My pointlessness used to be a pleasing part of me. I reveled in the aimless idiocy of all things created. The blind throbbing mass of all squirting its ecclesiastical orgasmic fluid like flame into the all of the universe. Age walks in with a smile like a man who knows he’ll know you for a long time to come, “Hi, I’d like you to meet my good friend, Limitation. He’s still young now, but as you and I feed and care for him, and especially if we neglect him just proper, he’ll grow nice and strong and need more and more of our loving and our care”.

 

Creativity peels away from me like old paint. I scratch at the scar, hastening its decay into a slightly discolored mark where once was my reason to be. My lack of anything to say pushes my intensity to do just the same to new and terrifying heights. I love drugs. Last night god took away from me a beautiful girl whom I could have spent my life with, away from me, with his sick Christianity. If she wasn’t her god’s, she’d be mine. What a pop lyric.

 

Not that I deserve a good girl after all the porn I’ve jerked off too. My life has been one long dirty thought. Our god the guilt god. Our god the god of desert. Deserved desert. But we’ve all seen the worse happy.

 
I force myself to write now.

Every word, forced.

Dry, cracked, stale,

Words.

Forced, every word,

One per side,

One the other, Another one,

Stick, slow, thick hard movements.

To show the blankness truly within.

Fucked, white, blankness.

The poetry of despair given up on even the hope of itself.

Any random thing will do,

To keep me from me keep to.

Any random thing random any

The despair of poetry of despair the

Fucked white blankness.

To show truly blankness truly show to

The thick, the hard, and the slow.

 

What more to say?

So the next day I fucked the girl I shouldn’t fuck again.

 

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