Poem: People Write to Me

People write to me,
to tell me they care,
then, having written,
feel better.

For that is the amount,
of effort,
I'm worth,
a letter,
to tell me they care.

These letters,
they seem,
to help,
for a moment.
Then later,
they leave me,
for worse.

For all of the people,
who tell me,
they care,
not one,
will move off,
of their butt.

I am alone,
amidst all these fakers,
though surely,
they believe,
their own lies.

Though I'd like,
to scream,
at their faces,
"More actions, less words!"
I will not.

Their attempts,
though so feeble,
are all,
that I have,
and to lose them,
would leave me,
with naught.

So the next time I get,
a letter from one,
whose pretending,
their best,
to care.

I pray,
to my maker,
I find then the strength,
to leave it,
unanswered,
that's fair.

Thoughts: Talk about Suicide

Tell people you wish that you were dead and watch their reactions.
Some people get very angry, like it's a personnal insult to them, that you don't see the goodness in life. As if they baked you your life from scratch since dawn and they're angry that you do not care for it. These are people who also with they were dead, but spend their lives denying it to themselves, repeating like a mantra "Life is good, life is good" because if they for one moment truly realized how they felt they'd crumble at the meaninglessness of their existance.
Some people say, "Then kill yourself," with anger, but not quite as angry as the first sort. They're mad that they're working so hard to surivive and they thin you should work hard too.
Some people go "Aww, I'm sorry to hear that," and try in their way to comfort.
But my favorite, by far, are those who nod slowley and say, "yes, I know what you mean."

Poem: Feelings

I woke up and I was Scared.
I wanted someone to be there for me,
but there was no one.
Then I was Lonely.
I began to remember people
who used to love me
and I became Sad.
I did not want to be sad again,
so I became Angry.
I had nowhere to direct my anger
except at myself
and I was Hurt.

Now I am
Scared
Lonely
Sad
Angry
and Hurt.
Near tears,
I have nothing.

Oh Gods,
why is this
my life?

Poem: Moment of Bull

Money is not important
nor lovers from days far gone
nor lack of success
whatever that means
or people
of you
you're fond.

The days of this life are passing,
so smile before they are gone.
The measure of life
is the warmth of your heart
not your clothing
your car
or your spawn.

Poem: And on Life Goes

Another month of poverty unfolds before me,
extending it's gut-tightening saddness into the far future.
While relatives and friends live lives of joyful comfort
and even other bums
appear richer than I.
Sucking cock for money has never seemed such a viable option,
the only way to get money
before my looks are gone
and I'm old and ugly,
infirmed, and broke as today.
While people applaud my brilliance and good looks,
telling me "This will pass" and "all will be better soon."
They have no idea.
They say these things to make themselves
and me
feel better.
It does not work.
It has been a year since things began to get worse.
Before that I had two years
of relative peace.
Before that... well... a long time in pain.
Then a year of peace...
then four years of pain...
then a year of peace, then thirteen in pain, then birth.

The Record is not good.

Poem: The Lost Cause

The lost cause who wakes before dawn
ignored by even the fallen.
Haunting late blocks of convinience,
drifting like a wor nand broken robot
from point-a to point-a to point-a.
Remembering with bitter self-loathing
the person he used to be
when he liked himself.
Lovers who used to show him affection, for a moment.
"There's no way out," he thinks,
like the day before
and the day before
and the day before.
Wondering when the Universe stopped loving him
and what he ever did to deserve
to be forgotten.
Nobody knows what's wrong with him,
most importantly himself.

Poem: Leave Me Alone

Leave me alone, in my life of shame, I don't want to see you again.
You with your life of lightness and joy,
where there is no room for this poor outcaste boy.
Your life that is filled with things that you love,
while mine is impailed with hail from above.
Spending my days doing things which don't matter,
while yours are spent climbing life's sweet golden ladder.
And though I still like you, there's nothing will heal
the pain that consumes each turn of my wheel.
I see not the way my life will get better,
while you plan vacations with grand birthday platters.
Our paths have diverged in a most saddening way,
so "Leave me alone" is all I can say.