Beautiful Positive Self Image

Beautiful Positive Self Image

I am pretty sure everyone in this world hates and wishes me to blow my head off under a rock, to find my own turtle shell and get the fuck out of ever participating in anything.  I am not meant for whatever it is I am attempting to do.

Who outside my siblings or parents has ever been grateful for the way I am or do anything?  One hates me.  Two is gone without one remainder.  Zero friends in my daily life, and the ones I do call friends are in other cities which although I trust as some solace of genuine humanity, there is nothing here. 

I have this void, it will always be. I don’t find myself wanting anyone enough, Color me black in a shadow blending into every phone call where the order taker, receptionist responder assumes I am female.  

I am a nothing incapable of ever being happy or trusting or at peace.  I live on edge always waiting to be abandoned, kicked in the teeth, I am trying,  my diminished capacity is a pittance.

All these smoke screens I have never seen, I am blind in a disguise of an enlightened foot in compromise of thirty three waiting for an answer of incomplete.  That there was a partner out there searching for me is a laughable disease of hope I know I was vaccinated from, yet will perish in its virus just the same.

I can not help wanting of pondering the exit strategy of this novel effort to spill my voice onto these crap-ulent pages for what, biding a prison sentence acting like this was a benefit to something other than a putt off of recognizing my own inevitable, “Nobody fucking cares a god damn bit about marriage, fatherhood journey, or junior high prom hot tub soliloquies.  Asshole vagabond idiot pauper go masturbate with a blender, you incompetent flawed fuck.”

I want better and just a pittance, just one ripple to talk to, to be in this life this inevitable nothing and I am so infinitely lost.  How can it be this hard for everybody else?  The suicide rate would be at ninety percent.  I hate the web of my cantankerous skull, always considering the confines like a man locked in solitary studying every dot on the ceiling and every line or slight blemish in the paint on the walls.  I want to quit thinking.  I want to put TNT in this mouth and smoke my first cigarette.

Fuck self, over and over again, I am nothing here.