Lost…
Disappeared.
Vanished without a trace.
Call the cops because the very fiber
of my being is missing.
Everything is out of place.

I am irrelevant.
Love is an irritant.
As my passion for it died,
I’ve become a militant.

Too many relationships,
way too much carnage.
Melancholy when I visualize
the self-inflicted damage.

It seems so trivial.
The game, the pursuit.
Suffering is the outcome.
The fun from it, moot.

Can’t, won’t go on believing
the dream of someone for everyone.
Because I built my life around her
and in the blink of an eye, it was done.

Over, finished.

Nothing left but a brain full of memories,
a body full of emotional scars,
and a bed worn down by sex.
A reminder from an old song on the radio
how the sweet turned to sour
but damn, she was the best.

Inevitable as it is to let go,
the force of gravity sucks me
back into that black hole.
The only home I know.
I am 30 going on 70 as
all this shit has taken its toll.

But I’ll keep walking down the street,
passing people by and knowing
I’m not the first, nor will I be the last.
Although the passersby can relate,
I still feel like an outsider.
Even if we have all shattered in the past.

Shattered as in glass.
Fragile is the heart.
Shards on the floor is all that remains.
Now I am as cold as an October night.
The only moisture running from my eyes down
my face is late night rains.

And it is late on this rainy night
as I walk past her rickety gate.
I look up to her window and know she’s not alone
but I don’t give a fuck, I hope he’s really great.

As I was great at one time,
a legend in my own mind,
now I am fading away.
He’s got his hands all over her
ready to make his own legends.
Reciting his lines, having his way.

Been there done that and a few other things, too.
nothing for nothing, I used to run through
her like dirt.
Present day, I run to the Captain
accompanied by his friend coke
in case I feel this little thing called hurt.

I find the Captain and coke good company
and I’ve gotten to know them very well.
It’s good to know I can count on them,
counting on drinking my liver straight to hell.

My own personal hell,
a story that everyone can tell.
“Never give up on love.”
I am not buying so don’t try to sell.

Whatever…
I guess I’ll shut up,
lay my sorry ass in bed.
Feeling sorry for myself,
maybe I’ll get lucky and not wake up.
Hell, I am already dead.

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