No one Gives a Damn

Worship

Please.
I am worshipping you.
Knees digging
into the blood-caked soil,
Fingers sore
from squeezing in
a suffocating prayer,
Eyes like melting ice,
hell a living purgatory
living within me.

I feel like I am going mad, 
Insanity a counterpart to my sanity and rationality, 
to which are different sides of me. It's frightening, 
yet increasingly tempting, to take a bit off the apple. 
Perhaps then I will understand 
my delusions and hallucinations, 
morphing into reality.

I am a log floating in the boundless ocean,
A man, hoping to grow into an island,
Because what else can I be?
I have drowned, felt myself in spasms,
Water dripping into my lungs,
yet thirsty for more.

I promised I would write something different,
I promised I would be normal again,
I promised that my subjects won't be the same old,
Even though I am subjected to the subjects i write about.

You promised me, 
I could create something special, 
Expression, elegance, significance, meaning 

synthesising, 

into purpose and motivation 
to live another day.

My ink is running out,
My pages are running out,
My life is running out of meaning.
Floods, metaphors, metaphors of metaphors,
What else do You need my black and white world to be?

youpromisedmeyoupromisedmeyoupromisedmeyoupromisedmeyoupromisedmeyoupromisedmeyoupromisedHelpMeyoupromisedmeyoupromisedmeyoupromisedmeyoupromisedmeyoupromisedmeyoupromisedmeyoupromise

I don't feel like I am here,
A conscious being sitting behind,
The glass which bathes in the rain,
Tracing my fingers along the surface,
But nothing on the glass would change.
It stays the same.
It's a year before, It's the only year I know,
The only year I remember,
The only life I live.
It's yesterday, never tomorrow,
It's night, never day,
It's the past,
Always the past.

My poems are made up of
the best words I could think of. 
How similar, that the Lord made her out of
the best parts he could think of,
But I wish the Lord could think of
better parts for me.
Just like how my words are strung
without a link,
all of my parts
dangle in her fingers.

I am desperate, to feel okay again
to feel human again,
to feel alive again.
Pain makes us feel alive,
but a drug this addicting
is bound to make me suffer
in overdose.

[A life of an empty shell, 
Never here, never now,
A projection of the past,
Shining through black ink,
Fiction friction between dereliction of my soul
and deterioration of my role that makes me function.]

Apollo, God of poetry,
born out of infidelity,
I worship you,
Metaphorically and literally.
Apollo, grant my wish,
The wish every human wishes,

The wish to watch the world burn

as we do.