It is a whirlwind life of never ending self hatred,
consuming every bit of life that you once thought you owned,
no one stays when they should,
loneliness swallows you up into an abyss of darkness and ridicule,
love is lost, but fought for in all the wrong places at all the wrong times,
you can’t know anything for certain,
although an empty life, it is too crowded.
with substance, without sustenance,
no nutrition in living.
release, relief, the only thing concrete.
you can count on feeling better after it,
if you catch my drift; that is.
as we crumble down,
to the dust and dirt that we walk on,
all you have is yourself and your fixations.