I'm in pain.
I'm in agony.
I can't see
to either side of me.
I only see failure.
I only see hurt.
I feel to swallow
in this local sullen dirt.
Yearning.
Wanting.
Hurting.
Haunting
my future
with thoughts of wrong
and words of hate.
A given lack
to dissipate.
To leave,
to empower
these rusty lives
would be a pleasure
only for the pests
and ravenous consumers
of excess.
My intentions
of haste
are none
which I must face;
instead to sleep
in the bosom
of disgression.
To die each night
is to live regret
in the hell
of one million minutes
a day.
April 28, 1999