In 2009, The american disaster film "2012" was released.
Preparing for "The End of The World" was easy.

A piece of cardboard at a Red Light.


"2012 The End Is Nigh, What's a dollar?"


We might as well have smiled, given a friendly wave,
honked our horns like we were passing the Freeport Flag Ladies.


In 2012, I was in high school with my first job.

I didn't care that In the twinkling of an eye,

we were gonna hear God's last trumpet.

On Rapture-Eve, I set out "Milk N' Cookies" for the "Left-behind"

I left next mornings outfit on the side of the road as if Angels abducted me ****-*** naked mid-stride

Turns out, the red light never turned green.

The "left-behind" kept breeding

and Hell on earth just kept recruiting

Now it's 2020,

The Freeport Flag Ladies are in Quarantine,

the signs have needles in our eyelids like mechanical spiders,

You can't even turn the news off now,

I pick it up at CVS Like a Controlled substance prescription.

They make you call in once a month to get it refilled.

Some how my amazing wife Amy and I

Not only survived the rapture,
we brought a brand new life into it.

For 10 days we were locked in a hospital

We never looked at the news.

The world melted away as we danced together

Waiting to meet our little miracle.

After Amy was whisked away for intensive surgery
and survived the most unspeakably amazing thing in the world
a nurse eventually grabbed me and asked if I wanted to meet my daughter,
I was guided to a baby table

with knobs, meters, heat lamps,

and on a tiny cushion

in a tiny plastic crib,

My daughter.


Sophia Naomi Mae Coulombe.


wide eyed

staring into my pupils

wiggling

perfect

Now we are home.

No nurses, no IV.

Somehow it feels like the end of the world and all it's chaos
was the best thing that has ever happened to us.

Everything happened exactly when it needed too.


We couldn't have had better timing

if God planned it.

(W = Anonymous Elderly Woman With Sudden and Severe Dementia)
---

W:

"I was an evil little girl".
I used to stick my tongue out at little boys. They would say,

"SHE STUCK HER TONGUE OUT AT ME".
Then the teachers would always say,

"Young man, she is a respectable young lady and has done no such thing".
So I'd put my thumb to my nose and make faces as they sat".

"My grandmother always raised us to be "GOOOD" "GOOOD" and I was goood.
It was so boring.
They used to get so frustrated with me".

"I was so proud of my father.
Everywhere he went he had to fix people.
He changed things
nomatter where he'd go. He always said

"I CAN MAKE IT BETTER FOR THEM.
IT CAN BE BETER".
He never loved me. Didn't have time. I should call him.
I want to call my father"


Me:

"Did he ever self-actualize and realize that he was making their lives /his version/ of better? Before he died, did he realize maybe what he thought was better wasn't better for everyone?"


W:

"No.
He was a tsunami that changed everything he touched. We girls
respected him.

Listen to me, hah.
talking about such things, on a toilet.
I have no dignity left.
We have to laugh.
Am I crazy?

Me:

"You're no more crazy than I am.
Who wants to be sane? That's no fun".

W:

"That's right!
If you can't laugh,
you die".

Me:

"Earlier, to describe yourself
as a child, you said
you were "Evil".
Do you beleive that part of the reason you were so "evil"
was because you were beautiful?
And you knew it?".




W:

She paused for a moment and pursed her lips in contemplation.
...

"Yes."

The woman nods a slow turtles nod, with both eyes shut and squinting and a pouted mouth.
Her puckered lips fade into a smile.

"Yes, absolutely It was".

I lament the terror that strikes me when old voices are summoned from new mouths.

tattered flags, wedding dress trains
white fringe, cached in dirt road
like baggy jeans, converse worn like religion.
Stockholm syndrome, always ran away

never left home, delicately telling
time wearing, down eight years
down in the basement, duct-tape cuffed
to a chair, bandage torn off slow

like a drag, on a thick cigarillo
from fat lips, fat teeth
fat, you know the drill
ear didn't clover though, despite her Irish eyes

she isn't lucky, enough
to have scars, that we can see
green with liberty
she is tall, held fire until it shattered

in '17, now she has flash backs
when men in black, held a pen
to her nose and clicked, now
she's just a rumor,

"I hear she used to represent freedom"

"I never knew her"

I believe,
if the statue of liberty had a voice;
and she does...

I believe,
if the statue of liberty had red heels;
she could run...

I believe,
if the statue of liberty was a mother;
and she was,

she would have died,
a loud, running, mother,
too young.

Self-Examination
Check your vitals

Snap the Nitrile
Up to the elbow

we're gonna stretch and
pull the protector down.

Play an Avant-garde film
no sound, but

I noticed
you spoke it

credits were rolling'
down your cheek

nothing certain but death and taxes
left handed laughing' laxatives
In the coffee of mothers
Who pump out politicians.

This year You scavenged for Christmas
a life worth living
by killing intuition

stash it
in an Easter basket
in silicone lashes

push the ashes together
then burn the mattress
That's the sand.

through fingers, you make a fist
3rd grade principal

pulled you from detention
In a stretcher

white royal flush in the trenches
You fought to be human
all you needed was
a breath of attention

who said you could end it
win it, prescription of tribulations

from whatever God you'd scavenge for Christmas
he put you through it

all the abuses
habits

black and white canvas
silent obscuring angles

You're more than mannequin

who prayed for this madness
who pays for the therapist
If you even have it
who kept you out of church
And into church basements
writes the book of curses
force fed sedative

Says he went to college.
His Suit is stained in coffee
Yet you're the burden with the vices?

The film is over
the light flickers darkness
we sit in the coffin

smoking' and screaming'
blood is flowing, but there's

no fire
we're just speaking'

what happens after 3AM
witching hour that one scene

when the camera angle was
blurry.

it spoke to me
said self examination can't be

latex
you gotta s
nitrile

they're cut resistant
cover five fingers

not just one appendage.
Blue hands protect you

more than a stranger
so button your blanket

take down the black curtains
sun was always shining,

closed it
to blurry our focus

could take our Macguyver theater
wallpaper canvas stretching

hit us in the temple
like a parshah

finished another session
the blessing of human language

the messenger
malakh, without expectation

we fumble to understand
Scalpel in hand,

ventricle in tact
we're just holding' a feather pen
stick our hands in the past

take a look in the mirror
And write it all down.

https://soundcloud.com/nicholas-coulombe/self-examination

Self examination
snap the nitrile

blue gloves up in your ventricles
grab a *******

or two
we're gonna stretch and

pull down the protector
3,2,1 avant garde

no sound, but your life was hard
I noticed

you spoke it
credits were rollin'

down your cheek
so you smoked it

and laughed at
nothing certain but death and taxes

laxative breakfast served
a generation

you miss it you miss it
a life that hurt because you

scavenged for Christmas
the little blessings

a life worth living
by killing optimists

penetrating defense
to pillar high with indifference

to intent
now you can't ascend

you stash it
in Easter baskets

in sillicone lashes
push the ashes together

then burn the mattress
dust to sand

through fingers, a fist
3rd grade principal

pulled from detention
a stretcher pulled you

white to trenches you fought in
when all you needed was

a breath of attention
who said you could end it

win it
prescription of tribulations

from whatever God you'd scavenge for Christmas
he put you through it

all the abuses
the habits

the black and white canvas
silent obscuring angles

of mannequins
30 seconds of a dancer

who prayed for this madness
who pays for the therapist

who even lets you have it
who kept you out of church

and into church basements
who writes the book of curses

that force fed you the sedative
given by laxatives

that say they went to college.
their Suit is stained in coffee

Yet you have the vices
The film is over

the light flickers darkness
we sit in the coffin

smokin' and screamin'
blood is flowing, but there's

no fire
we're just speakin'

what happens after 3PM
witching hour that one scene

when the camera angle was
blurry.

it spoke to me
said self examination can't be

latex
you gotta get nitrile

they're cut resistant
cover five fingers

not just a lover
a stranger

they protect you from more than danger
so button your blanket

take down the ink curtains
sun was always shining,

closed it
to blurry focus

could take our macguyver theater
wallpaper canvas stretching

hit us in the temple
like a parsha

finished another session
the blessing of human language

the messenger
malakh, without expectation

we fumble to understand
Scalpel in our hand,

ventricle in tact
we're just holdin' a feather pen

talkin' in white and black
we stick our hands in the past

take a look at examination
then take a look at our self.

-----

A Zippo lighter with a smoker's cough
propositioned to the Ladybug
one carton of American Spirits from Montreal.

the first time I saw a warning label scuttle.

"PERTE DE LA VUE"

you can always trust matches to light the neglected beetle,
clinging his chest.

we stumble, to entangle.

White birch wood weaving baskets from branches
caskets from canvas
red/black marble sloppy, from rose goggles.

I blot Rorschach ink from
my eyes, a blind linguist, lost
in messenger inboxes.

"Malakh"

"Maraszatal"

blind luck
killing Lady Bugs.

A Zippo lighter with a smoker's cough

propositions the ladybug

clinging to a flannel pocket.


You can always trust a Tealight

to warm the neglected beetles

that cling to your chest.


This ritual of the staring contest

Eyes that shift the room temperature

behind your curtain.


With attention,

uncomfortable attention

when you blink at the Rorschach shadows.


Tell me, they are not mailboxes.

The spirits linger; we stumble into entanglement

birch trees weaving

baskets from our branches,

attempting to disprove the illusion

that ghosts aren't real


you aren't real

If you, ghosts, or ladybugs are real

I'll stare 'till death do us part


I must, stare...

I must witness all I love

to it's end.


To lose a staring contest to a ghost is to
never prove that ghost is an illusion.

Blinking, disturbs reality.


I don't need any
more obsessions that appear red
with black spots.


I used to stare at the sun.

It's bad luck
to **** lady bugs....


How lucky am I

to witness death?

Is attention a weapon?

Is attention a weapon?


I would **** more...

A Zippo lighter with a smoker's cough,
propositions the ladybug
clinging to a flannel pocket,

You can always trust a tealight
to warm the neglected beetles,
that cling to your chest.

this Ritual of the staring contest.
attention behind the curtain:

When You blink at the Rorschach shadows
tell me, they are not mailboxes.

The spirits linger; we stumble into entanglement

birch trees weaving
baskets from our branches

I'm known to cave on integrity, for the taste of freckles,
flickering tealights in the hearthstone, with a smokers cough.

Provoked to pour concrete in my mouth
Teeter totter teeth on their final pink strings
In this dream,
a ladybug says "I know I am a spider".
circles her silk weaving shadow  around my honeycomb gums
tumblng through my fingers.
If sand from an hourglass,
My therapist suggests I'd clench my fist.

Whiskers is a word that changes 
after love making with a man
Hands that hold, not touch
Scratchy lips, hands on my hips.
Whiskers, like the warmest blanket,
the safest harness, keep me honest.

If I have this with a woman,
she would make me godless.
Venom gets me off a tingle, 
like fanning singles at a stage
It proxies my craving,
drains my savings.

Whiskers can't be heard the same.
I meet a man.
He hungers for my frame.
Drinks me like a bottle
from the top shelf.
He had me on the rocks.

I'm not used to bodies
that aren't soft.
Show me hands that
touch, rough with callouses
I'm learning. I'm still teething
I'm seeing. Fire flickers in my belly.

Men feel different.
I like it. He's safe.
I'm empty. I stop bleeding
for blank canvases.
He holds me on his shoulders like Atlas.
I needed a foundation.

Instead of chasing strangers
I'm being taken by a man
who knows the finer flavors.
This is the way
I'm meant to be.
I can taste it.

the darkest of my fantasies whisper
Your body is a scuba suit
insist i breath with your *******, through your mouth
dive deep into claustrophobic waters, sink heavy to the rock bottom
where we petrify by gorgans gaze
i know we'll turn to stone because, of course, the gorgans can't resist gazing at You
nobody can resist gazing at You, land or sea.
Our permanent legacy, lost under layers of life
barnacles clinging, moss burying Our chimera god/snake skin

i am without Your oxygen
when breathing would terrorize the wind
where words belong
still, my forked tongue writes

i'm a theif to say i only want You to be happy
when i had You, it was still selfish
the revolving doors of pain and perseverance
more time invested in us
then money invested in the Pills that kept me from killing You
out of habit
You begged me to beat You
it's been seven hands dealt
rubbing my 5 o'clock sandpaper chin
on the tarot card of death
my tolerance for vacancy
a brownish red stain
i've only the thin line of medication between necrophilia and sociopathy
i want to lay with You at the bottom of the sea

the Pills... where are...
please no, God.
The Voice,            run!
         get out!

I would gladly go to prison
to **** your lifeless body.

I would gladly **** Myself in the afterglow
of your affection.

there is only one true Sin, Objectification.

I indulge relapse
in every memory, find

your shed snake skin
pull it on, like your *******

how disturbed I've become
with you gone

how selfish of you

of course "I" blames You
when the Pills dull

i indulge by studying Your location

i know where You escape too
i want to go there
does that scare You?

i want to bump into You
apoligise for what i want

"want" as a word
is like plexi-glass, or kevlar

standing between Us
keeping the bullet safe.

i want a hard impact
in a school hallway

where we drop all our
Books and look up and You

see my ghost, that would be enough for Me

i want the impact to hurt.
i want the tumbling of all our Book's
i want the messy hair and ripped knees,
then Our
eyes to meet
and linger
I want to watch the fear fill you.
i want to sit there,
watching.

petrify from parcel tongues
as i gaze at Your gorgon body
shedding skin

if i shed my snakeskin,
maybe i'll see You

i can't leave this Poem
i can't leave this Poem yet
i won't leave this Poem
please kick me out
Poem
Poem
end Me
..
end
.
I
..

Glass trees

Princess pajamas, tippy toes,
an ice scientist smiled from her window.
"You are beautiful" she whispered
I watched silently from the doorway.

The ice scientist kissed her friends goodnight,
Then giggled at her sloppy lipstick stain.
soon, a flurry of more kisses painted the window.
I let out a chuckle.
This jumped  the ice scientist.

"Poophead Dada" she glared at me
Through a face of lipstick kiss smears
"I love you, too" I knelt
took wet cloth to her face.

"Dada?"
"Yes, Poophead?"
"What temperature does love freeze?"
We stared at each other.
Her blue eyes sparkled with a single blink.
I did not expect this question.
nor did I expect,
the extent to which
we would find the answer.

In the audio recording you sent me
An hour of touching yourself
punishment for misbehavior
you giggle and cry at the same time
With a trembling whimper

It's too late now, for a confession.
We were never so honest, as our ***
Violent, passionate
suspending reality momentarily

Life's one true sin, objectification.
And now, you are a recording.

Your eye begging Me, The Cuckoo Bird
To Free you from your own fingers

like the cuckoo bird
My religion
Only gave me one hour
To howl, at passing time.

I warn to not set expectations in the face of discomfort or fear.

Not only could it lay thornbushes like barbed wire fence in way of people who may want to help you.

The weeds may also grow instead of you. Not just around you.

A room with walls made of thorn bushes instead of barbed wire may look like a sanctuary garden. But with four walls that no one will touch, it is still a cage.

Don't silence a helping hand, because you're insulted that it does, or doesn't feed.

Just hold it. Thankfully.
Until you do not wish to hold it any longer.
And then let go.

The carpenters house is never finished.

The dishwashers roomate leaves passive aggressive sticky notes on the faucet.

After work, the cook does not make dinner; the cook finds dinner.

The retail worker will not hesitate to call you an *******.

The bartender
can not hold a relationship.

The caregiver
can not bear a child

When the lobbyist comes home, there is no talk of money; there is no talk at all, only passion, hands and coffee.

When the lobbyist does not come home, there is plenty talk of money; prepaid hotel suites, passion, hands and no coffee.

In the *** workers free time, the *** worker does not give body to strangers; you will never find a lover more faithful than the *** worker.

When the prophett dies, the prophett keeps living.

When the artist is not painting
the artist is watching.

The worlds most powerful leaders have a dungeon in their basement.

The sociopath can know what is right and do the wrong thing anyway.
The sociopath doesn't need a job for that.

It just happens...

sometimes...

The sociopath is working on it.

A little girl found a deck of cards
On her daddy's poker table.

She always knew how to make a home
Out of a gambler.

Her hands were steady as they were small
She built a tower, stories tall.
When daddy returned, it never fell.
The boys bet his chips around it.

We built this family with a house of cards
Steady hands and racing hearts.
We built this family with a house of cards.
Queen of hearts, two of cups.

Daddys a fool, played his part
Just half a step into the dark
When A little girl found a deck of cards
Sitting on her mommys altar.

Her hands were steady as they were small
She watched her house of cards grow.
When mommy returned to Tarot.
The cards had found themselves
a different owner.

We built this family with a house of cards
A good read, a bad hand.
We built this family with a house of cards.
The fool, The queen of hearts

The dealer busts, we grow old
A little girl can build a home.
With nothin' but two decks of cards
Shuffled all together

In the audio recording you sent me
An hour of touching yourself
punishment for misbehavior

you giggled and cried at the same time

The "Oh, ****"'s
"dear, God"'s
They built up inside

screaming for the pain to stop
With a trembling whimper.
"This is fun, but I can't wait 'till it's over"

If only you had said this sooner
In the daylight
We could have known
Time was running out.

We were never so honest
as our ***
Not even to ourselves

Bent over the painted lines of her road.
Stood a black feathered crow
peeling back a tendon of flesh,
Like a strand of red twizzler candy,
from the tannish white fur
of a dead bunny.

she thought this was cute.

"AWW! THEY'RE KISSING!!"

Her daddy did not correct her.

This memory, he revisits every time she brings a new boy home.
Debates internally,
the tipping scales that balance ignorance and optimism.
If maybe he should have explained the beauty in death, rather than let her beleive her illusions.
The beauty in nature, the circle of life.

Like a cat, she brings home dead animals

Like the owner of a cat,
He is unimpressed.

Maybe if he told her the bunny was dead, she would stop offering herself to the crows.

Phrases heard In:
Black Jack,
League of Legends,
and The Bedroom.



"This is supposed to be a team game".

"Tap like this, to hit it".

"Let's Double up".

"I need a leash".

"No, no, no, never do that".

"That's everything I have"

"Forfeit Forfeit.. Just forfeit."

"There's no chance"

"Just keep trying! don't give up! we can do it!"

"It's just not in the cards, man".

"I wouldn't risk it".

"Never stray from your strategy"

"Push".

"just take the tip".

"Nice job!"

"We're ******".

"We should end it".

"When you go in and out like that, it throws everything off".

"BUST, BUST, BUST, BUST"

"Awwwww".

"Okay, let's finish"

"Sup"

"I always end up on bottom".

"Hit me".

"Ace!"

"split them".

"stay in your lane"

"Stop being toxic".

"He busted!"

"We won!"

"this is a battle of attrition".

"I don't have enough money for that."

"I'll move to the middle"

"Look at this champion!"

"Consider yourself honored"

"You didn't listen, you should have listened".

"How do I play this, Champ?"

"Don't hit the 18!"

"Come onnnnn!!!! COME ON!"

"****!"

"That was a terrible start"

"You got lucky"

"We got lucky"

"That was a hell of a match".

"Good game"

She wore a fur coat
Made of a lame prophet
'Cause she was blind.

Carried my weight on her shoulders
I suggested she open her eyes
The rest, I had memorized.
So At least when I died
She was always on my mind.

I was a terrible navigator
In the court of god, convicted sinner.
She had a hunger for shape shifters
I fed her.

Soon as the car started,
we parked it.
Leaned the seats back, fogged the doors
I stared at her collarbone
We didn't go far.

Who could have predicted
Her body in a Broken mirror
I was her seer for two years
Shame I couldn't see her

This all could of been different.
Shepard said to lamb
Follow the dog, He knows the road
figured god assumed
My soul was cold
Her soul was coal that warmed the home.
The hearth, the meat, the lame, the blind.
The Golden brown, leaves outside.
The autumn trees like Coffeeshops
call out to me

She Hollows out our her dowry
pollen spread like a dandelion.
Polluted whole cities with seeds

Memories and libraries
The chalk outlines in my mind
All that was left of these things.

So whether you fall or fly
Girl, I'll be singing

If nobody listens, I'll paint the clouds.
If no stare is lifted, I'll shake the ground.
If everyones sleeping,
I'll give them something to dream about.

If nobody sees it, We already lived
a life worth dreaming
so who gives
a **** who pays attention.

Just let the lame guide the blind.
Just let the lame guide the blind
Just let the lame guide the blind

I've replaced each color

Red smells of sulfer
a luring chill, howling sirens, silk mist clung to wet skin
YOU ARE MINE, OBJECT
  clouds cover sheep wool, that chars in heat

Yellow cracks pepper over itself
impact pops gemstones, vacant kings crown
Horses clomp toward them
MY CROWN! STOP YOU'LL CRUSH IT!
  pill bottles shake above burning cities

Blue of baby powder
budding from pollen, crying children
droplettes falling into a body of water silently
open mouths, dancing wet tongues,
WHY CAN'T I HEAR BLUE SCREAMING?
  I can't hear blue screaming

BLUE IS SCREAMING!
NOBODY CAN HEAR BLUE SCREAMING?
  color are uncomfortable

In a Somerville coffeeshop, waiting for his single origin light roasted Pour over,

Frankenstein reads a philosophy magezine, seductively planted by the lounging area.

"One lives two lives."
The magezine reads,  
"That which one spends in their physical body,
and that which begins the moment one leaves that body,
lasting until all witness to ones first life has spoken its final word".

The baristas eyes widen when he sees Frankenstein,
The barista says nothing.
He knows better than to raise the dead.
Frankenstein is often confused
for his monster.

Condensation rises between crocheted mittens, Frankenstein Lingers on the Cherry notes in his Coffee, while it combs icicles into his snow white mustache.

He likes this new version of an afterlife. It empowers him to take advantage of the time he has now, to make his second life last as long as possible.
He's in the middle of this thought
When his face slams against ***** snowbank.
Dog **** mixing into the icicles of his moustache.
A familiar mob of torches and pitchforks only see the monster.
They take turns kicking.
Kicking
Frankenstein wakes to a lynching.

When he lives
He is not a monster.

For the low low price of just being within' earshot,
the conversation analyst will run a full diagnostic on your conversation.

You know how that perfect comeback
feels, three weeks after
You didn't say it?

In training, representatives for Inbound sales listen to recordings of their own phone calls and critique them like Art majors in a studio class.

Our conversation analyst.
Looks at you like a shoe on the wall.

Unlike the psychology major,  the conversation analyst will never share his results.

He'll just judge you.
Silently.

He doesn't speak.
His fourth grade english teacher taught him that the carpenters house is never finished.
She was referring to her husband, the carpenter, not finishing the renovations on their new home, but the conversation analyst heard it as a metaphor, and adopted it as a universal truth.

Much like a painting controls the path your eye travels the canvas, or the scientific process that goes into composing music,
the way you build rapport is one of those things that people don't realize can be an art form until they wittness it professionally.

Our conversation analyst considers himself  Socio-passionate.

Which amuses him, when he deducts points from your conversation for not empathizing correctly.
Or not giving effective compliments by asking a relevant question afterwards.

The conversation analyst is not always mute. On special occasions such as first impressions he is a fine conversationalist.

You can meet the conversation analyst for the first time, as many times as you want.

If the carpenters house is never finished.
The conversation analyst
exemplar at listening,
Will never hear you.

Today, we have surgery
I sink my chest into yours.
Your blood pumping through my veins for a bit,
I feel heavy.

I want to turn to a whisp.
Like the Night Elves in World of Warcraft.
A floating blue orb of energy
weightless electricity,
Spirit in the power lines, like that spark we felt.
Tealight in a gas stove, left on for 6 months

When I am cremated
My ashes will be Kept in little ziplock baggies,
Filed away in the back seat of my mothers car,
Until she parks in a bad part of town
You break in
Leave the quarters for the tolls
Leave the GPS cupped to the windshield.
Then snort me, in my mothers backseat.
Thinking you just hit the jack ***.
That's where I will be.
Charcoal cave painting your nasal cavity
coating the inside of your lungs like a cigarette.
Replacing your addiction.

This surgery
The Aorta of copper perfume,
Scalpels summoning blood,
I, scavenged from the wreckage

my heart inside you,
the rest scrapped in a kiln.

If they botch the surgery
cold Iron will be the last thing you smell.

I, a spark
grounding from your chest.

Heart still beating.

I fumble for my next dose
Blue chalky circles spill
Onto white linoleum
Clicking for every lost meal
Bounce like My shaky hands
No interest in obeying
Nobody ever stopped asking for an answer.

My first vice
Dependant on malnutrition
addiction, in fear
fists coming down, off the high.
there is no such thing as a familiar crash
Always a new drug.
hands struggle without muscle
We shake together.
Indulged in recall
Dissolved in water.

I sometimes feel bad for my first upper
Too quick to cheat
Carbonated me fat
Made my teeth fall out
Drew me into television
Tom and Jerry became my bedtime
I gorged myself on escapism.
After a seisure I would regret that much of this new drug.
I ration just enough
She forces my shaky hand
Insist I never talk to her while the show is on
the show is everything.
a vacuum, dusty room, spotless television
There is never a crash.
Only crippling mania

I won't **** this new addiction..
Her absence is a gateway to new powders
this Killing drug gave me the power to stop craving more.
There is closure in calling a poison by it's first name.
We call ourselves poison from the very beginning.

the little blue pills are my escapists cure.
I always go back to coffee
kept warm, by an indulgence I can hold around family.
I've a curious tongue, an educated pallete.
Seven years slinging uppers, black.

Before I learned how to read a clock
All I wanted was for it to snow
In maine, I'm skeptical when not frozen.
If I made a snow angel, I would never come down.

Snow makes beautiful quicksand.
It's hard to inhale when drowning.
I am also more likely to expand my pallete on oxygen alternatives when drowning.

The ocean has infectious curiousity
Sirens dwell there for a reason.

if I had a boat.
I wouldn't make it past the poppys

Thankfully, I do not have a boat.
Only weak Coffee

You have a million ways to leave me.
took all of them
your cellphone beside me
lovers away from me
in the distance you can't be touched
blaming of your mental illness
admitting you don't love me, silently.

were late on our anniversary, from ******* his ****,
it's not that I mind, it just measures your respect of me.
I'm not surprised when you can't touch me after
or look in my eyes

everything you do, is fine.
you only do what you want.
I am so lucky, for any time at all
for three days in a hotel room
for three days I wait, for you to look at me.
screaming at a window.

we wont admit the window is only when we look at each other.
when our backs turn, it's roses
isn't it funny.
a million miles between us, content with our illusions
two key cards, the truth too loud to sleep.
buzzing static in the space between our chests.
I want so badly to touch it
flies part when I swat.

You used to moan when I kissed your ear
your muscles tense
I stop kissing your ear
you used to blush when I would stare at your body
you change in the dark.
I stop staring, where you can see me.

I witness your new lovers
you tell me they force your head down, how you liked it.
if I tried that, the amount of guilty in me would tear me out of my body.
you would stay silent and guilty, I won't touch you
I am the one man who wont touch you
I am the one man you won't let touch you.
his pregnant wife moved out of his house
you would raise his baby, you say.
I cry through desperation
You ask if I regret my decision
through tears, deep silence
I say I am proud of you.

I am proud of you.
I know the love
the hope you feel.
it's not my place to stop it
only show you how it burned
Do I regret it?
it was the most wonderful love I could imagine
I'm not saying it will hurt "except the good parts"
I am saying it will hurt
Especially the good parts.
there is much to gain, in losing your childhood.
Please, don't stay a child.

it isn't fair to compare you to her.
you chose her favorite color
your new lover calls you the name of my unborn daughter
I can't stop it, but I cry sometimes.
you sound like her
the body language in your "****"'s.
did you know she hated drinking? until she could not stop.
I convinced her to take the first sip,
when you drink ***** I cringe.
she left her daughter for heroine.
when you tell me you want to feel numb, I worry for the baby you are leaving behind
as you foregeo your childhood

his pregnant wife left him because of you,
he hates children
you are 19.
he is 38.
yet he says he loves you, with his snake tongue
I have seen your body
I know it's siren call.

You are not a monster,
or safe in this skin you hate.
around me.

We are still in love.
you haven't left me.
I've been twisted by this vacancy sign in your lawn
I'm going to die on this memory of you raising the family I wanted.
You are some new version of yourself, in the same beautiful skin.
your limp old body draped over a children's empty bed frame
I am such a monster, I would **** it.
Just to be inside of something familiar.

while I sleep next to you in this hotel room.
you are wearing jeans.
my engagement ring.
and his cologne.

dandelion seeds look too peaceful.
delicate moth stems with fluffy hands, floating like whisps of cloud in the wind.
For something so poisonous, they sure look free.

I, like Pavlovs dog, hold my breath to pass howling lawn mowers.
fresh cut grass is out to get me.
I pray that man take the saw off the lawn
may grass grow bountiful but never watered
build a dome to block the rain.
out of lead, to blockthe sun.
I'll peak inside every morning to watch them brown and wilt.
we can't ruin the eco-system fast enough.
****** tissues and blood shot eyes

When you were sniffling today
It was not from the grass.
the blood in your tissues.
was from me.
I am your allergy.

I pray nobody waters me.

the gate locks behind us as we scuttleunder snowfall
bundled in peacoats and scarves
Coffee in our hands, so that they may not hold each other.
Gloves that hold no warmth, so we couldn't touch, in case we did.
We want to hold hands, but we're too happy with our coffee.
playing chicken, who's gonna be mentally stable first
driving cars at each other seeing who will turn.
but the roads long.
we pass open fields of ex-lovers
mountainsides of therapists
what started as a race, seems ike a leisurely scenic route now.
our white knuckles loosening,
Our manic tunnel vision, fading as we become narcoleptic
nodding off slightly as the cars pull closer.
Whenever we take our gloves off,
We'll be lucky not to have driven off road
collide with another field or mountain.
because we couldn't put down our coffee.
afraid of falling asleep
what if our eyes are closed, and we can't decide to be brave.
What if one day we made up in a hospital, in the same bed
two broken windshields.
Crashing, only when we fall asleep.
can we truly call it a conscious decision?

I've invented 3 new colors since I last left this room.I've invented 3 new colors since I last left this room.
I've grown too familiar with the first 9
It gave me someome to talk with.
They never told me their names
But Lorde told me what they smell and sound like.
She has synesthesia.

One is a sweating cavern, howling sirens, calling on foggy hot rocks, smelling of sulfer but luring you with their chill.

One is a cracked crown, dropped from the luggage of a fallen king. Gem stones scattered on the dirt road, to the clomping hoof of his horse trotting away towards buildings that stand tall like pill bottles.

One is a flower blooming with a child in the pollen, crying. The childs crying grows quieter as it seems to lower it's opacity and fade out of existence.

These are colors,
just colors...

How much of myself do I need to give up before you want me
I am adding to a pile of bones
I don't have many fingers left, they just sit there
staring.
can't you take them?
you are off hunting your own food, Making your own bones,
so I know you need them.
maybe at least pick your teeth with them?
Please?

Having a partner with mental illness is not a low-level quest.

Having a partner with mental illness is debatably the best quest in the game and has incredibly valuable Loot.

"I am farming so much exp off of this argument right now."

"I just scored some mad reputation points with your parents."

"Hey, can we do that over again? I didn't get the drop I wanted."

I want to turn down our opacity
occupy the same physical space.
line up our hearts to beat together.

Phone goes off
Like a gun pointed at my head
Dropped keys at my feet
Like teeth or pill bottles

we call these stars.
white strips of clarity bursting through pinpricks
spotlights through feather falling dandruff

thunder buckles the plexiglass sheet with it's shoulder
crackles little eggshell triangles past the dancing dandruff
pale veins spread like ink in fabric
thin burnt parchment
holding back thudding pulses from the Amniotic sun

We call this a sunrise
when the Sun hurls the final flaming shoulder into day.

Not the giggling gums of a baby faced Tele-tubby sun
not the serenade of "goodnight moon, and goodnight you"

My sunrise is A dragon-glass egg,
pulsing to the drumbeat of a feathered heart

A tea-light spider spinning webs into an inferno shoulder
flexing flamesilk muscles through each pinprick star

lamp posts hum a prismatic prayer
Grassy fields catch light with their fireflies
old country porch lights attract moths
dust hung in stasis
starts feather falling when light catches

tubes of Mercury fashioned into bar-signs
flicker as ghosts hum on the gas
poets flick cigarette ashes
call in stardust for the wind to carry
up
to Gatsby it up in the pin ******
there is nothing more beautiful and warm
then stardust Dancing rich in the suns desperate pinpricks

Watching the Debut of struggling birth
throwing itself against confinement
shedding light, on the tiniest flurry of dandruff
before filling each vein of the broken sky with fire.

I love to watch gasoline soaked parchment
curl in on itself like an old handwritten letter.
I call this the night sky.

Catch the falling ashes on my tongue like snowflakes.
If I swallow enough of them
a tiny pheonix fire in my belly can hurl it's little shoulder against my rib cage.
Pounding until it bursts out through all these pinpricks.

I will call out to the mothsdust, dandruff and fireflies
invite them to dance in the combustion.

If I am anything like a starlit night.
I will buckle before I burst

Thunderclap an invitation
Shatter the street lamps and mercury tubes
with the winding bass drop.
direct the audiences attention to dust hung gentle in a cold still sky.
feather falling in silence
A blossoming caged sun.
No one expects a gentle sunrise

If I had a pill for every time I looked at your photograph
I would finally be as numb and blind as you were.
You pulled veins through me
Chipped tunnels through my mountain wrists
Said: I won't give you gravity
you gotta pull that **** yourself
I did, pull blood through my own veins
I couldn't just let them collapse
It takes a lot of effort to scalpel a nervous system through solid ice
you wasted so much time numbing
when I always had frostbite
but snakeskin makes a great sleeping bag
and we left plenty of it around.
shedding epidermal scales can only get you so pink though
I confused the tiger stripes from your daughters first survival
with the lines left over from your last.
they tasted the same color of beautiful when I kissed them.
I still can't decipher the difference between Honeysuckle and venom

you, lips sewn shut
learned from it from your mother
raised a bible thumper
she loved her Jesus
you followed right behind her

one day you found
the man who unwound you
with his seem ripper hands

where did all your thoughts go
where did all your jesus go

stuffing covers the floor
soaks up all the blood
pour some more wine

might as well take communion
while you drown.

Knows how to dress you.
He knows how to undress you,
with a seem ripper.

"you aren't gonna just like... pick one?"

"Y'know... Christmas is gonna be real expensive."

"You're gonna **** someone nick"

"You're bi? sweet me too. wanna hear about the time..."

"What if she says she didn't consent and then goes to the police and shows them all those bruises. you're gonna be ****** Nick."

"Jesus christ nick."

"if you are under this roof you say he, or you say she, THEY doesn't make any ******* sense."

"nick, you don't wanna start smoking."

"nick, quit while you're ahead that ***** addictive."

"you don't wanna adopt her nick, trust me. you'll regret it. you're gonna break up and you'll be stuck paying child support for a kid that isn't even yours."

"Nick, that's a bad idea"

"Nick, don't forget the money you owe me."

"Nick you don't need ******* pills, they're just making you worse."

"Nick, get off the ******* pills, they're making you crazy."

"Just stay home, it's not safe to drive"

"Nick, it's a blizzard. just stay home."

"he does what he wants, there's no sense in convincing him."

"Check your oil when you gas up"

"remember to lock the front door, you're gonna give your grandfather another heart attack."

"Soooo which one is your girlfriend?"

"so like... which one are you gonna have kids with?"

"This the new one?"

"Nick, you're gonna **** one of these girls and regret this ****."

"that's ****** up nick. you shouldn't like making people cry"

"that's ****** up nick, don't cut people"

"that ***** gonna bite you in the *** nick. karmas a *****."

"nick you're gonna **** yourself."

"are you eating?"

"are you sleeping?"

"whens the last time you slept?"

"you need to get some rest Nick"

"Nick wake up"

"Nick wake up"

"Nick wake up"

Before she could speak she pointed.
grabbed my hand and sat me on a stone wall.
tugged her mothers shirt and pointed beside me.
sat between us and smiled, kicking her feet.

I just met her that morning, but she knew.
bright little girl
maybe that's why her mother named her after the sun
Soleil.

fond of "No". that was a big one.
and "elsa" of course.
and every night when you tucked her in she'd list everyone she knew and ask if they were home.
"papa home?"
yes, papa is home
"numnum home?"
yes, numnum is home.
"Dada home"?

I can only imagine she does the same.
an I imagine it... so often.
I wonder what they tell her.

"I love your words."
That's the last thing she told me.
and the first.

I love her words too.
I still hear her, whenever I say them.

"Blue"
"Three"
"Venom"
We played Lego Marvel together, and I told her venom was Daddys favorite, so naturally she always wanted to play him when you asked
"who do you wanna be?"
"Venom. BIG Venom"
There's different kinds of venom in lego marvel, cause he can like,
turn hulk size and do hulk stuff, or turn spiderman size and do spiderman stuff?
I liked him because he was super versatile,
but I'm pretty sure she picked him because he's my favorite.

"Elza"
"let it go"
she could sing the whole song before she could even make full sentences.
and her mom would make her stop because she wasn't good at it.
but I thought her voice was beautiful and always told her
"I love your voice"

I don't know very well the relationship between love and memory
but I heard once that the key was repetition
and if for nothing else, just to hear her in my head forever I say them over and over to myself

"I love your words"
"Let it go, Let it go"
"No."

The snow fell a little late
we're both primates
let's get a little warmer while we jirate
at this rate, I'm a pirate

plundering a briney wet shipwreck
paycheck
set it on fire
the doctor gos next
cold again legs up, you know best

but god you're so gorgeous
we're at it again
doc walks in
gives a look like
"well now i know what brought you in"

count back from ten
it goes in,
the needle
not my friend.
well it might have been
count back from ten
3
2
thoughts storm in, it's bran
oatmeal
pop a pill again
you pop the pill again
I pop the pill again
You stop bleedin
I stop bleedin'
we stop feedin' our clocks
silence the tick tock
with rocks
I start bleedin'
you start bleedin'
we see him again

Psychic type with no
Emotional energy?
Abra fled; no spoons.

There was a time
I opened my computer in highschool
Searching my browser for you-tube for the first time.
I opened the website for U2
The band.

It was not for another month I discovered the video search engine that is so engrained into our culture today.

I saw a 5 year old navigating you-tube today.
They were watching a cat be abused and giggling.

I wonder when curiosity died.
Perhaps after it killed the cat.

I once saw a winter tree
With **** skewered on each branch
Next to the road
In the front lawn
Of my elementary school crush.

I once melted a coil of her hair
On a lightbulb
In her attic
I still remember the smell.

I do not remember the smell of the tree
I imagine it smelled like ****.

I once watched return of the jedi

On a pulled out futon mattress
While my elementery school crush
And her two younger sisters
Explored each others bodies.

I ignored them.
I also ignored Carrie Fisher losing her entire planet.

Instead I watched their mother lose a game of majong on her dusty grey computer moniter.

She then sold some of the hoarder stash lining their walls on ebay.

This is where I learned to observe.
Being a fly in the tar pit is more honest then
Being a fly on the wall.

I do not remember the smell of starwars

I imagine it smells a lot like a woman
losing a game of majong.

I imagine it smells a lot
like sweat
and tears.

How like my father
To turn to religion
Like an heirloom
One of the two things he left me
Faith, and
Cologne

You were born bone
I became tattoo
flesh tethered your scaffolding
Under my beautiful scars

Thin paint, Stinging red
Constellations of wings
Left them with fingernails
Your soft shoulderblades
snug under pale skin

A bit lip tease soft blonde hairs one by one
Down tips underneath
the divet in your neck.
I admire the canvas of your spine back to me, all red wing stinging.
Ready to fly off
Moving thigh and held
Shifting maroon blankets.
My mouth smirks
Attempts to hide how desperate
To taste it is.

Sweet bird. Sweet angel.
Awake all night
With a tattoo of an arrow
And her hand
Pressed to her forehead.

A glass of water.
Towel held like a childs blanket.
Still white.
Even used, it is still fresh linen smell.
We are still fresh linen smell.
Your hipbones agree.
My thumbs asked them.

I kiss your feathers gentle and let them burn softly as I trail down.

Your whimpers send me skyward.
Lighter headed now
Tight cheeked.

More rustled blanket
Your thigh dances over hipbones.
I feel the tethers between bone and canvas
Scar and silk.
Warm in these wings
Stars in this constellation.

Part time bartender
Full time escapist
Left to spare her daughter
From a life of engagement.

She'll never know
If her time here was wasted
Before the verdict
She Prayed for church basements

Nobody noticed.
Except the bar fly
His tab stayed open
She clocked out, out back
before he could close it.

A memorial,
he was outside smokin'
didn't realize he lit a candle
When the cherry was glowing

She'll never see it.
In the paper they read it
hearts bleedin'
like a wound they weren't treating
By breathing.

at the tip of a needle
wings spread like an angel
Wrote her name in hebrew
Left us a messege.

"malakh"
How much time you got
How will you spend it
She bet him on her life
That it's less then intended

If I could reinvest it
I'd pay for my sins
I'll be ****** If it
Wouldn't take every penny I have.
But I'll be glad for empty pockets
When I stop losing friends

I'm not sayin' her life was wasted
I'm just sayin' live.

I'm clawing at your door, God
Don't you see the shadows seeping out from under your closet?
I see those shadows everywhere.
Let me be that for you, God.
Let me pull you in.

I found gods voice
In a clocksmith in Rockland.
I asked him how to turn back time

He said
"Careful use of your hands."

I smashed clocks like pills
credit card scraped sprigs & sprockets
into lines of chalk powder.
Just to hear more of his gospel

His shop closed.
Rain washed pink pastel rivers
down my childhood home
street gutters like blood
Glitter became shattered glass.
That same chalkdust
fashioned into A body outline

Ask a child
"What is your favorite creation?"
Witness the passion of a thousand poets.
Fade with age
Hands stretched out for paint
Handed pills.

He said sprig sprocket dust

"What is your favorite creation?
I can guess your mother's."
Took her 9 months

Timeless old crinkled construction paper
colorful paints in the shape of your fingers

I Cover my hands in blood
From the shattered glass
Press my fingerprints
To the timeless colors
I've forgotten
Where to place my hands.

Clumsy with time
Leave ****** handprints
On my mothers fridge
My lovers

Face down in sprig sproket dust
On my final tick
I hear a clocksmith tinker
One last lullaby

"when you run out of canvas
You will stop drawing blood
you will still leave fingerprints"

"What is your favorite creation?"
Was it worth the time?