vi. MY LIFE IS A RHETORICAL QUESTION
is there something wrong with me?
the glass is half full and then it's half empty and i'm constantly asking myself, "what the fuck?" and hell calls my name over and over and over again and i'm drawn to it. maybe i'm different - psychotic or disconnected - but is it really so bad?
fucking hell, I've made it this far already.
fuck me. fuck her. fuck him. fuck you. fuck them.
i'm better off alone. the stars spell my name. the earth rotates around me. the moon pulls the tides that crash against the shore at my feet. everything is about me. the glass is half full.
i'm leaving. i'm leaving. i'm leaving. i'm done. i'm done. i'm done. i hate them. i hate them. i hate them. why? why? why? the glass is half empty.
* * *
-- my life is a rhetorical question
[is there something wrong with me?]
life is rhetorical and stupid and sometimes it's positive but sometimes i hate it and i'm still trying to figure everything out. i'm disoriented and full of angst and i had to get it out.
written: february 25 two thousand 16
posted: march 16 two thousand 16
YOU ARE READING
celestial
Poetry"positioned in or relating to the sky, or outer space" because everyone I love, loved, and will ever love does, has, and will fascinate me much like the stars in the sky do.
