Seeking joy and meaning in a joyless mind and meaningless existence

Thursday, July 12, 2012


Don't ask me why.
There is no point to that question.

I hate you
As much as I hate everyone else
As much as I hate life itself.
I will never understand
What God has done to me.

I am too tired
To be a victim of my own despair any longer
Or to face my most ungracious future
Or to live with my unfulfilled past.
I am too tired
For mortal sleep.

Life is a question without an answer,
A problem without a solution,
And I cannot bear it.

If only
I could be undone.


Another teenage angst poem, and generally unpublishable for the same reason.  It actually briefly started out as a suicide note, but the resulting creative process engaged me enough to pull me out of myself and my mood, which is why most of my poetry tends to be so dark and gloomy.  In a pique of faith and superstitious fear, I actually changed the two lines about God from their much harsher origins to their present state.