All matters  of things shall be well.
-a personal revelation

living in suicide

impotent and puzzled

i can't get angry without

yet not knowing how i feel

it's buried that deep in me

sleeping in my mercurial swamp

nursed by the cypress leaves 

harboring the poisonous moccasin

they coil in my faceless gut

unhappy with unhappiness

angry with discontent

loving without love

this aint' living

though it's the living i've got

so i hang myself with crammed feelings

tossing me about from limb to limb

dangling like a lynched outsider

thrown o'er a bridge to swim

am i a danger to society

a predator for the lost and forgotten

as if the last testament of my glory

is entry into the realm of the dead?

this is a wretched state of being

of living with myself as if damned

struggling against insanity

pretending i'm not really the bed