Thursday, April 10, 2008

The Defeatist

these thoughts are suicide
can't rise
over them
know what they are
can't stop them
in stupor sitting
out mouth comes nothing
I'm what's lef tbehind
by vacant mind
when all else is more interesting
and somehow I feel a gslight
thinking these thoughts
I think:
why write?
decidedly I leave, being beaten
a defeat unneeded to feel,
but felt all the same

despite my fight
so cementing
my isolation of perception
alone in my silent mind,
though it bustles
with other people's voices
so disturbed
struggle doesn't end
on leaving the source;
unable to recover
from the shock
I feel another depression
seems like alcoholism waiting to happen.
assuming a cause, I blame
a drink, blame my job
tho a job's overthinking
would drive me to drink

it's a natural cycle of misery,
one not so easily escaped
all attempts of my own aborted
your companionship offends me
though I loathe it, spurn it,
seeing people having people
when none attend me,
emptily Jealous--
even so, I question my own motives
see pathetic self
for what I am
womanizing--or maybe just lonely
women: respect for, yes
but disinterest
when unattracted, ineligible;

none can save me but me,
but myself I can't see
within or without
In emptiness I sit, stare,
I go nowhere
abandoned as I am to the
limbo of choicelessness,
purgatory of indecision,
and utter unskillfulness
I think nothing can bring
me out of it
but in truth I ask:
what could bring me out?

nothing's in my way
but for everything

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