A Revolving Door (GPT fueled poetry)

My inner world is beyond
Anyone’s reach,
Including my own
I only get glimpses
I don’t understand other people,
I can’t understand myself

It’s hard to connect with the living
To me they’re unreal
I find them bland and lackluster,
Vapid and disposable
Their teeth are sharpened,
Their nests are full of vermin
For most intents and purposes,
I don’t have friends nor a family
It’s easy to get infatuated
With imagined people

I’m a carefree beast of nature,
A seeker of simple pleasures
I’m beyond fucked in the head
I’ve fallen in love with dreams

I’m going through the motions
In the absence of emotions
The things I think and say
Are constantly depressing
I’m a pile of bones,
Weeds and dirt
A container for a shame
Made of piss, cum and tears

As a way of offsetting my depression,
I have to ruin the lives of my children
I need them to come from a broken home,
To endure some extreme mental illness,
To sink in their own darkness
I want to witness their pain and suffering,
I want them to be the victims of mass murders,
I want them to be stabbed and strangled
And tortured and raped
I need to see their last moments of living

I’m running around in a ring of fire,
Only I’m the arsonist
I’m starting fires all over the place
And I’m the blaze
I set you aflame
And watch as your eyes burn,
Your face crumbles,
Your flesh cracks,
And your hands fall away
You’ll never feel pain again

My pale, freckled child
Whom I came to love,
I wish you would know
I spent many sleepless nights
Grasping for any way
To save you

Why would I need to write fiction,
Give birth to paper people,
When I wish for real humans
To stay away?
The things I despise the most,
Beyond this body and mind,
Are your lifeless eyes
Staring back at me

I’m a vessel forced to exist,
A host in a windowless room,
A hapless slave
To my shattered psyche,
Locked up in a vat of ice
Cold enough to keep me alive,
But I’m breaking apart
And destroying myself

I used to daydream about suicide
To feel relief
No matter how bad it got,
The exit was there
No longer do I dream
About drowning,
But the revolving door of depression
Will always remain

All that I have to offer
Is a collection of mournful songs
Assembled from nonsense
To hide from life
The dry bones of humanity
I pick and poke

I will drag you down
Until your soul is destroyed
The rats will come
To eat your flesh

‘A Revolving Door’ by Jon Ureña

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