onlyoblivion

Just in case you weren't feeling immeasurably depressed, I present for your edification my latest poem, tentatively titled It's the Fucking Twenty-Forth of April and It's Fucking Snowing in Fucking Ohio:


The time has come;
give up and grieve.
no one is coming to save you.
this is all you will perceive.
your door is locked for every ever.
even when your prison falls,
another will be built around you.
and the bars of your mind
will always be colder.
love is just to share a cell
for some short while,
until the warden Death
once again confines you alone.

Abandon all thought of Escape;
men whose minds' dwell on It go mad.
You need not accept this incarceration
(and naught but fools are of good cheer
under a hand practiced at two-fold torture),
but know you well that there is no way Out.
The limestone past these walls
extends to the very mind of God;
spoons will prove useless against it.
You can only busy yourself with pursuits
that will engage your attention:
kindnesses toward your fellow inmates
and other artificial distractions.

You would do well to cease your anticipation;
you are beyond help, beyond hope,
exhausting the last pleasures you might claim,
and without any to pity you,
for thin walls only separate us.
The time has come to acknowledge this;
give up and grieve
for all that you are
and all that you will never be.