The point is

[Guest]

the point is:
there has never been a point
i am drinking from an empty cup
i am wondering why i am still thirsty
i am writing with an inkless pen
i am angry at my hollow words.
my car is rumbling under its breath
i turned it off five minutes ago
it sounds alive even though it is not

the truth is:
there is actually no truth
my tongue is ripped from falsehoods
it is dipped in sin like a candle string into wax
my bones are black and white, but mostly grey
i am muted even though i am howling
i believe myself even when i shouldn't
i don't believe in truth anymore
none of this is true.

the beauty of it is:
the world actually hates beauty
i hate beauty as fervently as the world
i still decided to dye my bones like the sea
i lied to myself and said i could be beautiful
i just coughed up ink, blood and pelvic shards
i discovered i wasn't actually beautiful at all
i consoled myself and said that beauty is a lie
i held myself at night and wished it wasn't

the funny thing is:
i laugh at unfunny things at unfunny times
i laugh at how i am shivering under a threadbare sweater
i laugh at how my car is humming even though it is dead
i laugh at how tears are sung about as if they are beautiful
i laugh at how when i cry, i am swollen-eyed and splotchy-cheeked
i laugh at how when i cry, i am anything but pretty
i still laugh and cry until i am hoarse and my throat is stripped
i laugh and cry and sound as if i am alive

the point is that the world is ugly
the truth is that i have been turned off for five years
the beauty of it is that i don't believe any of this
the funny thing is that you do