inconsequential

it's a blissful universe,

one in which i don't exist

my intangibility gives me strength.

i find solace in the nihilism,

freedom in living fast,

i depend so heavily upon

my mental illness

to kill me before i turn thirty-three.

it's a mutual destruction,

my mind and i,

in a quest to see

which one of us

will die first.

an epic battle of the ages,

fought with sticks and stones,

reverted to a primitive age

of childhood insults.

here i can be a child,

where rebellion means

drawing on the walls

and making faces at the mirror,

or throwing a baseball

through an upstairs window

and dancing barefoot

on the shattered glass

and mommy

won't be mad

because she'll be too worried

about my bleeding feet

and the stains on the carpet

to care

about my mistake.

she'll drive me to the emergency room

and they'll tell her

i'm okay,

because little kids

don't get locked up

for doing stupid shit.

as a child my misdeeds

are inconsequential,

a speck of dust in the maladies of youth.

i can lose myself in the delusion

and my parents will be assured

that it's just

my creativity

coming out to play.

it is a blissful universe,

one where i don't exist.

yet eventually,

i was forced

to grow up

and fill the role

of existence

that i'd been trying so hard

to avoid.