The inane things you say make me want to die. The fumble, the field goal, the basket, the tackle. How fucking hot your girlfriend looks in that tight top and short skirt. How you could totally nail the girl who just walked past us at the bar.

But when your nicotine dusted fingertips start to make my lips go numb. When you grab my hair. When you gasp. And when we’re lying there after. That’s when I forget these things.

I guess I’ll live.

I'm lying here with the light on. The fan is set on speed 3, and it's pointed directly on me. Social networks dance on my computer screen. Faces of people, some of whom I've never met, spout endless minutia. So do I. We'd like to think that all of this is bring us closer to one another, but that is anything but the truth. This faux interconnectedness is just another way to live together, alone. These pills are beginning to take hold. My mouth is dry, and not even the coldest, clearest water can quench it. Sometimes I equate staying up that one last hour with having that one last drink. It's the one that always kills you in the morning.

It's 4:45 AM, and my alarm is set for noon.

They stare at me, their eyes all heterochromatic. One blue, one green. One brown, another hazel. Their bodies twist & turn in that cold, empty darkness. They whisper to one another, but their gaze does not falter. I can feel nothing but malice. I try & step back, but I find am up against a wall. As they inch closer & closer I realize that yesterday was the last time I will ever see a sunrise. I close my eyes as tears trickle down. They envelope me.

Stale and sour
Stagnant, stuck
My batteries have lost their power
and I am fresh out of luck.
Windows boarded up,
sunlight can't reach in.
Wine sticks softly to my glass.
I am Isolation.

If this ceiling were the floor,
I'd be taller than the windows.
When we kiss I feel like I am standing in a pool of cold, rising water.
You'll constantly be surrounded by things you need to avoid.
Extraordinary is seeing around you.

If winter ends
I'll lead you gently by the hand.
Out to a field of comatose flowers,
Soft snow melting with each corresponding step.
And when that first ray of sunshine hits
your porcelain face,
I'll know my choice was sound.

And if winter ends
We will sing silently to songs with no words.
We'll dance to songs not heard on any radio.

And if winter ends
I'll buy you that ring.
The one from the supermarket quarter machine.
Things only seen in childhood dreams,
I'll make it yours.
I'll make it mine.
I'll make it ours.

If winter ends.

We were just boys. Trekking into the dense wood, we hadn't a care in the world. The rain began to fall.  Softly at first.  Our youthful tongues reached out and caught the delicate drops.  The rain fell harder - so hard it began to tear at our skin. The air became still.  The sounds of the forest ceased.  All was crystallized.  Then Hell struck.  Out of the sky, a brilliant bolt of lightning hit the tall elm to the right of us.  We all cowered in terror, knowing full well we needed to take cover, but there was none to be found. The sound was unbearable.  Trees exploded to the right and left of us, all accompanied with a ghostly white that enveloped everything around it.  I could hear Paul crying and I ran over to him.  I grabbed him by the shoulder so that we could take cover next to a large boulder.  We'd almost reached it when we were hit.  From the top of my head to the tips of my toes I felt a pain my young life had never experienced.  My shoes flew free as I was forced into a massive tree trunk.  My ears were ringing and dripping with blood.  I hurt everywhere.  Dazed, I ran over to  Paul.  He was on the ground.  He was convulsing and vomiting.  Not a regular vomit.  His insides were escaping from his mouth.  Blackened whole pieces of lung flowed forth, steaming in the rain.  He became still and his skin turned a bluish hue.  It didn't even cross my mind that he would die.  I was only fourteen, after all.

A cry from the dark.
A call for lost innocence.
Pull the ropes.
Taught and tight.
Come and see.
Come and see.

Glass upon glass.
Shattered and ground
Into a powder so fine
It will seep into his veins.
She takes special care not to cut herself as
She spreads the deadly dust upon his side of the bed.
He enters the room.
Sheds his clothes,
And gives her a kiss.
He tastes of Her.
He smells of Her.
Settling into bed, he turns off the light.
In the dark, she smiles.
You know what they say about a woman scorned?
They don't know the half of it.

Driving home on a Sunday night,
Streetlights are industrial fireflies.
Your gaze wanders,
But doesn't linger on me.
Instead, it fixes on the parade of yellow lines on the road,
Passing in rapid succession.
Our silence hurts, so I reach for the radio.
If this were a movie, it would be Our Song
We'd smile.
Talk it out.
Make up.
Kiss.
This isn't a movie, and it isn't Our Song.
We pull up to the drive and you open your door.
For a moment, I consider stopping you.
But I don't.
It's far too cold.
And my sweater is starting to fray.

I'll play the killer,
And you'll play the whore
We're all set on liquor.
Is that someone at the door?

He wants what's not his,
And she's just a drunken mess
Here we go, Earth Mother.
Let's put these flops to the test.

It's all part of the game.
There will be tears and vomit by the time that we're done.
It's a good thing we're both insane.
And in the end, we'll count our chips and we'll see who won.

I can't sleep at night,
So I'll go buy some melatonin.
I don't smile enough,
Another round of serotonin!

You've become so much more than a habit.
I am snubbed.
I am fiction.
I am the goddamned Velveteen Rabbit.

He smiles a smile that shows no teeth,
as to conceal his bleeding gums.
Upon an altar of idolatry,
he waits for someone who will never come.
Scrawling in the darkness,
he writes of fathers and mathematics.
He writes of sons and sums.

I cloud my head to get ahead.
Just one sip away from enlightenment.
The man smiling,
in my living room,
in the dark,
waits patiently.
Staring into the bathroom mirror,
I adjust my image with nervous haste.
A spider makes its way across the counter.
Instantly, I end it.
Draw back my hand to find only air.

Eyes that search the dark,
And hands that try to grasp.
Until they hit their mark.
And another's palm they clasp.
Lips that taste so sweet,
But at the same time oh so bitter.
Laying dormant on a dirty sheet.
Clothes, portrayed as litter.
As the son rises and shakes his weary head.
She stirs only for a while.
Without hesitation, he quickly leaves the bed.

Just put that paper to pen
and forget what others think
if you can't find any paper
if your pen is all out of ink
then whisper your words over and over
and
over
again
until a proper instrument is found
take notice of all the beauty around you
take in all the words you can find
from books
from him
from her
from them.

and always remember that art is not a contest
you fucking twit.

If I died with my hair dyed blue
would my parents dye it back?
I feel as if I am in a constant state of introduction.
Have we met?

And some days
I don't want to die
But rather
Dissolve
Sublimate
Melt
Until I am one with the air
That which you breathe
That which sustains
All that is life giving
All that is pure
In it,
Through me;
A wish.

It’s when you notice the world around you while listening to that perfect song.
Everything unconsciously moves in perfect time, to a perfect beat, in sweet synchronicity.
In those brief moments, the universe dances such an elegant waltz.
All is intricately weaved, and dances solely for you.

Two pin points of blood seep
from my forehead.
The skin from my index finger
is coming off again.
But I’m not sure if I would call it
Peeling or shedding.
These days continue to drag
From Sunday to Saturday.
Drone on and repeat.
Sleep and retreat.
But I’m not sure if I would call it
True Despair or Prolonged Adolescent Bullshit.

I’ll go with the latter.