The Living Embodiment Of Death

There’s a small chamber

Barred by iron

Locked by darkness

Total, isolating

Inside, a frail man

Rotting away, fetid

One death should have taken

He waits for the crack of light 

Bright 

Shaking

The light is good

(or is it)

With it comes rot 

Teeming with maggots

The slot is opened

Out comes the slop

He devours, defiles

Smile dripping with blood

He’s not dead yet

And so said they

I saw the wolves

They were wearing ties 

And garter leggings

The smiles were mostly sly

Upturned at the corner

Mismatched tongues

They knew

About a dozen bodies

Three bags of lye

Should leave four

Hey man I tried 

I guess this is grounding. I mean, nothing’s broken. Just like, disappointing. Get those hopes up, do it. See what happens. It’s always the same. The same retreat into the coveted place. Full of broken mirrors and CRT televisions. There was that one episode? What does he say? Maybe don’t try so hard. Who even knows what that means. But clearly I am. Every time. I think the more I do this, the more it contributes to the shell I’ve somehow crafted. I don’t think I really wanted it, just that it’s more or less been a byproduct of how I have ended up handling everything from the last year or so. Like, Skywalker was great, for a while, but eventually that really stopped being helpful. But then the door started closing. My network kind of stopped being what it was. I’ve expanded, but it’s not quite what I think I need(ed). We’re now at the end of an era, and I’m trying to make it something. Something I enjoyed, and something that doesn’t fill me with anxiety. I’m there like 50% of the way. Granted I have a week, and I’m getting here now, which is probably good. But for like the last week, I was on the hope train. And I haven’t boarded that in a while. I think I avoid it. If you’re just mellow, and don’t get invested everything is fine. Nothing can be wrong. But then again, there’s always that small part of me that thinks that without hope, what else do we have? Sometimes it pays off, and that’s amazing, but usually it doesn’t. I feel like that’s the trick, learning how to manage that. 

I love being the validation machine. Don’t ask me about anything, don’t see how I’m doing. We had a super meaningful conversation a year ago about this, and I did what you wanted. I worked hard to keep everything okay. But like, this is kinda fucked. As the closest person to me, you don’t seem to act like it. Which was fine, for a bit. And like, I keep my mouth shut, I do what you want. But come on. Maybe I’m handling this all wrong, but like, I just want to be able to express anything to you. It all feels ignored, or just unwanted and it’s frustrating. It’ll be better when I can see you in person, but it still blows. 

Fuck man.