(Poem) Mindless

Mindless
By Jacob B. Smith

Not a thought given;
Not a damn received;
Without thyself to embrace,
I am dead to the thoughts.

Four corners to choose,
But there are none that could fit me.
Half-heartedly, I chuckled at my own misery.
I pondered why my imaginary friends abandoned me.

Again and Again;
Thoughts of betrayal escaped me.
I lay on a dry floor,
Sprawled out as I wished for life.

The venomous notion makes ignorance feel like home.
I could smile to make others feel better than suicide.
I cannot see the point to my remorseful pity.
I write my fantasy and then dim the torches to their lives.

I wanted her to hate me, yet I could not force to hate myself.
My egotistical fortress demonstrates my cannons to nay-sayers.
Once again, I lay on the dry floor,
Sprawled out as I wished for life.

I cannot preach what I could not practice,
And I still lecture as an exorcism for my doubts.
I burn the pages and seek my new fortune.
But the thoughts of the past kept me in the water.

I wanted to see their face when I succeed;
The condescending faces that called me weak.
However, I said nay to myself.
In anguish, my fingers snap and crack with each key turned.

I bend homophones and produce malapropa,
Hoping they would feign arrogance.
I wanted to see the evil in saints--their madness.
It is all in my head--my own madness that I live with.

I keep things brief,
I cannot kill myself with elongated stage shows.
I keep things simple,
But I died complicated.