Air-Conditioned Hell

I've been spun around
into a corner again
a false prophet of things once bright
despicable noises created
optimistic sounds torn..
Do human senses
gather anything more than this?
The reason Van Gogh
refuses to find his ear...
this life is a gift
and I don't have the receipt
dress me up
in my suit of disbelief
pocket this brand-new perspective
I bought last week
convincing me to attempt
to erase everything...
Using a D-battery
an NA pamphlet
a dry ink pen
and a paper heart
stained black with sin,
I'm trying to create
a black hole
that will delete everything I know
and swallow my universe...
All this effort
to eradicate
the virus of happiness
that is incubating
waiting
to infect me...
It is a demoralization
that is against my will
a defeat rendered
from the devil's deal
nothing remaining
for death to steal
a void only
more emptiness can fill
until my tiny victories
become infinite kills...

Choosing wisely
the crayon I will use
to color in the holes
of my faded world
I will leave behind
no blank-white paste.
Only skipping rocks of hate
across my glass pond soul
as rationality bleeds away
I'm answering my front door
with a knife
in a hope to kill  
the old way of thinking
murder
my previous state-of-mind...

And maybe in time
after I pawn enough
of my scrap thoughts
I can be left
with nothing
but some change
a few pennies to throw
into an evaporated wishing well
and enough dollar bills
to install air-conditioning
into my custom-built hell...