Giving Up

Giving up,
the writing's done,
I now quit,
though the sliding's just begun.
The fight to be
fought still here
is now useless,
the outcome I fear.
It is always
the same no matter
what I throw,
the problem getting fatter.
I want to
make it stop
but the focus lacks
at a pin's drop
as now I can't
push any more
to kick it
out the door.
The issue with
which is struggled
now is
the biggest trouble
and the tunnel
through which to escape
is unseen
in this treacherous landscape.
It's all over,
a loss at my hands,
a faltering to
all the demands
with the optimism
out the window
along with
a future to go.

Fuming

All the humor
with all the words,
none of the drive
and none of the urge,
just the right thing
to come from a mouth
that couldn't be more
useless nonsense if it'd shout,
a brain so wasted
on silly quips,
as encouraging as
chains and whips,
it is all for not
and all consuming
of a soul, a joke
that is now fuming.

Chaos

The self-inflicted affliction,
the glow of the growing,
the obviously obvious
that's quickly slowing,
breaking down the broken,
riding the crippled,
the problematic problems
that seem to have tripled,
the towering of towers,
the scaring fear mongers,
the preaching of the righteous
that could not be wronger,
the peace of the peacemakers
that brings war from the warriors,
the blood from the heartless
of the sacrificed couriers,
it all amounts to too much,
an amount unknown to the masses
with hopes of the hopeless
dashing from empty glasses,
empty pockets emptied out
in front of glossy eyes glossed over,
as useful as the useless idea
of the home of the eternal rover.

Abruptly

The tension's building,
the tension's rising,
nothing new
and nothing surprising.
It's too much,
it can't be handled,
it can only fall,
can only be dismantled.
The ledge approaches,
quickly draws near,
instilling the worries,
instilling the fear.
The push is felt,
it carries one over,
over the edge,
can't go further.
The thoughts race,
the words stumble,
the capacity,
it all fumbles,
but now the fall
is all too real,
nothing but fear
to still feel
with the crash,
the end that comes,
is here abruptly,
is here to stun.

The Feeling of Despair

The feeling in the stomach,
the feeling of despair,
the feeling of sickness,
the feeling that dares,
it all comes down
on a psyche split,
one that's broken
and one that's sick.
The spirit's done,
it's on the mat,
broken for good
and okay with that.
It knows the fight,
the energy it takes,
is no longer worth
the effort it fakes.
Instead its body
will remain on that mat,
lying there lifeless,
contently flat.

The Useless Whelp

Sitting in my pain,
wallowing in my sorrow
using up the time
that I've already borrowed,
the agony persists,
consistent in its needling,
crushing my weak ego,
one that needs feeding.
Tilting off the keel,
needing a straightening
to stop my falling,
to stop constant fading,
the screams within
my soul get louder
as the torment gains steam,
prouder and prouder.
It's all too much
to withstand without help,
me, my helpless self,
me, the useless whelp.

An Unfortunate Exchange

I can't remember
anything but flashes
with anger's throws
and throwing's crashes,
ice flew
and doors were slammed,
all cool heads gone,
self-control be damned.
Words were spewed
and actions out carried
with despicableness
and held tongues unmarried.
Reactions may have
warranted a response
but perhaps not the one
that was given on the spot.
The tempers flared
and emotions ran high
with voices raised
and fists to the sky.
Regrets are had
with guilt taking reign
all due to an
unfortunate exchange.