Desire To Write

To form your own craft to be identified if not by anyone but the person typing on the keyboard that sits in front of you.
Nothing is a brutal as the cold wind that enraptures my lack of identity
Need I perpetually fight against the villains of time and facelessness searching nay galavanting (I wish) for some type of gratification,
I am who you are. We all want the same feeling. Who is more fucked up is the question. I usually think I am but you cant tell that for certain these days.  
Its sad but its true:
there are people worse than myself walking around this earth, people worse than me.
there’s not much hope for either of us,  
 there is no direct answer to the question of immortality.  
We should all suck on someone’s godforsaken thumb  
pray that our entrails maintain intact long enough to  
feel  
heavenly  
in the realm of the diseased  
depressed ravaged  
broken.