Overloaded

My imagination has stopped imagining

I try to write but there has been a holocaust in my mind
and my words are all dead
I believe it might be because I blamed them
for all the wrongs in my life
And now I miss them
just like
I miss you
even though
I blame you, too

I had been waiting for this for so long
And the minute I arrived, I disappeared
And now I can't find myself
and
because of yesterday,
I'm scared
of today, and tomorrow
and I'm scared
of the moment when myself returns
and I'll realize that my time is gone
that minutes have passed and everything
is just like it was
I.still.can't.breathe

But what does it matter
when it doesn't matter?
How can I change
the way it has all been
when it has been what it has been for so long
that nobody can remember what it was before.
And I keep saying that
repeating it
over and over again,
that I can't remember
how it was or how it felt,
I can't even remember
how it feels to feel or
how it feels to HAVE felt
because that has died and been buried
and its offspring is dead as well
and the generation after that,
everyone and everything is just dead
and nobody remembers where they've been buried
so it's not possible to pay a visit
and try to recall the past and its inhabitants,
the Feelings.

Hence all I feel is gravity
a powerful sense of aversion which keeps pulling me down
and keeps my transient consciousness alive
and tells me
"YOU'RE HERE"
I am
on Earth
the place where I least of all want to be
amongst liars and thieves
amongst millions of copies of waste with no souls
walking around in void
they have you all fooled

I hide in the bottle and when I look out
there are no smiles,
no meetings I wish to be a part of
and that's clear,
but nobody understands
but,
I can hear my name and I hear people
or those who consider themselves people
millions of copies of waste with no souls,
walking around in their void called everyday,
in their filthy and shameless plan called society

They think they want so much
but
they're lying
because they don't want anything at all,
I'm pleased
as long as I have food and cigarettes and an occasional fuck
yes then I'm pleased because what more can you ask for?
What is depth, what is happiness?
Harmony died in the Middle Ages,
now the modern has the upper hand
Less is more, it means the emptier the better,
it means that these millions of copies of waste with no souls
are everything,
because they are nothing