What the hell am I?
Who have I become?
From a man who went to church every Sunday
To a man who can't even call his mom on her birthday.
I disintegrated
This is not the life I want
But what do I want?
I do not know
No life is worth it
Just take it away
I don't want it.
It must mean something
No nihilist fantasy can be true
Why be here?
But we impact and then we are gone
Alive in the photos which become forgotten
And sold in thrift store frames
To be replaced by new owners
And strewn in the trash
Or kept as a joke
Which no one laughs at.
What am I?
A creature
A man
Confused and bumbling
Fucking up daily
But only in his own mind
And those of the judges
Who can't even be bothered to tell him
They think he's a failure
If they think of him at all.
