A Cursed Life

I'm finding it difficult 

as I always have 

to love 

I walk through places and I absorb 

everything

But I cannot enjoy

I am a sponge 

I take in all the lovely and vile

But all I can taste is the burnt

soot while

all the liquid gems seep away

I do not expect greatness from anything

What I am good at is this:

I anticipate the faults of the masses

I see heartbreak sauntering from a distance 

I hear cries in dark places before the darkness has descended

I know 

and I feel

the putrid livelihood of all things

The tepid waters in which we immerse ourselves

in our futile attempts to cleanse

There is a part of you that pulls you down 

That is all of me

I am a sunken boat

I am a silent sea shell

I am marrowless

I am gravity 

As an arm is to a body

As my arm is but a chunk of me,

you are but a part of my life

spanned over what feels like hours multiplied by eternities.

You may perpetuate the current,

the now that is so dire. But

Come my arrival to the end,

shall I then,

only then,

see clearly

The Smallness Of you.

That depth I seek was never in you ,perhaps not in anyone 

For this existence,

it stretches vastly.

And as my arm is one thing I forget I own,

so, gratefully,

I shall forget you were ever in a small way mine.

As an arm is merely an atom of greater universal monuments.

And you. 

Perhaps even less than that.

Less in a wider, deeper place 

Less and less

I shall forget you 

Poisons

Some people are like poison

Without trying, thy permeate everything,

they affect us in ways unnatural to the soul, to the mind. 

And they become manifested within us like mucus clinging to vocal chords

that is both disgusting to harbor

and disgusting to expel.

Some people are like poison.

When you rid yourself of them you will be immune but still,

something essential will have been taken away from you.

Something you never noticed before

but sure as hell notice being gone

Some people

they enjoy being poison

they like to know they have the capacity to do things to you

things you could never reciprocate

some people

they hate being poison

they detest their inherent marring nature

their abraissave tendencies

Some of us are poision

some of us hate what we are

some of us hate each other

it comes and goes, 

some days we are ill with the poisions

other days we are ill with ourselves 

It comes and it goes

some poisons are people