The creeping time

gets into one’s skin,

changes it inexorably,

leaving behind

an alien thing.

All my life,

all my pain,

all the punches taken,

all the lumps swallowed,

it builds up

like a mountain of rice

(but I gave

as good as I got).

Alone. Is it so bad

to be

alone?

One wants for nothing

on one’s own –

a man cannot

know himself

until he’s alone.

Why do we need people?

Those voices,

their touch –

why?

And why do I

shatter

before them?

The days are growing dark.

I don’t know whether I

seek the light

anymore.

I’ve never been in love,

never made love,

never fought with my fists.

Piss, piss it all away –

all the time, every day.

Limp, like the softness

inside a limpit,

hard

like the hardness

of a confused and fleshless life.