brokenness

Poem

The life I want. The life I…No, I don’t want life. I wish I did, but what awaits me in the end? And why do I feel rotten, like a corpse decaying slowly?

I’m the blackest sheep, the blot of ink upon your precious planet.

Panic. Panic. And more panic. I’m a vagabond. A phantom. Fattened up by creature comforts. Eating up all my anxieties.

A psychopath, a narcissist… believe me, I’m not lying. I have dreams of grandiosity, and fantasies of violence.

I despise it. I DESPISE IT. I’m tormented by the thoughts — I slither through the streets like scum, a snake with venom, poisonous.

The one who rots within my head, I’m sorry that I killed him. He was just a kid. The innocent. My innocence. Now all is lost.

A baby cries, yet I remain aloof to her distress. I should be locked inside a prison. Throw the key inside a cauldron. Then come douse my bed in gasoline and offer me a cigarette.

And let me breathe the smoke in deeply whilst my flesh is burning, maybe that’s my only penance. Maybe pain will save my soul, or maybe hell is my inheritance.

Just save my wife and children. May they never hear my voice. And let my name by wiped away. My memory washed from their minds. Cast my face into an endless sea, made obsolete within. And may this world be free of men like me from now unto forever.

Thank you for reading.