SCRAPHEAP 2

I wish I could take back
every single bit of me
that barged in and made room
in someone else’s memory
’cause there’s heads out there
I was never fit to occupy
so bless the possibility
and hope for high probability
they don’t even think of me
at all

—–

If sex
is a conquest
than celibacy
is the conquering
at rest
war and peace right
simple compatibility
complementing
but
what’s channeling
when we’re thinking?
Base animals
at the bottom
and
godbeing
at the top?
The spectrum for fucking
is uniting
the Most High
Creator
which split Itself
in half
masculine end
and feminine, the other
so what’s the theory
on rejoining?
Kundalini energy?
Tantric bliss?
And all this senseless fucking
is the same as refraining:
comparable
bottom-tier
bullshit?
Tell me
did God ever speak
even just a hint
from between the thighs we grip
digging in
for stability
feeling something but then discovering
we’re living in
low level disconnecting
and this is just another way
the depression is manifesting?
Is that
is that what the universe
is saying?
Maybe it’s truth
that we’re not meant to connect
but overcome
what’s in the head
and true enlightenment
is in recognizing the flesh
is busted shit
we’re meant to slough off
and sustain the hatred of the confines
instead.
Or…
or…
I’m just another piece of shit
rambling about virtue again
because I can’t get laid.
Perception is reality
so just go fuck yourself
I guess.

——

Every night
the cold creeps in
locking limbs
pretzeled into torso
positioned and reassuring
the weaker parts
by voicing
yes
yes
the sun is coming
and when it breaks day
a new dawn glowing
rich haze of gilded lava
and birds
composedly chirping
you’ll shift
you’ll shift
and you’ll be OK.
But cold
is just a metaphor
for not feeling
and reassuring
is just a lie
that keeps the autopilot
motivated.

The voice
is too sappy
delivery
insincere
and condescending.
Who does it speak for
really?

——–

i
i lied.
i knew your name from the beginning
but what’s dead
won’t find rest in reviving.

eat the sun
and suffocate in darkness.

—–

There’s no
coincidence
this world turns in a circle
doesn’t it
so right and wrong
and what’s meant to be
it’s a consequence
of being aware enough
to experience it.

There’s a lot of time spent
on the outside looking in
wishing something clicked
making deeper connections
within
but it’s all
it’s all bullshit
isn’t it?
And giving purpose
it’s only a “being human” thing.
Isn’t it?

I don’t understand
why people are so afraid to die
as if this reality is really something
comforting
worth holding fast to
instead of something
people have just grown with
and came to get used to
but if death is a sleep
then eternity is a dream
and the end is only whatever beginning
you build after falling in.

Wouldn’t it be cool
if we didn’t have to wake up?

Wouldn’t it be cool
to dream?

(Don’t go towards the light.)

Then again
ha
I’m wrong about everything.
I hope it’s the fucking end
seriously.

But.
What about you?

Don’t you have goals and dreams
and things like that
that extend beyond
what you’re capable of accomplishing?
Do you dig at your skin at night
begging for puropse
or direction
or motivation
to get you going
somewhere
or wherever
in whatever direction
you once imagined
you were meant to be moving?
So what’s all that shit mean?
Nothing?
No thing?

Meaning.
Supposed to.
Something.
It’s all
nothing.

I feel this shit
and there’s no one to talk to
right
because everyone you try to
isn’t like you
and they just kind of eye you like
what’s the fucking point, retard?
So I’m writing
hoping someone’s like
fuck dude
I feel you
but no
I’m lying
because only you
can feel you
and I’m just trying to purge
so I don’t have to feel
any of this shit
anymore.

I’m alone
yeah
always alone
because I can’t even feel
myself
and
I can’t stop my brain
from doing this
I want to blow the pieces out
that keep me trapped
thinking like this.
You feel me dude?
No.
No.
Cool.
Cool.
You were never supposed to
anyway
I guess.

Meaning.
Supposed to.
Something.
It’s all
distraction.
It’s all
nothing.

No one can hear me
anyway.

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