.
Creative merit isn’t doled out by those with rough hands,
Nor by those with degrees,
it comes from people who want to do it.
Almost anything can be Art,
but it all boils down to intent –
why have you the right to express your contemptuousness
on what an individual finds valid and valuable
to tell a story about.
A brazen, blazing passion
igniting such codependency
that they burned all the same.
By stoking this love
it had become as volatile as an inferno
threatening too much, they ended it.
Naughty little rendezvous
in the embers of what was
but ultimately, it needed to be tamed.
Put out before it devoured too much
for it had
it consumed his heart.
Fiery tempers and hot words
a jealousy that bloomed
and turned to ash.
They built a pyre
to sacrifice such sweet nostalgia
leaving behind an echo of incandescence.
Now he’s drowning his sorrows at the bottom of a bottle
swimming through salt and gasoline
such fervent ill-thoughts.
He lights a cigarette
and watches the smoke twist and dance –
There’s no extinguishing this bond.
That’s what he titled his own shit.
Fuck this feeling –
this angry knot in my stomach making me sick.
Not able to eat or sleep.
She said I looked like a ghost.
A ghost of a person, not even a ghost of myself.
I hate this, but I love him…
he doesn’t believe me.
Or maybe he does and just doesn’t want to admit that he doesn’t feel the same way.
That maybe he’s a lying piece of manipulative shit who tells me he loves me and makes me feel ‘good’ but is actually selfish –
just fiends attention.
You can’t love love two things at once.
It’s fucking impossible.
And if you do, you’re lying to yourself
desperate to keep this warm feeling around because you’re scared of what lies outside.
Scared to be alone.
Scared to run to someone in the hopes of rekindling that feeling, knowing that you don’t feel the same.
Fuck love. Fuck life. Fuck fucking.
My body is nothing.
My mind doesn’t need this shit.
My body craves it because I’ve been feeding it for years.
But before then, when I knew (no) better, I didn’t need this.
I needed no one.
It was lonely and sad,
But it was deserved.
I deserve nothing.
THAT is the only lesson I will ever receive.
My purpose is to be for others.
No fucking way will they allow me to be for myself.
And I wanna say
But I’m scared.
I’m still so tied up in this mundane, human bullshit.
I feel too much to say so.
I want to reach that point where I no longer feel.
Or do I?
I continuously contradict myself because I know nothing.
He knows nothing.
We are nothing.
but mainly me