close to regret

He doesn’t feel close to anything
Friends are placeholders for emptiness
He sings to himself while watering plants

or he wants to. He doesn’t even grow plants

Does thing he regrets, does things he doesn’t
Regrets them both. Regret that he’s done it
or did it, or was, or wasn’t.
Heartbroken. For what?
How does a heart go from golden to rot
I look at pretty faces, just hoping for something
Laugh at the way people conduct themselves
Conducting in stealth.

Ask for help by pretending I don’t need it
I don’t.

Just need me some hope.
Establish a ground rule, establishing sound.
Down on his self.

Doesn’t brush his teeth today

Memorizes the Braille his plaque forms
Doesn’t care, kills themselves in the routine

Looks at his friends smiling

Sunshine weather is a chance to bathe himself 
in sun rays, stretch his back and fingers in the air

ugh. Why? Ugh. Sighs. Disagree with your opinion

don’t even bother to tell why not

doesn’t matter
don’t support any of the million things people fight for

I don’t care

my war is up here in my head

it’s a tiny platform where millennia takes place

I can’t even breathe

Making non humanly noises, like a puppy moaning, upset at the sectional voices, that put him here.

Eyes watering. Sore throat. Sucks

tired and upset. The imprint of my

body in my bed has become art

I don’t even drink, or do drugs, to

bored to

become a

worse version

of

his self

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