helpless, worthless

Our eyes

are glued

to bloodied news,

another war

another body,

I’ve never felt so small, I say

and you say

you feel the same,

but shutting the screen off

feels just as bleak

as allowing atrocities

to dance upon it.

We go to work,

distracted by

a thousand deadlines,

making enough

to survive tomorrow

the day after, still hazy,

still silhouetted,

I’ve never felt so poor, I say

and every co-worker laughs in agreement

before crushing their cigarettes

and ending their breaks.

I speedwalk through the rainy streets,

tunnel-visioned,

looking for something,

dark clouds heavy, pregnant with pains,

pregnant with tensions,

pregnant with a future

I’m afraid to see materialise.

I’ve never felt so worthless, I say,

but nothing replies this time,

except the silence, with a blunt force

which I’ll carry to the grave.

I convince myself

to go on hoping

even in the face of

all this piss, sweat and blood,

all these surgeries and explosions,

the leaking drains, the doomed generations,

the dying children, the accruing skeletons,

the half-dead economy,

the piles of abandoned shoes,

my bleeding out relationship,

my beaten and battered will to live,

the past, claws still deep,

carried upon my back,

the worms on my plate,

the fear in my chest,

my weary body, wearier,

letting me know how time is

flying past, untouched,

ungrabbed, unused,

under-utilised

and I could sob about it,

but it won’t fix a thing,

and my hands are too cold

for you to touch, or hold

and I’m in rage most of the time

asking how did we get here

asking if I’m even here,

asking if I want to be

for much longer

at this point.

I fall asleep at some

unknown point,

wake up again,

feelings unchanged,

the world still the same,

still rotting at its core,

and do it all again.

The feelings slightly heavier,

my nerves slightly more raw,

feeling slightly more worthless,

feeling slightly more alone,

feeling the past slightly

heavier upon the shoulders,

feeling the future’s teeth

sinking into flesh.

I do it all again,

hoping against hope,

accepting death’s quickening approach

for reasons I couldn’t tell you,

they’re unclear and blurred to me

impossible to articulate

a latent hope

somewhere, kicking,

beaten but alive

even as I watch

it all fall apart,

helpless,

worthless,

worthless,

helpless.