that feeling you get

that feeling you get when you're on your knees listening to your joints crack as you repeatedly start punching the ground as hard as you can until the earth's skull cracks open reaching the core to bathe your skeleton in molten iron, while bringing upon the last mass extinction on the planet, but failing, always failing; collapsing on your back in gravel, rocks, mulch, grass, ripped up cellophane wrappers, flatten fast food cups, used syringes, cigarette butts, regrets, and bad feelings, next to a stump from a tree that was recently cut down by men with chainsaws outside your apartment building (spine resting on the roots and what remains of the trunk) with broken arms, fractured wrists, and busted fingers sharp fragments of bone sticking through like broken twigs, realizing you haven't even made an impression in the dirt because you are weak and a failure by choice, not luck or circumstance, that never accomplishes your goals, improves your life, and/or achieves your dreams in life in any way because you're lazy, unmotivated, with no self-belief because what evidence is there to believe in yourself since there is always someone who exists in the world that is better than you at what you’re supposed to be good at, so you always have to open your eyes in the morning to do the same monotonous shit every day that you settled for because you are alive and left with a choice to accept it, and die with the passage of time at some random moment because of something you can’t prevent or predict, feeling the same as you always have, and disappointing more people you care about for longer than you already have, ruining their lives more, or you look up the chainsaw men who just cut down the tree by your apartment building in the yellow pages stacked outside your building’s front door, because you can't afford internet or a smart phone, and don’t have the gas or bus money to get to a wi-fi hotspot or library, so you hire them to do the same to your body that they did to the tree: slicing you into smaller and smaller pieces with gas powered tools that have a use/purpose, then having the workers put whatever big remains are left through a woodchipper becoming nutrition for other forms of life that will soon become infected with your shitty thoughts and outlook on life, according to the people who understand what’s wrong with you and the world, which you’ve never been able to figure out yourself since the day you were born, until nothing remains.