Bankrupt

I fashioned myself a hatred for beauty
Envy steeped in alcohol for eight months
I found myself spitting on murals of possibilities
And waking up with bloody fists
I sewed into my arm a reminder of the dread of waking
Not that it was necessary, but like a flare shot into the sea
It signaled to the emptiness that I was ready
I woke up vomiting, disgorged a collection of corroded copper coins
Arranging their paltry worth, upon my sunburned chest
And begging anyone to rake them off
I dug into the dew-laden soil, a hole of perfect depth
This accumulated language, bankrupt and tawdry
Throw it in and grasp my throat with fury
Every thought absurd
Every word empty
Every error exposed
Every moment wasted