My life feels like an old book

Yellow, mildewed pages

Moth eaten, parts missing

Afraid of letting the mask slip

Maybe the world would see

The violence in me

The anger, self loathing

Unending bitter melancholy

Misery living between the spaces

In my rotten bones

I wish this would rhyme

But like life, there is no form

Just this shapeless void 

Repition and cigarette smoke

Half drunk cups of coffee

Still left on the table the next morning

The unmade bed, overflowing dishes

Meaningless endeavors 

I taste but it all tasted like shit

I smile, but hiding a grimace

I look and see

Yes loathe all that is, and me

Fuck it all

Just fuck it...