Slits on my head deepen into trenches
as putrid stenches of unfortunate realities float - teem in my atmosphere. It stanks I say... is that me?
I, sir, am in the steep throes of my proven self-hatred - I leer.
Aged.. I look... gaunt, shot... I feel on a consistent basis...
words like stupid, loser, nobody, failure, dunce rummage my mind to kill that one sprite - that one dim light of hope... languished. I try to comfort myself with the aura of shared miseries. I mope the blues. I observe the daily funk of society. I sulk in my own mental sewage. I am in low spirits.
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