Dead.

The crazy bitch,
he's living upstairs,
the crazy whore,
whom he never was,
never will be,
don't see the light
even though it shines,
it always did,
always will
but it's a fading thing
this light,
this life.
This thing we fake
I fake
everyday, everywhere
I go, or never will go,
I fake and aI fade
into this final locale,
location
reverved only
for those
who'd ever see,
ever be,
like me,
like us,
me and the dragons,
me and my dragons,
dancing around,
everywhere
in this place,
this locale,
the grand finale
place
of my own existence
inexistence
going on for
decades,
a lifetime
wasted away
in a dungeon,
in a hell
I've created for
myself.
Everyday, time passes
nothing changes,
nothing seems to
change, not me,
not us,
the deranged
people of the
topmost floor,
where everything
happens
but everyhting
stays the same,
no matter what I do,
no matter what I try,
no matter the chemicals,
chemicals, pills and chills
nothing changes me,
nothing will.
No one could see me
when I did it
no one saw, no one cared
no one will care
it's a modern thing,
welcome to the 21st
century, nothing changes,
nothing will,
for I am still the same,
I will ever be insane,
no matter what I take,
what I took,
I've always been insane,
alone in this crowd,
where seven billion
are found,
they don't seem to ever,
ever,
find me.
Because here I am,
hidden, a stowaway
in a scapegoat's train
how many lives
have I lived, in here,
how many times
I loved without fear,
because I'm here,
alone, all alone,
in here.
How many more years?
how much more time?
I seek, and I seek,
but find nothing else
than dust and dreams,
dreams, so alive, so
full of life, full of lust,
full of divine intervention,
full on a chemical-ridden
piece of brain,
scattered around
the dusty shelves,
the dusty realm,
of nothing and everything,
of nowhere right here,
where I live,
where I die,
each day,
each minute
of my waking "life"
"life" isn't his,
it is nothing like this,
this empty spaces,
this dried up heart
this dredgeful sense,
of death coming around,
and I fear, oh how I fear,
to live without havind
indeed
lived.
Cups of coffee,
cups of water,
chewing gum,
coffin nails,
they're bound as one
one reality,
one place,
whereas I lie,
forgotten,
forsaken
foretold
that this was
bound to happen,
ever and ever and ever.
Here lies
the one who
hasn't lived
nor died,
has just
existed,
no matter how
he tried.
Here lies,
the one who died
died
on an uneventful life
on an uneventful day,
that never fade away
not to him, not on his
wildest dreams,
not on his "life",
not while he was
still
alive.
Reality mixed up
with more reality,
only hidden,
forsaken,
forbidden.
Reality mixed with
drugs, so many drugs,
I am a pharmacy
And I will sell you
the secret of my dreams
when I choose to be,
when I sense to be,
normal,
like you and you,
and everyone else
around me. Normal.
Normal. Mortal.
Living, not dying.
But the hours pass,
the days pass,
weeks fly by,
I'm dying indeed.
I'm dying, inside
and outside,
as this Sunday died
before it's even
got started.
Where am I?
Here I am,
where no
one sees me,
misses me,
talk to me.
Yet I hear
a billion
voices, all inside,
all in my head,
telling me to do that,
become that,
end this, finish that,
be someone
be useful.
Useful.
Worthwhile.
Full.
"Someday
you will be
everything
to someone.
Just believe
an wait."
I've never believed,
I've only waited.
And all that waiting
led me here,
to these dusty floors,
these dusty dreams
I never
ever
believed.
And each day
that goes by,
I believe
even less,
I die a little more,
more and more,
I'm alive but
I feel nothing
inside.
I don't believe
anymore.
I'm alive,
but I have died
somewhere
in the past,
I don't know
where, I just died.
I am awake
but feels like
I'm in a perpetual
state of deja vu,
I've seen this shit,
I've done this shit,
I've tried and tried,
to be me
But I died along
the process,
don't know when,
don't know how,
I just did.
I just gave it up
I just let it go,
I just don't know.
I'm nothing
to anyone.
I've always been
this pile of nothing
to everyone else,
bland, sour, grumpy
and incompetent,
I've died.
A long time ago,
I know I did.
I'm only the fleshy
mortal remains
of used to be someone
someone else,
someone who was
something
to somebody else.
Not everything.
Never everything.
But nowadays,
I'm becoming less
and less and less,
to you, to him, to someone else,
to the few readers I've
still got, no explanation why,
they read, they shook their
heads, for they think
I'm wrong.
I'm not dead yet.
Yet I feel so,
everyday, when I awake,
I'm dead.
Everyday, when I get out,
I'm more than dead,
because I'm going nowhere,
to a place that'll get
me nowhere,
no matter what I do,
what I did,
I'm always dead there.
I am not dead.
I was born dead.
I've been dead for
thirty seven fucking years,
and even though
I might never be able
toprove it to you,
I am dead, I've always been.
It doesn't matter.
Not to anyone,
not to someone
who will never know
me, for what I truly am,
this crazy person,
recluse and forsaken,
forbidden
they'll never know.
I'll never know.
I'll never be
everything
to someone
else.
I just know it.
Because I won't.
I just won't.
I'll never mean
anything else
to somebody else,
other than this so-called
"poems", all fake
and full of shit,
full of emptiness,
that I feeel inside.
The day's done,
so am I.
I did nothing,
said nothing
done absolutely nothing
to change.
Change!
Change!
Fight it!
Struggle against it;
Alas, I got thes broken
wings, I got this spear
through my heart,
I don't move,
no matter what
they prescribe me,
anxiety pills,
sleeping pills,
antidepressants
and such,
nothing works,
nothing will.
Because I am
a Monster,
a fucking Monster,
that lives alone
in a dusty attic,
forgotten,
forsaken,
forbidden.
Too small,
too frail,
too prideful,
too angry,
very angry
but harmless
because he's
hidden,
and more than that,
dead.
I died. I don't know
when, or how,
or why.
Wait...i know why.
Because I let
it happen.
I allowed it to happen.
And I remember
when it happened;
ten years ago,
when I chose
to hide here
instead of facing
my fears.
I died here.
So many times.
No one witnessed,
no one cared.
But I did. I died.
Gave it all up
for a small piece
of heaven,
that turned out
to be my own
personal
hell.
Gave it all up,
let my broken wings
to soar, to take
me places I've
never should
have been to.
All I got instead
of true stories,
are false dreams,
false hopes,
fake looks,
fake feelings
no one will ever know,
no one will ever care,
no one wil lever ask.
I've got this empire of dust,
and lies, so many lies,
so many fears hidden
inside, so many lives
I've left behind,
to "live" here,
"be" here,
"dream" here
No sweetness
because there is
no sour.
All but these dusty
bits of words
I write and write,
in a vain attempt
to secure some help,
I need help,
I know I do,
but it is too late now,
everyone's gone,
everyone's living
while I'm "dying"
each and every
passing day,every
passing minute,
seconds fly by,
never to come back.
I've lost it.
I've lost it all, you know?
Faith, dignity, about 22 pounds
10 kilograms
of what I used to be,
I'm lost, but I know exactly
where I am - lost in life.
lost in this crazyness
this dreadful labyrinth
that is life,
I'm lost.
I'm dead.
I was never "alive"
I was never in love
I was never alone
because I got this
"fucked" head,
which fills my
thoughts, fills my
days, of thoughts
about how dead I was
how dead I am,
how dead I will become
when the time comes.