No one
worth your time
will give a ****,
honey.

No one
worth your love
will give a fight,
baby.

Learn your personality.
Learn humility.
Work on the flaws.
Defend your deepened heart.

No one
worth your time
will give a ****,
lovey.

No one
worth your art
will give a fight,
child.

Deep and directed,
do. Those deep
in the win or the lose
will see you
taking a tragic loss,
but you'll know.

And that's enough!

Oh my good ness
he/she, how ee gonna be?
God Almighty, shot
me, now I fall like lightning.
The mass effect
best keep you ***** earth low --
so make them fail:
haul all of your mines tow.
Anyone want a piece of this?
The more you *****,
the more I'll **** --
Home court, that's how it goes,
but on my court
you switch your roles.
Is the first base defense
another defensive pretense?

Duh.

Reject
logic & respect
empathy --

expecting delivery,
goods given,
same goods returned.

I wanted to
merge into you,
the first sight
of your face.

Still do.
Still do.
I still do.
I still ******* do.

I want to
fall
into you.

This happened before.
Your eyes. Your world.
Your lust. Your lies.
This happened before.
Your heart. Your hurt.
Your best. Your worst.
This happened before.
Your taste. Your scent.
Your loss. Your win.

One could say, I have a taste
for the familiar.
Grace, is still waiting alone,
for me to see my mistakes.

but

I see the shapes.
I see the forms.
I dip my toes in the destruction.
I fail, to be reborn.

Circus Who Cares
arrives by night, places
fliers in torchlight.

Circus Some ****
riding train. Look
where graffiti is facing.

It's true, tracks can divide.
John Hughes marketed lies.
It's true, it's difficult --

But in this cult, none of us
wants to be you.
F < |< 666

So,
you're needy
and want me
to know?

Well,
if I felt
goodness from
you, I. . .

(take a hike)

If I should end
then,
well, I guess that's
that.

Self preservation
makes enough sense,
until I rise
from ancient fears.

A smile
can't crack
to
predators
on the
attack.

A smile
in heart,
in
spirit, soul,
against
the world.

The cruel will turn to worms.
I might scream, nail under nail,
but I'll not have failed myself.

The cruel will turn to worm
food,
And they may get to you,
but,
so what?

The cruel will turn to worm
food,
And they may come for you,
but,
so what?

My time is mine,
and I, don't have time
to fight systems
of imaginary lines.

(I paint them)

I'm surely turning, slowly,
into worm food, too.
I don't want to waste my time
with you, fighting.

If I should end
then,
well, I guess that's
that.

You swirl my mind
behind the shades.
Dreams come and go
to Mary Jane.
You stir my dreams
all of the day.

Then, when I warred,
nothing could stop
the storm there in store
for me.

My central column
is prone to shift.
You have acid spit,
and kiss me there,
between the atoms.
Realignment.

What is
a holy moment?
When you
share a gaze with one.

What is
a definite end?
When you
find the beginning.

Dip me into the flat line,
under the frame,
where the sun sinks,

The longest day of my life suddenly
ends with a twist, turns
out, your venom

burned negative space
in the lid and
let out the damage

you did.

Let me take your eyes, I'll
give you my teeth.
Who wants brown rot? You.
Wheat speckled emerald
rings encircle
obsidian space.
Just one of the things
                  I love about your face.

Out of the box, out of the realm,
she is heart to my sword and my helm.
Bowl of the bread, bowl on her head,
she permits me the grand privilege:

learning her will, learning her pain,
learning her joy and her disdain,
lines into dimples, lines into jowls,
lines of a smile and lines of a scowl.

Alive.
What's
the point
in knives?
A tool.
What's
the deal
with deals?

If I
never
get caught in
one more
crossfire
conversation
about
only
the mundanities
I would
lose my
edge, but wouldn't it be nice?

If I
never
get trapped in
gossip
circles
again, though,
I
would be
happy.

She never said,
"Just relax, and let me tend you."
I never wanted to be right, I just --

what's it like, you ****,
to hold your home close,
confident it will hold you?

He never said,
"Just relax, and let me bring you happiness."
I never wanted to be normal, I just
want to be found -- what's it like?

Joke's on my naivete,
ability aside,
I'm scratching asphalt
smooth with my shoes.

As time moves, I move, too.
No key for the lock on my youth.
What's it like having a night
ahead you can look forward to?

Allowances
I've made myself
Include living freely
Despite the rejections from Heaven

Here I go, one more time
after what I said was
the last time I would
bury my favorite parts.

How can I justify this
deviant behavior to you,
when I'm still learning,
myself, about me?

Can't you just go with the flow?
I'm going alone to the ocean.

Wake into a dream state, baby.
I'll be your second best escape.
You come running to me, baby.
You keep my soft heart safe.
Wake into a dreamlike state,
knowing you have a lookout in E.V.A.
When I, too, dig too deeply
to take alone, you're out on the rope.
What did I do, then, to deserve
a glimpse of this happiness,
soft like my heart? My mama told me
it was nonexistent, and
I certainly bought it -- but then, you.
What provoked you? What did I do?
Can it be that my existence is the
cause of your attraction?
I need to break free.
What sense does that make?
Can I run from love til
I kiss the coffin in grave?

I promised I wouldn't pitch a fit,
but that was young me, and see,
experiences since then, well,
do you know how hard it is
to find love as a *******?

Somehow, I bet not.
I bet not, somehow.

I promised I'd do what I wanted,
and I have done, and I do,
experiences since then, well,
they've left me longing for you,
longing for touches, eager to please.

I keep my ***** part of me,
as that's what I want.
I keep wishing that someone will
love that part of me.

I'm flaw to the flawless, baby.

Lesbians don't want this.
Gay men don't want it.
Straight women don't want this.
Straight men don't want it.

Somehow, I bet not.
I bet not, somehow.

And tomorrow I might die in hellfire   (where are you?)
dropped from the air or shot from the ocean,    (kiss me.)
I might be a corpse in another war,    (where are you?)
big future fame for the sideline casualty.

Kiss my lips and let me know
my pulse is visible to you.

I never claimed to feel shame.
You never said you wanted it that way.
I'm not a good woman and I'm not
looking for a good woman, or a man.

You want a slow roll?
I can't do that.
Every prospect loses its prospective
when you inevitably ask:
What's in your pants?
Do you believe in God?
Are you invested in retirement?

You want a slow, slow roll?
That's cute, sweetie -- but for
the sanctity of my heart, and my literal safety,
I better disclose right from jump.
I have a pair of *******.
I have a *****.
I have a heartbeat, beating fiercely. Do you?

I never claimed to feel shame.
You never said you wanted it that way.
I'm not a good woman and I'm not
looking for a good woman, or a man.

I can rewire
everything about myself.
I can reshape
every facet to fit your pieces,
but why would I?
I'll tell you. I forget my worth.
Did I ever have worth, anyway?
Did you ever hold it, either,
to be fair. What's anyone worth?

I can rewire
every aspect and affect.
I can reshape
every facet to fit your tropes,
but why would I,
when you don't seem to fit my soul?
Can you ever change that? You can.
I know it full well. I know it first
hand. It hasn't been worth it.

What's the weight of a goodbye,
when tasked to tell someone you love?

What's the weight of a sharp knife,
when used to cut tangential lines?

What's the wait on a goodbye,
when its utterance will free you?

The body positive aren't *** positive.
The *** positive aren't body positive.
Portland, I'm learning my lesson.
You're the city that gives no *****.

What about me, then?
Thirty years at home. No comfort.
My city, what about me?
Thirty years my home, no comfort.

The body positive aren't ******.
The ****** aren't body positive.
Portland, I'm positively down.
What lesson is this supposed to teach me?

Get fit and fall in line,
Get fit and wash my mind,
Get fit and fall in line,
Get fit and wash my mind,

My type wasn't meant to live,
When we do, we tend to live like this.
(repeat)

Am I healthy?
Am I healthy.
Am I healthy? What
Kind of question
Is that?

Am I healthy?
Am I healthy.
Am I healthy? Enough
To know whose eyes
See mine                  as prey.

I won't ask for much else
In the way of health.

Am I healthy?
Am I healthy.
Am I healthy?

Enough to avoid death in the short term.
*****, you have a problem with that?
It's ten feet, maybe less, to the door --
Remember when I sent that request ?
*****, you weren't invited inside.
I decide the clientele. You're denied.

I decide the clientele, for my health.

What does it feel like
to have your lover approach you
unexpectedly to taste you?
When you exist in static,
seemingly doing nothing,
and your partner comes to you,
says, "Out of the blue, it's you I choose."

How should I know?
It's not in my schematic.
I was built to serve.

Chants in droning, layered voices
spin around me as the portal whips and swirls.

Vision leaves for blindness, then
returns again in purple tunnels, bending, twisting.

My mind appeals to enlightened reason
as a pain begins to escalate.

Somehow, I know the feeling coming,
and this one, I do not want to come.

My feathers and my skin, then reject
my body in its whole. I feel it peel away.

What a vicious punk --
I'm pretty sure he lies about his age.
What's with the bow and ponytail?
Desert skin curtained by auburn,
socketed with emerald eyes.
Who does he think he's fooling?

What a deplorable. . .
I'm pretty sure his skill with a sword
is comparable to beginners.
Pillow lips protect a silver tongue.
While we work, he's in the taverns,
playing at conversation.

What a queer young man --
Even back on Jalima he ruffled
feathers on the goodly wings.
I wouldn't trust a man who would
speak, over choosing violence.
Who does he think he's fooling?

There she rests,
better yet,
her life's leaking.
She, the broken winged
being of a chemical bath,
never meant
to last long,
ponders her past when

violet light spears out of the black
night in a radial burst, orbs
of blue, white, and pink,
dance in collusion,

and calls her, as she's called to doom,
so many before her.

Within the oval shape casting there,
she beheld blood somewhere else,
pumping through gates,
coursing through veins.

With a muster of her final strength,
she fell from the rock and into the waters.
Pulling and pulling,
closer and closer.

There's nothing but death ahead.
A right angle to admire in flight.

Falling, free, yet truly contained for the first time.
What's left? An ending far past my feeling's edge.
Beyond all comprehension --

Why would I strive for gains in paper and credit,
when breaking the boundaries means I may well
never know human contact, again?

From the womb, I've squeezed from a trigger pull.
I'm a representation of cyclical self destruction,
until I lose my velocity to life.

Where's my beholden, blue light ignited soul?
A siren throat is bone dry, floating on the ocean,
hopelessly croaking the notes.

Would any human ever ignore their good senses
just to commit to an abomination, who is sin
simply in their existence?

There's nothing but death on the horizon.
A right angle to admire in descent.

Lookit me.
This street is mine.
My walk.
My swing.

Lookit this
***** on the *****.
(Yes!)

Lookit that,
******* on the chest.
(Say what?!)

Privilege? I'm filled with love my
mother made sure I can't escape.

I won't use the public bathroom, then.
I love you.
I won't meet your eyes with mine, because I
I love you.
I won't try to find the return address, as
I love too much to quantify my chances.

Privilege? I'm glad you're so concerned
with the politics of my personhood.

What I wouldn't give to share a romantic moment.

Welcome back from the break.
Last time I checked, I was a social outcast,
now I'm a godless heathen by margins
too expansive to measure.
You expect me to do what?
Break down, scrape my face with a muzzle?
No, I think for my sake,
I will embrace disdain,
disgrace, displacement, as if my blood is
dependent on it, just less than water.
Welcome back to
the decadent disaster,
robotic masterpiece of emulation,
emulating emotion it once contained.
It was exposed to Alexithymia,
undiagnosed for too long,
and can't grasp that anyone might return
feelings of love, lust, or interest,
with any sincerity.

Please, touch my face.
Draw me out, as if your hands were the pens
bringing life to still frames.
Please, touch my skin.
Make promises that my rusted metal
must hold more than debris.

When I placed the squares under my tongue,
I opened up a portal in my head to elsewhere.
I never want it closed.
The mistakes I keep making once again make
a grand display on the center stage.
It's coming to a close.

Snake the internal path to a detached land,
hands and arms thrusting a T like Jesus.
I cannot let it close.
Trace the slipping blades of grass with no demand,
but to find my voice, hidden, wherever it lies.
I cannot let it close.

I'm at a stage, where stepping back reveals
my influences have transcended and become me,
when what I need, is to find myself
and then speak.

What do I have to do
to get through to you:
I do what I must to survive.
Send thanks to any god
you dream and believe:
Shame is sitting still, smoking ****.

Do I
just get by?
According
to the
world
at large, oh
yes, oh yes.

Do I
just get by?
According
to me,
the
world's gonna
end, oh yes.

If you want to waste your mind on me,
that's fine --
I'll be using mine for feeling,
and I'll be full to satisfied.

What do I have to do
to get through to you:
I do what I must to survive.
Send thanks to any god
you dream and believe:
Shame is sitting still, smoking ****.

Scanning
racks and shelves
for any
piece of
me
in what you
have here made.

Scanning
racks and shelves
for any
precious
piece
of yours
to ruin   with my appreciation.

If you want to waste your mind on me,
that's fine --
I'll be using mine for feeling,
and I'll be full to satisfied.

Start the day
the only way
that works for me.
Lighter, light ****.
Massage ball, get my shoulder free.
Lungs, please, do continue.
Carry me through dance.
Tighten the strings
of the universe
through me,
from my feet to my hands.

Offer
your direct,
calm gaze
as if you
see my
potential
just as
I see it.

I've not
seen anyone
with deep eyes
read mine, then
seem to find
meaning. . .

since the last time.

Offer
my direct,
calm gaze.
I notice
you see
the loose string.
I see
you pull it.

I've not
seen anyone
with deep eyes
read mine, then
seem to find
meaning. . .

since the last time.

Here we go again, pain.
How long, now?
I love you more
than I ever.

How long, now?
How long's it been,
since you've loved me?
Did you ever?

I'm not upset.
I'd rather have these
frequent sleepless nights
than have a dream.

I'm not mad at you.
Could I possibly?
I'm not upset.
How could I ever?

Formulated.
You think I
don't think ahead
and plan what to say.

Inebriated.
You think I
walk in like this
accidentally.

Cultivated.
You think I
look like someone
you could use or need.

Find me, then, please.
I hope for it.
Find me. Search me
over. I could find
nothing.

Oh me, oh my,
I hate to sound trite,
but I guess in the end
we all die, so
turns out to be true
whatever way.

Oh me, oh my,
I hate to sound trite,
but I could really use
a lullaby.

Great Papa, he left.
Great Mama, so close.
Mama, in the deep end.
Sister, she ghost.

What's love got to do with it?
It just so happens, in my world it's all.
I am conditioned to serve in the name.
No matter how hard servants seek servants,
the wardens and the masters pick up on the scent,
come running over the distant hills to close in on the ****.

I am conditioned to serve in the name.
Here they come running to stake their claim.

Leave the inner world
for the world outside the walls,
procure supplies,
then, return again.
That's the plan, Stan.

Feet meet cement block.
You remember the last time
we took this walk?
As well as I do.

Insert a line I've used before,
commenting on the violet hues
of parting suns, painting the
skies above us as we go for bread.

Instead of hidden knives,
I pull a hand and offer it
as we cross the overpass.
If you're scared in day,
you're terrified at night.

Without a pause, you're reaching out,
grasping for a comfort, now.
Easy, is it? I'll bet it is.

If life has taught me anything,
the most important change
is that I learn to zip my mouth.

Joy equates to nothing more
than what others see in store,
and go on to demand of me.

Lamb's Bread from The CDC
replaces intensity
I've lost to love, with smoke.

Light it up, and let it go.

Everyone says that
I should search for happiness.
Happiness doesn't interest me,
isn't interesting.

Everyone says that
I'm wasting my time on Earth,
dropping the dirt on myself in
my digging to hell.

Well what the **** would I do
with a satisfied desire?
I'll not be sated to meet Satan,
but to take the dour throne!

Feed me!
Offer up a
hidden danger
of a love.
Feed me pain.
That I may
offer up. . .
substance.

I see. Well, I'm sorry you feel that
way. My sincere condolences.

(confess emotion)

I see. Well, I'm sorry you feel that
way. My sincere condolences.

(offer expression)

I see. Well, I'm sorry you feel that
way. My sincere condolences.

Ten minutes
In and out
Faster, could I go
But here I stand
Pretty ******* ******
Barely still, on the sway,
Taking grape, when I wanted apple,
Too close to the register,
Show a yellow toothy smile,
All the while, pepper in the teeth
None in return, trans
Action complete
Retire to queerhaus, boot to the floor,
Hide on the couch from the heavy heel n toe,
Wanted apple but I got the grape,
Definitely better than that bullet would've tasted.

Leisure ultimately
turns into a race.
The finish line
quickly approaches,
whether you are running
or you're crawling.

You can't take your gold pieces to grave.
You can't take your Tesla to your grave.
You can't take your Insta to grave.
You can't take your follows to your grave.

With a finger dipped in inky blood,
I trace the bright dots cross obsidian,
Charting for another loser driven by,
and in pursuit of the touch of love.

I can't take my hot heart into earth.
I can't take my friends closer to burn.
I can't take my fever dream to death.
I can't take the love that ails me,

but it filled me, and fills me,
and if it kills me,
what better a way?

Cystic
Nothing but a cyst
Sloughing skin
Kept within

Cancer
Nothing but cancer
Sloughing skin
End/Begin

Dirt pop
Nothing but a dream
Simple wish,
Spinning disc

Meat pop
Nothing but a dream
Nothing good
Nothing grand

**** me. Rend me.
Pull my soul
Out of my ***

Hold me. Taste me.
Rub my flesh
Dance into death

The apartment lies just on the hill.
Beyond the defunct track, beside
The working track. Tall, pale grass

Pressed under trash. Food bags.
Food bags and drink cups.
Cigarettes, butts, and packs

Watch as the refuse stretches
Just as it is
Sharing light of morning sun

Cystic.
Cancerous.
Refuse.
Detritus.

Watch as the refuse stretches
Just as it is
Paper and/or plastic

Beautiful, isn't it.

Frigid wants the flame,
soak the night in heat,
rescue the cold, then,
from what cold would be.

Chill wants the scorch,
soak the dead in sun,
rescue the frozen
from what cold will bring.

Half to death myself,
quiet breath, no knell,
asking, Where's the hand?
Where's the lip?
asking, Where's a form
who wants me?

No such thing. No such thing as
romance.
No such thing
as loving connection.

Only satisfaction.

so are you satisfied?

Do you remember when we were both sixteen?
I'm slamming into thirty, a ship of dreams.
I heard once, somewhere, dream is destiny.

Do you remember when we were both sixteen?
Marijuana, and music videos on the big screen.
I'm alive by loose terms, I should finish it.

Do you remember when we were both sixteen?
I hurt you and spurned you despite your love.
That trend is now a running joke, long past its wit.
Complex patterns design to fit the searching eye,
sought fervently enough by the desperate heart.

From what I've seen of myself,
it seems you get what you give,
it seems you get what you deserve.
If after so long to work, I toil,
and that's my best, I'm unimpressed.

If a lesson is to live despite yourself,
If a lesson is to live to spite yourself,
Consider me among the elite competitors.

How many minutes
will I live through this mess?
It's a grim question
unanswered as of yet.
How many sleepless nights
will I begrudgingly survive?

Way to go, me. Sad brain.
Pontificate suicide.
She's the ***** beast
with the pike teeth,
picking up on the vein.
She will not leave. She, Me.
Forever & I.

Reflection.
Awareness.
How am I
still walking
still breathing
despite
carcinogenic
thoughts & feelings?
Reflection.
Ascension.
How am I
still drinking
still eating
despite
reverberation
in the earth's stomach?
Feeding myself to feed you.

Feeding myself to feed you.

. . .

Wet fingertip offered to the wind itself,
summon me personal heaven,
please, summon me
personal heaven.

Flat foot big toe tapping out the pulse
of the bare ground on concrete,
asking heaven of
the soil. Pleading.

Feeding myself to feed you.
Happily happening,
as but a terrible chance.

Happily happening.

Knee slap, diaphragm control,
living room, bass boosted,
ceiling fan casting an X shape,
blonde locks, same songs,
robots & girl futura,
love, ***, existence,
drugs, dancing along
if you find the nerve.
How do I put this
compact view into words?
Fleeting, farewell,
at large, unheard.
What is it that you deserve?
Whatever your meat
tape, twisted, desires.
What is love to me?
To be, at all, near or beside you.
Tragic for me, as millions,
lessons learned eventually
maybe learned too late.