My Story (no title yet)

Hey, I'm new to this forum and I've decided to post my story here. Most of you will hate it and I wrote it in a short period of time and have not edited it given all the work I have. Here it is. My writing skills are mediocre, I know. I was tempted to erase it and start afresh, not a bad idea. Anyways, tell me what you think!



Once a poet, never again a poet. Lies written on paper that sound philosophical fool anyone. Alone and no visitors, not that I give a damn. Homo sapiens sapiens, homo stupidus. Foul beasts, all of us. Peer pressure, the death of me! Delighted to bore myself with re-collections of my life, but no, no. My life is not worth anything, why mull over it? Hospitals: mazes upon mazes, turned upside down. Crucifix-wearing scoundrels passing. Idle Christians. Graceful lycanthropes, weaving an exquisite tapestry of false emotions. Only good on Sundays. Unlike true Christians, observers of a most pious faith. Any religion. A way of life. Foggy window. A handkerchief to clear it up. We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal… Equal my ***! Painkillers to soothe the pain. But I deserve it! Merci beaucoup, infirmier. Drugs are a marvel... aren't they? Je n’aime pas le français. The language of the infidels. No, not Muslims, but French, yes, decidedly. Nasal r’s and romanticism, they sicken me. Finnegans Wake: most elaborate joke ever conceived. On the second thought, maybe I will. Erudition, tool for the insecure. God: leap of faith. Three and one. Occam’s razor in your face, Christians! In my face! Credo in unum Deum. Love, what a bamblumding nincohence, paradisus of fools. He who loves is not a fool, no, decidedly not, but a madman! Yes, a madman, nonetheless. Yet, we have all been mad, we have all loved. How many of us have taken advantage of a relationship, precisely to shield our weaknesses? How many of us have scorned our friends for something, so as to appear stronger, usually because we ourselves have done or continue to do the same thing? Time passes, death approaches. But my memory does not fail me at this crucial moment, no. Does it? Ask Baudolino. They think I’m mad, naturally. How many of them have felt the burning sting of a whip, the cold strike of the wind in a prison cell, the icy chill of the rocky floor as you sleep? Add to all this the slow, painful passing of 50 years in prison, imprisoned for a crime I did not commit. No, I did not commit that one, but I deserved it for my countless other sins. Escape from Alcatraz? Hell itself. Dante does it no justice. The best part? I enjoyed it! Yes, no one asking questions, fools interrupting my train of thought. To hell with them! Then: the sun, blinding me and filling me with despicable cheeriness. Where to, where to? Misery Street. Hope: a dream within a dream. Did I say it to be cruel, or where those my true feelings? I cannot say.