Pointless cruelty

I'm looking at the distant vistas and ruined buildings. Books of genocide fill my bookshelf and comedy is thinly veiled murder. 

The cruel jokes make me angry and make me choke up more than they add to my enlightenment. 

I look at what I've written and I cringe and I cringe at how much farther I might have gone with the word. 

Ennio Morricone consoles me; Cronenberg helps me sleep at night. I'm done with cheerful. 

I am not a good person and anyone who says otherwise I lied to. 

I'm trying for self awareness but I think that it's a course I'm failing and I think that maybe it's just luck. 

My wife is a stranger and my pet causes me pain. I feel like something is broken in my brain and I don't want to fix it. 

I'm Simon and Garfunkel's Rock and Island; I'm alone and shunned. 

And for some reason I feel all their pain acutely and I just want to help everyone. 

When the smiles come out and they want to be my friend, that hurts and I want to run away. 

Nothing is intuitive. 

Nothing is obvious. 

Common sense is a lie. 

I will go forward and only forwards. 

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