Roadside Garbage (because it needed a name)

Why am I here?
This is no longer a place for poetry,
This is a place for my insatiable cynicism, rage and misery.
This is not poetry, this is not real life, this is the foam that spills from my head when I boil over.

Shes dead,
dead.
Did it herself apparently.
I don't know if there was a note.
I don't know if there was a definite reason.

(to which was all say "well there must have been something")
I don't know her.
I've seen her face.
Seen it before today that is.
In person, though not in conversation.
Not in conversation with me anyways.
I know her sister.
Vaguely.
and now shes dead.

Fuck.

What are my accomplishments worth,
That 75 on Chemistry,
That 83 on Calc,

Garbage.

and now shes dead.

I always say I'm so busy,
and I am,
I say I try really hard,
and I do,
I think I'm a good person,
and I'm not,

or perhaps I am and people just aren't human anymore.

I hate it.
She killed herself and I am disgusted.
With her circle of influential people,
With myself,
With her.

I could have spent every moment of my life saving her.
I needed to save her,
And I didn't.
I should spend every moment of my life saving you,
and I know you're probably not reading this,
but I know you.
Or at least some of you.
I should be finding you and fixing you and saving you.
But I wont.
I'm too busy.
God, its almost like my affairs are life and death.
How else could I put them so far above the lives of other people.

And even now I fall prey to the infection that allowed this to happen,
I, like so many, throw people away like roadside garbage.
And no matter how often I see them I am reluctant to pick them up and take them to the place they belong.
Even now its all about me.

Drama Queen.

and by asserting it,
by bringing it to attention,
I have only further confirmed it.

I want to do so much but I wont because I am lazy and scared.

I'm busy doing the thing I love instead of the thing I need to do.

We are all in the wrong unless we are the dying with no one helping us.

My tuition could save hundreds of lives.

And shes dead and I should have stopped it.

If you are going to do the same thing just call me
289 253 0035
I`m Jayden McLean, and I give a fuck,

just not enough to come find you,

but thats more than most,
and it sickens me.

If I don`t answer then call 905 692 9515, and just tell them why you`re calling, they`re my family. I don`t know if they care as much as I do, but tell them about this page, tell them that
"I demand you help this person on the phone, right now they are more important than anything, they are more important than anything you are doing, thinking, reading, planning to do. You need to pretend they were me, if I called you like this what would you do. Good, now do that."

It's all about me.
I'm trying to make myself feel better.
She's dead and I'm offended this was allowed to happen.

She's dead... and I'm offended?
How asinine is that?
I'm offended.

I'm garbage.
BUT WHY AM I TALKING ABOUT ME AGAIN!

A girl is dead and I don't give a fuck because all that matters to me is me!

Wow, I never thought I would be normal.
Fuck this.

This place.
This feeling.
This world.
This story.
This death, this hate, this loathing, this misery, this failure this anger this heartbreak this sadness this love this society this people thisthis this this this thing I think morality is this code I think we should all follow which says that THIS. this should never happen.

I would give anything to save you Emily.
I have never met you, but, short of another's life, I would give anything.

And i didn't give enough of a ....
I didn't find you.
I'm so so sorry.

I treated you like roadside garbage, like I treat everyone else.

And now you're dead.
And I can do nothing.
Except write this self indulgent epitaph which says nearly nothing about you.

I'm sorry.

But that just doesn't cut it does it.

It doesn't bring you back.

It doesn't help your family.

It doesn't even let the world know that this is so wrong.

That this is all wrong.

All it does is say that I'm all wrong, using you as an example.

You are the example to inductively prove we are all wrong.

maybe you didn't know the problem of induction, I learned it in that worthless philosophy class of mine.

You can't prove uniformity of nature,

can't prove the future will be like the past.

That gives me hope.

Your life can't have ended on a happy or peaceful note, so if nothing else,
If there is something beyond this shithole we're stuck in,
I hope you now have the chance to take a break and rest,
Not have to deal with this bullshit anymore,

I hope it's peaceful where you are Emily Jerome.

And God if you're out there take all the peace from my life and give it to her now. If that's allowed.

I accept full responsability for her death.
I wan't even trying to save her.

I never met you Emily, but I miss you so much already.

You left my life abruptly today, at the same moment you entered it. And you left a little hole.

I've learned to make them little.

I'm so sorry I failed you.

I don't want to be forgiven.
I cried a little for you.
I know it will never be enough,
never enough for me even if it is enough for you.

I'm so so sorry for your loss.

How lives are spent.

I don’t know who I am.
I have morals but I have no way to know if I obey those morals, in fact I know in many cases I don’t.
I am a killer by proxy. I am a slaver by proxy.
I am an accomplice to crimes unimaginable.
I have not stepped in, or perhaps stepped out of my lazy and gluttonous wallow.
How can I consider myself a good person when everyday thousands die and I do nothing to stop it.
How can I find enjoyment when so many others bathe in misery, in pain.
I say I care but do I?
I miss the days when I didn’t know.
The days where my every movement was not against my moral compass.
I miss magic.
I miss those days when I could believe in something worthwhile, when every happy day wasn’t fraught with pessimism.
Those days when my mind didn’t have to suppress my heart.
Those days when I lived an unexamined life.
For my every examination leads to cruelty, greed and ignorance.
I could feed starving children. I believe it takes only a dollar a day.
This term I’ve wasted more than six thousand needed meals.
My physics, the numbers I move around a page, have no doubt cost starving children their lives.
I’ve spent lives. Not dollars, lives.
Every math assignment is written in blood.
I’m worried it will one day just begin to drip from my hands.
I am the privileged. I am the strong.
I kill the weak, the sick, the predetermined undeserving.
Every introspection is a doorway to misery.
If I cared, I would be steeped in the feeling.
I am ashamed to say that I am not, I am happy, and so I am guilty.
And yet my execution would do nothing.
I once spoke to a teacher, a mentor of mine.
He said that really, most of us are replaceable.
We are expendable.
I expend many every day.
I argued. Said that the Albert Einstein’s are out there and not easily replaced without a cost of time before discoveries, before advances.
I realize that they expended many on their way to enlightenment.
One farmer can tend many crops.
Maybe one in every two should die. That way the survivors could live in happiness untainted by the fact that their every action cost lives.
And yet I know there would still be killers, still be cruelty, greed, and ignorance.

So I wonder, can enlightenment, education, and happiness, even fleeting, come only at the cost of lives?
Are my actions and joys really worth that much?

The worst is, if I spend all these lives, learn all this information and never ever ever manage to improve anything in a lasting way, what was my, what was their, lives worth?

Nothing?

What were all of these words worth?

Nothing.

Likenesses that are Not Liked

I remember you, in those first days.
I could see the need in those days.
I could smell it, taste it.
It nourished me.

I have starved for you.
I would starve for you forevermore.
You are no longer in need.
You are strong, mindful, and moral.
I'm so proud.

She has your hair.
She has your eyes.
She has your heart.
She has your mind.

She has your old problems, only worse.

I am so hungry.

She has not your strength.
She still has your problem, only worse.

Both mothers, broken like glass, cut their children deeply as they grew in the cage of sharp edges.
I know you once cut, it gave you control.
I have not looked to see if she has the scars.
Her words bear her injury, or more their absence.

I could fix her.
I feel it.
I want it.

I am so hungry of purpose.
I thought my meals few and far between and out of fidelity closed my eyes.
But I have glipsed.
My old purpose gleams like a flower frosted with dew.
Am I pig enough to eat it?
To leave my now purpose and return to my older, and truer.

It is wrong of me to harbour such thoughts. I am commited, promised even.
That ring is still wrapped about your finger,
but am I still rapt with you?
It is wrong of me not to help her if I can.

I love you. No buts.
... but I have fixed you.
Who will fix her?
Were there more of me she would be fixed already.
Another would have saved me this rending inner conflict.
But rended I am not! I am calm! Complacent!
I have accepted my failure already!

I can't help without hurting.
I would never do anything to hurt you,
I've said that more than once and I meant it.
I mean it.
I mean it still.

Is it moral of me to stay?
Is it moral of me to leave?
Would she have me if she knew why I left?
Will you have me if this is why I've stayed?

Of course you will. That is how I've trained you.
I've trained you to be like me.
I would have you no matter how many mistakes you had or would make.
I love you.
But should I?

So much distance between us, with problems of yours I cannot fix.
So little distance to a problem I have experience in fixing.
Just a few steps down the hall.
Just a few steps 'till she's better off.
'till I'm morally fed.

Self actualization is actually a self destructive desire.
Though if I stay I am building toward nothing.

Am I happy?
Are you happy?
Is she happy?

Am I broken because I want to fix her?
Will you be broken if I leave?
Am I broken only while you're fixed?
Am I fixed only while someone is broken?

I don't want to break up.
But I want to fix her up.

I want to just be friends with her, but I'm scared I can't make light conversation with a moral feast while I lay starving.

How do I fix this?

What should I aim for?

"Shoot for the moon, even if you miss you'll land among the stars"

The moon, thats a PhD thats what I want, I can't get there without first attaining the low earth orbit of an undergraduate degree.
I have the marks back from my math midterms.
65. 71.
I've seen examples of the physics problems, which I now know I didn't do correctly.
Less than a 65 at the end and they kick me out.

I can feel my hair singing off in the heat of re-entry.

I wonder if anyone will wish on me.

I wonder if anyone will find the chared remains. Will I even make it back to the ground?

If I am found maybe they'll take a few peices for research.
Maybe I'll still get to contribute to science.

Mid-term Midterms in Mild Terms

Midterms
A term which I nearly choke in the middle of.
Though I've only been through one;
I've lots of time to choke in the middle.
"A wake up call"
What a nightmare!
"Sixteen questions of hell"
3B) The number of this question is present in what domain? a)Hell b)Your soul c)This test d)All of the above

A temporary reprieve from the onslaught of assignments in which time is best spent locked in a silent, brightly lit room, eyes taped open, bloodstream 90% filled with caffeine and pages and pages, notes, textbooks, and webscreens passing by at such an agonizingly slow rate that the breeze doesn`t irritate ones eyes but the bright white glare and glow threatens to render one blind.

I didn`t get the chance to study for my chemistry midterm.



I think I aced it.

I'm miserable.
My short story is horrible.
My character isnt the character I planned out,
nor is he interesting,
I tried to make him sound like a stoner/uncaring teenager
he sounds like a hick from south Alabama
And he sounds like that in my head too, not just on the page.
My phone keeps auto-correcting all of my messages into nonsense
My step-sister is being a two faced bitch
I never know how to act around her
I hold great respect for her most of the time,
 and yes we do disagree on things
but we discuss them in an intellectual way
but then, out of nowhere, she busts out these comments
that make me feel like if I'd jumped off a bridge three days ago
She wouldn't have noticed yet,
and she wouldn't care when someone voiced the news
Like if I were gone it would simply mean one less idiot on the earth
Maybe she and Mr. Shea are right, I'm easily replaced
My short story is completely plot driven
I used big, horrific events to hide the fact that I can't write worth a damn
I use shock value to garner compliments
My moral tenor and conscience are begging me to try to fix Adam
But I don't have the time, and even though I know,
Come next year, when its too late, you'll hate yourself
But I already hate myself now so what the hell,
Helping others is more important than helping myself
But what if I can help more others by helping myself first?
Ghandi had it easy, he only needed to sit back and not co-operate
and he freed a nation
I want a degree in physics so I can find one
just one
New idea
A discovery.
Even a small one.
To be mentioned once in one history book, once in history, for one discovery.
Just one.
To do so I have to work for an evil company.
Work myself to the bone,
though I'm not really doing that,
I don't have time to sleep yet I do,
I don't have time to eat lunch, but I do
I don't have time to play portal 2 but I do
I don't have time to play D&D but I do
I don't have the time to go to prom but I will
I didn't have time to take Kerrie out for Ice cream but I did
I didn't have the time to fall asleep while doing homework today
I don't have time to go and write about my problems on blogger,
but guess what.
I have stretch marks on my stomach.
I let myself go and became fat fast.
I'm sensitive about my weight.
I'm not fit, I'm not healthy.
I don't have the willpower to control what I put into my face.
I walked out to get a snack or a glass of juice tonight
and ashley takes the time out of her busy schedual to say
"don't have any Ice cream."
I thought that meant are parents were planning to use it for something
like a family desert so I asked
"why?"
"Well you're the one who didn't eat dinner last night."
Well thank you Ashley for making me feel that:
One: if I come into the kitchen it probably means I'm going to eat.
Two:That I'm an idiot for packing four slices of pepper for my dinner at work last night.
I couldn't even hold to those four peices of pepper anyway,
I had enough money to buy a Mars bar so I did
But thank you for making me feel like a fat, stupid, piece of shit
Why am I even writing this!
Do I want gossip about myself!
Do I want sympathy!
Do I want special treatment!
Do I want pity!
What do I want?
Where does hard work end and happiness begin
Ive been working hard since I was labled the boy with cooties in grade 3
I've always been working toward my better future.
When do I get this better future.
I've been working so hard, for so long,
I care, I'm nice, I'm respectful, I'm polite
I'm an existentialist who believes everyone is good at heart for God's sake
I'm replaceable
If I did go jump off a bridge tomorrow I would be forgotten by most in a few months
by all in two generations
When do I get my better future?
I have at least four more years of hard work ahead of me
But I know there will be more after that,
and more after those.
Will I ever be able to walk up to God, or the History books, or myself and say
"I'm all finished." in stead of
"I'm a work in progress"
Will it ever stop?
Or will I ever be under the heel of my own boot
just trying to crawl out and see the daylight I know must be beyond the sole
is the light beyond my soul?
Will every step I take just lead me to walk all over myself again
Is my movement to a better future a stroll on a mobious strip.
I look forward to the future and see there is a flip side to things, a better place out there
but its an illusion
I see the other side but its not there.
There is only one side and I'm on it.
Always trying to get to a better future or an easier past
and always ending up where I started
With neither.
I need to go to sleep.
I have to put on the mask again tomorrow morning.
Brighten everyones day.
Its prom after all.
I have to go and work hard.
I can't stop.
If I do I'll fail.
But I can never succeed.
I suppose if I can't live
I might as well keep myself from dying.
Night.

Pleas don't comment that it was great and honest writting.
I don't care if you all know my secrets, I have none.
I'll lay myself bare before the eyes of the world.
Whether its to get ahead or to get clean I don't know.
Don't give me the ego trip that my life actually matters.
Until that original thought, that one discovery.
All I am is replaceable hard work.
Night...

Come Back. Please. I Can Bandage You.

So close
So close.
So close..
So close...

Closer than any before.
I listen to those you did.
You still say to me through them,
"Something for the pain, just to kill this feeling
Although we looked awake, inside we're all still sleeping
And I spent my time here alive, but barely there
Do you believe we'll ever make it?"
Yet now not a word to me will you speak.
I here you ever calling,
"wake me when it's through,
I don't want to feel the things that you do"
And my attempts are all met with the sounding of your silent yell,
"Don't show me anything!"

I miss you.
You were so close.
I was so fucking close... so close...
Yet if I recall I was only through gate 3 of 9.

I love you.
I hated you, but I couldn't stay that way.
You are familly.
I'd bet your the tails to my heads.
I can't see a way back to you,
Its like I'm looking out in the opposite direction.

I have no friends.
No-one ever holds me,
I keep everyone at a distance.
I forget everyone, I can't see their faces.
I still see your smile, even over the glare you cast over me.
I wish I could meet your eyes now.
You wont let me.
I can't forget you.

I love you Adam McKay.
Your the only friend I've ever kept,
Yet the only friend I've ever lost,
Come back. Please. I can bandage you.

I hope someone leads you here.
To these words or to this feeling.
Your my one regret.
If today is the Rapture,
I know I'm not going to Heaven,
Because I will leave this world on the day of my death with you as my only regret.
Let my unrepentant sins and their cost pay penance for my failure to help you.

You saved my life,
Why wont you let me save yours?