Untitled and Possibly Unfinished

When I wake up in the morning I am poison to myself the bottles on the shelf self-help in a helpless jar empty like I want my head to be dead to me bled for me but the wound pours when I snore I miss going to the store and picking up chips and soda and assorted fruit snacks and toilet paper because you know you always seem to use up what’s left of mine. You always seem to use up what’s left of mine. You always seem to use up what’s left of mine. Mine. Mine. Mine. I don’t mind. No I don’t mind anymore I can snore as loud as I fucking want because there’s no one there to judge me in the night nudge me in the night or remind me to turn off the lights and check my pockets so now I always forget my God damned keys. The books in my bed become the books in my head and I sleep next to them and a pile of my dirty clothes and only I know just how long they’ve been sitting there. And I don’t have to move this and I can just step over that and I don’t have to move this and I can just step over that. I want to have to. I want to have to have to have to do something. Make me. Make me. Make me want to not want you make me because I just want to. I just want to. I just want.