"The Story of My Life" by Jeremy Void

I don’t know


the story of

my life.

I find I’m in

a place

that I can’t help

but hate

and I mean really




the story of

my life.

Two days ago

maybe three

I dipped into a

low point

a hopeless wallowing that

is sucking me dry


I’m in a coffee shop

surrounded by

bodies &


and I can’t help

but ask

I can’t help

but wonder

I can’t help myself

from pondering

a lost and hopeless

diminishing thought

that goes something like:

Is it so much to ask

that I can have

a single meaningful conversation

with someone

with anyone

but all I see here

through a desperate haze

are shallow faces

and plastic stances

too vicious and stuck up

to care about what

I’ve got to say

Or maybe I’m just

projecting my own desires

because I don’t really care

about what you’ve

got to say

I’m projecting this need

through desperation I project

a desire to be understood

by all

in the process rejecting

the needs and desires

of all my fellow parasites

We’re All So Carefree

and so freakin careless

a bunch of

narcissists needing the

acceptance of others

to feel whole

the acceptance of a race

of hate-mongers

waiting in the back rooms

on the back streets

in the back of the


looming tall on

dilapidated rooftops

just waiting

just waiting

just waiting for you

to come up to me

and see me for

who I really wanna be

But how you perceive me

and how I’m received

I find no relief

pandering to this blatant need

to be cherished

but not loved

as I perish amid

a locked derelict closet

I’m so lost and disturbed


deserted and I’m

rather perturbed

Now that’s

the story of

my life.

Standing on the edge

of the knife///

Gary Miller2 Comments