Existential Crisis: Its All Over

Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in. 

Existential Crisis mode is on high and it feels as if 

my lungs are going to explode with worry. The past

few nights, I've laid in my bed, listening to the propellers 

of the fan twirl next to me, wondering "whats the fucking point?" 

Everything feels and seems to be a complete and total waste of 

time. After 15 years of struggling with these thoughts and themes,

I don't know why I'm still surprised when they paralyse me the

way they do. 

I feel hopelessly trapped in a city, situation and existence that I 

can't handle. I've tried to distract myself from these thoughts of

hopelessness and emptiness, but there are only so many times one

can clean their lair, organise rows of books and colour code a closet. 

I feel lost in a world that I struggle to make sense of;

I allowed myself to be seduced by the sweet sugars of fantasy and

become numbed by the narcotics of false beauty. 

I'm left to hold the shards of a life...a life I'm not even sure I belong

in or deserve. Why am I allowed to live while others must die? Why

do I remain here, selfishly drinking in the opioid of the masses,

recklessly acting out.

I want to just fall into the darkness and be absorbed. 

I'm drowning in puddles of sadness.

I feel the fires of misconduct and ill repute burning 

in the pit of my trunk. 

Memories flood through me

and my breathing is depressed from the emotional turmoil,

the cough syrup with codeine and a shot of bourbon.

I can only hope that this temporary state of unconscience will

reboot me.