Fading Fast

I sleep a sleep that is no sleep,
I live a life that is no life,
I die a death that is no death,
I dream a dream that is no dream,

I am fading fast.

All my life
I have been trying to write
the ultimate line,
the perfect poem,
the last word,
the final solution;

there is nothing left.

I am tired,
everyday is the same old thing,
words nauseate me,
food and breathing
seem like unnecessary burdens,
my guts are rotting from the inside out,
my teeth are grinding into dust,
my brain is turning to mush,
my cock is a useless piece of string,
I am sick of objects,
repulsed by their touch,
their sight,
I want to walk naked into the desert,
no destination,
no return,
I want to write words that will bring
tears to a blind man,
I want to dance with queens and
other fantasies,
run with wolves and ghosts,
I want to slip quietly away
like a beast in the night;

I am fading fast.
.
.