Inching Towards the Typer

i'm forgetting what it's like,
to love a woman,
to actually be trusting
of myself
towards other people.
i'm forgetting what it's like,
to share experiences with people,
to go home feeling complete.
and i'm forgetting what it's like,
to be sober
and deal
with
outward pushing
and inward
pulsations.
i'm forgetting what it's like,
to be human
in any form.
going through the motions
and pretending that my self preservation,
is of the uttermost importance.
i forgot why i was built,
so i wander aimlessly,
through hallways,
up strange alleyways,
reeking of piss,
down corridors,
that were once closed to me
as a young bastard
but now open to me,
as a aging, dying hyena.
so i ravenously devour,
anything put in front of me,
dependent on drugs,
fixated on fine young woman,
who will only prolong
my desires.
we're a strange breed.
i'm forgetting what it's like
to be hugged
and appreciated.
this must mean i'm becoming human
just
like
all
of you
machines
marching
to the beat
of big brothers drum
sleepwalking
is better
than just sleeping
i just wish we could sleep together.
a prince in his drywall kingdom
and a princess
getting her feet rubbed.