(untitled) -- a collection of experimental poetry [COMPLETE]

welcome to the club

i'm calling out for help
but the signal is dead
dead like my mind
dead like my soul
i'm a living corpse
dragging myself
through a world
which i loath

and all the specialists
psychologists
psychiatrists
suggest
that i rebuild

how can i
make a vase
out of broken
glass shards
when all i've got
are my hands?

i'm bleeding,
i'm constantly bleeding,
i'm weak
from the blood loss
and yet i keep trying,
keep trying
to pull myself
together
gather
my strength
tell myself
that i am a hero

but the broken shards
of what i used to be
simply tear
apart the flesh
of my hands
into strips of
bleeding spaghetti
filthy and worthless,
repulsive
like me.

the broken shards
of my life
gravitate towards my
heart
picture it --
a thousand jagged daggers
constantly stabbing
in and out of my heart
like butterfly pistons.
it hurts
it really really hurts

and each time
i dare
to give myself hope
i burn,
i burn upon re-entry
like an old and useless
satellite
falling apart
into molten
glowing junk,
vaporised above
the Pacific.

where's the hope?
where's the reason to live?
where's the lie
the carrot on a stick,
to keep me walking
on this
soul-crushing
conveyer belt --
a disassembly line,
a place where the
world will slowly
tear you apart
and build you
away into nothing.

me?
i'm the anti-monument.
i'm forgotten once
i'm complete
and as i near completion,
i'm emptier and emptier,
invisible and meaningless,
an empty space
at the bottom of
the ocean
inside a buried temple
within a hidden passage
in a faded
shipping container
in an unmarked
sarcophagus
in a jar.

the will to
live is a flame.
and if the flame
is within you,
life isn't questioned.
sure,
life is meaningless,
sure,
life can be hard,
but if you have this flame,
you can laugh it off
and enjoy the act,
relish every breath
that you take
-- you persevere.

and once you lose
this flame,
despite the antidepressants
and the existential philosophy
and the zen buddhism
and the new friendships
and the therapy
and the motivational speeches
and the angry shouting parents
and the crying anguished parents
and the accusations
and the manipulations

nothing helps.

the complete and total
lack of understanding
-- nitrogen bubbles
constantly pumped
into your bloodstream
irritating insects
picking away at
your wounds
distracting you
from the work
that needs to be
done.

the more that you scream
the more pain you get
so you teach yourself
to feel nothing
and to just always
expect
the worst
the very very worst.

you reach the point
where you realise
that no one,
none of the people
around you,
not a single one
understands.

they're trying to help,
they're trying
and they get angry when
it doesn't work at all.
they get angry
when you honestly
tell them
that everything
feels like a big
waste of time.

they get angry,
very angry,
they tried so very hard,
why didn't it work?
they're trying and trying
but they're only
making it worse.
why? how can
they solve
this impossible
paradox?

welcome the club.