Wednesday, May 6, 2015

A poem by author/poet GARY G PELOW, THE BOREDOM.

Sitting here alone, among the noize and business of other peoples lives, they seem to act with import and value inherent in all things they do, more important than me or my life or activities performed in vain to no purpose other than lying to myself that all things are well with me and my fake busy  work.  I am bored, frustrated, alone, I write my poetry and prose to distract myself from all the pain and banality of my worthless life.  I go for walks out of anxiety and fear, I hear the voices in my head tell me I am worthless, a useless eater taking up space to no purpose other than my own hedonism and related activites of similar uselessness, I am in pain, unbearable physical and mental pain, I cry out for help and no one cares, they prefer to see me die or become homeless, or perhaps go to jail. I do not want to die, or live on the streets or get raped in prison, there will be no suicide or violence, no jail in my future caused by criminal activity on my part, YOU SEE I HATE LIFE BUT FEAR DEATH AND PUNISHMENT AND SUFFERING MORE THAN I COULD EVER DO TO COMMIT SUICIDE.  I am tired bored ad alone, no friends, no lover, just emptiness.

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