Suicidal tendencies, alleged attempt in 2011
(National Scholar-Athlete)
Bipolar with psychotic features, meds necessary
(President of student government)
Anti-social features, deceptive, manipulative, lying.
(Captain of varsity athletics)
Qualifies as a pickup. Forfeits all rights. Police involvement if necessary.
(President of an all-star rugby club)
Extreme aggression. Any homicidal idealization should be taken seriously.
(Trustee Scholarship to a renown private college)
Narcotics abuse. Marijuana, LSD, Klonopin, *******, Alcohol, Painkillers
(3.7 GPA)
Masks and shields intentions. Deceptive with professionals.
(Active volunteer)
I advise that he be admitted to a hospital immediately
(Participant in community)
Drug abuse counseling, medication, extensive therapy necessary
(Leader of peers)

Diagnoses fly like a panhandlers love affairs

Your inexact science is a disgrace to what I've created

A philosophy based on your experience

Ignoring the dynamic of the human condition

****** for feeling to much

****** for not feeling enough

It has always perplexed me
The unspoken laws of nature
The fowls swiftly follow their
Undeviating migrant patterns
Like long highways- better than man
Will ever hope to build.
The wolf never leaves the
Woodland heights. An invisible
Boundary is laid between the creatures
Of the desert and the creatures
Of the forest. The ones who live in the
Dark, dank ponds and the woodland
Shallows are never seen roaming
The grassy plains. What is it about man?
Is it his sense for adventure?
Or his passion for destruction?

They won't stop.
They'll take your individuality
under the guise of diversity.

They'll neuter you, too.
Rip your ***** right off
and give them back in a glass jar.

They'll leave you hollow,
chasing emptiness, trying to
fill a paper bag with water.

"Fitter Happier"

"more productive
comfortable
not drinking too much
regular exercise at the gym (3 days a week)
getting on better with your associate employee contemporaries
at ease
eating well (no more microwave dinners and saturated fats)
a patient better driver
a safer car (baby smiling in back seat)
sleeping well (no bad dreams)
no paranoia
careful to all animals (never washing spiders down the plughole)
keep in contact with old friends (enjoy a drink now and then)
will frequently check credit at (moral) bank (hole in wall)
favours for favours
fond but not in love
charity standing orders
on sundays ring road supermarket
(no killing moths or putting boiling water on the ants)
car wash (also on sundays)
no longer afraid of the dark
or midday shadows
nothing so ridiculously teenage and desperate
nothing so childish
at a better pace
slower and more calculated
no chance of escape
now self-employed
concerned (but powerless)
an empowered and informed member of society (pragmatism not idealism)
will not cry in public
less chance of illness
tires that grip in the wet (shot of baby strapped in back seat)
a good memory
still cries at a good film
still kisses with saliva
no longer empty and frantic
like a cat
tied to a stick
that's driven into
frozen winter **** (the ability to laugh at weakness)
calm
fitter, healthier and more productive
a pig
in a cage
on antibiotics"

- A song by Radiohead. I did not write this.

She dances so very softly.
Slender feet carry her across the
Infinite expanse of my mind.
Gliding, she's striding over pains and
Apprehensions as she brings me in
Closer, holding me tightly to her chest.
The heartbeat is soft, so very steady.
The eyes, like two beautiful stars.
Choicest of the heavens, none like them
Exist. They glisten, penetrating my soul.
Casting pure gazes upon me; so very beautiful.
I open mine, and alas, she is gone.
Yet I still hear that little pitter patter
The sound of her feet tapping inside
So very quietly.

The emptiness glides through my veins
Like empty subway tracks and tunnels
The vision of the cleared sky, starless
Yet so obscene. The emptiness. Vast, yet
I am confined; trapped.

The fools have spoken of the
Blessing of insanity as they
Stand without- gazing in through
The impenetrable glass walls to
Where I lay
Naked
Cold
Alone
To have the blessing of ignorance
And that of prideful bliss
Fools, I hiss through my teeth
And they carry on with their
Long winded soliloquies
With their twisted verbage
A show of flair, a petty coat on
An empty bottle.

What is it about these tired, melancholy streets
That has you all hidden in your little houses?

My feet tread one over another and yet the only
Sound is the echo of my footsteps. Where are the other bodies?

I see no lovers holding tightly, hands in hands and arms
Intertwined as if the cold wind could pull them apart.

I saw you peek from the beat up little house, I was
Enjoying a conversation with your father. Loud laughs resonate.

I saw you peering through the trails of cigarette smoke and
Tattered blankets which keep you hidden in the shack.

Those blankets, much like when I saw you. Tattered and
Not so sightly. Worn by age and smoke. Sickly and stained.

Alas, my dog runs up the field and there is not a soul in sight;
The osprey have left their perch on the cellular tower.

Where are your huddled little bodies, little town?
The winter has not reached its age to have created anxiety.

The anxiety that forces them from their homes
In an earnest search for the sun's warm rays.

"Red Tailed Hawk"
Written in 2009 - 16 years of age

He sits on his perch
Nothing can touch him
Nothing can hurt him
Eyes like daggers
Eyes as cold as ice
Talons sharp like fire
Swift, keen, he waits

The parent blackbird
Shrieking in despair
Dives in again and again at him
Unscathed, he sits, waits, and watches
Without warning, he faints
Falling onto his prey
Talons and beak
Tearing into flesh
Stripping away the life

As I stood next to him
We talked about things
Gazing out into the lake
We were like lifelong friends
I asked him, "why are you fearless?"
The reply came from within his eyes
It was his domain, his territory, his life
A reply in simplest of terms
For the hawk, nothing is complex
After you have stripped away the flesh

Rewrite - Present Day. 20 years of age.

The sharp eyes pierce the veil of the day
Sitting on his perch, he silently waits
The singing trees grow quiet at his presence

The target in sight- the nest cradled
In the boughs of naked limbs is the victim
Of his narrowed gaze; silence is deafening

Unsheathed talons slice the air, death
In their grasp as the screams of the
Victims erupt from the noiseless space

Diving to and fro, the mother's desperate
Attempts to salvage the lives are useless in
The winged fury of the red-brown beast

The dagger-like beak tears away the
Life from the little ones. Feathers float
Gently to the ground- the silence returns

The fearlessness resonates in the air
Between the great beast and I. Earth,
Air, Trees. The great domain of the hawk

I walked to where the bones lay and
Find little chalk outlines. The flesh is gone.
Remaining only the simplest form of things.

And what have we left when our flesh has
Been devoured and dried up? The structures of
Our forms, the purest and most exemplary.

Ashley,

Just saw a picture of a guy who had his legs blown off today. he was being pushed through a crowd of people in a wheelchair. An army vet who happened to be on site was pinching the guy's arteries at the ends of where his legs used to be. Just dangling there.
What's the point? Ya know? I don't even want justice. What is justice? It's a creation by man- an abstraction that can't rectify what has already passed. You can't change what has happened. Find the guy and put him on trial... let people boo and hiss and threaten him. Maybe he'll get ***** in prison, probably not. Killed or put in solitary would be more likely. What does that change? Won't make that ******* guy's ******* legs grow back. Won't bring that little 8 year old back to life.
I want to believe in humanity. I'd like to believe that there is a point to our existence when I could be running in a marathon and then get my legs blown off. I mean, can you even fathom the depth of that irony? A marathon runner gets his legs blown off.

Normally these tragedies don't get to me. I just don't know... is it because I'm from Boston? Is it the shock of seeing that picture? Nothing makes sense. Nothing. I don't know anything. Nobody knows anything. You could accumulate all of the knowledge, know-how and wisdom in the world and still get your ******* brains splattered on the asphalt. bam, in that instance, your intellect, your personality, every memory that you cherished is now going to settle, dry up and rot away in the cracks in the pavement. Spend your whole life running. Training. Finish the ******* Boston marathon and bam, your legs are disintegrated.
Now you're just some inspirational story on 60 Minutes because you survived and show a positive outlook for a camera and help little kids who are missing their legs.

Somebody give me an answer. Give me an answer that i havent already heard. I've heard all of the answers to this. No answer helps. If there was an answer, this **** would never happen.

I don't know who else to tell this too. I had to get this out of my head.

- Mike

I've seen it before
The silent shift behind your
Eyes, or behind your words.
In one beautiful moment, the heart is
Spilling over with passion. Then,
You don the new face, the new
Character; a change not so careful,
Not so elegant as that of the autumn
Leaves. A drastic change, like a car
Crash or an avalanche. As the face
Of the mountain changes, so does the
Face of your love.

I think about how my feet have never
Touched the soft moss in that distant forest
Or how my hands have not felt the tear-like vines
Of the weeping trees in the foreign jungle
My legs have never strained to carry
My body up the side of the snow kissed
Mountainside. These places are all so
Familiar to me and yet I have not
Breathed in the sweet smell of the moss
Nor felt the rough skin of the vine
Nor tasted the pure snow of the mountain.
Yet I possess such a clear picture, such a
Beautiful image in my mind; with all the
Familiarity of my mother's soft face.

God bless this silent space
It's inside of these crevices I pace
Little drops of blood around
The pools inside your heart abound
I'm swimming through the cavern
Drinking up the love I earn
Perhaps in the right ventricle
I'll find the right strings to pull.

If there is one thing that I have learned
From the up and down
Is that there is no such thing
As wholly bad
Or wholly good

Even with the pristine white smile
The suave collar and neck hugging tie
The professional demeanor
And the bullet proof attitude
The devil is in the details

That creeping rage that beats itself
Against the steering wheel as the
Moon stares at you through the
Passenger side window

I've fooled you
And this I know for sure
Because I'm good enough
To fool myself.

The concave curvature
Of her crescent cheeks carried
Me back to the beginning
Of time, to the ground where
Love laid the very first pieces
Of her infinite foundation
To where the rock met the sea
At the distant shorelines of desire
Where the mighty waves of passion
Crash on the bedrock of solidarity

I, the small being, coupled with you,
Tapped into the endless well, throwing
Ourselves into eternity. The sky stretches
And is covered with the burning stars
Whose distant screams are the sonata
Of the oscillating sound waves of
The song we both share. You and I-
I was your ocean and you were my
Moon. Though your brilliant reflection
Undulated on the face of my violent waves
We could not touch, separated by light
Years through which time stretches and
Retracts and ultimately sums to zero

And yet here you are, my gentle breath
Is the soft wind in your valley, gently
Bending the stems of the magnificent flowers
That abound in your lush fields. Your vines
Wrap around my trunk as my heart pants
For you like the fawn after the cool brook
And is filled with the cool refreshment
That fills my veins. Your rivers flow into my
Seas and my seas empty into your streams
And we find ourselves here, in this cycle,
Realizing that the separation would
Be the sudden death of the both of us.

I remember when
We fought those
Angry Puerto Ricans
With their shiny knives
And one of them got you
In your thigh, John.

I held your head in my
Lap as the blood from my
Nose trickled down your
Neck and chest and we
Were pretty drunk and
Very high on who knows
What and you asked if
You were going to die.
I said, "No, John. It's
Just in your thigh."

I remember that look;
Disappointment.
A furrowed brow and
You threw a gaze
To the wood-line in the east.
We all knew that feel.
The disappointment when
Death evaded us.
Cunning fellow.

Don't ever tell them the truth
They'll load every statement into the chamber
And fire them back through your teeth

You don't spit
After dragging a fine cigar

You don't throw up
After drinking a fine scotch

You only purge
When you've been with a fine woman

Entwined in this seemingly
Endless dance. We stare at
Each other, neither daring to
Make the first move. The
Tension is tangible. The
Smells of unspoken restraints and
Inner conflict sift through the
Air that lies between us.
It is a dance performed
Without motion. An action
Without movement.

The valiant leaves who held on
Through the strongest winter breeze
Defiantly clung to the
Brown weathered trees

And one must read close to
Gather the story of time
hidden in the wrinkled trunks
Of the tall evergreen pines

And I thought of how Aurelius
Challenged the
Justness of God. Well the
Justice of man may not be the
Just course for all.

The month of December made the
Snow-less mist seem like an
Unexpected, yet pleasant guest. The mist
In October, on the other hand, is a
Shadowy figure who stands under the
Street light in the distance or the
Man hiding in the bushes as you
Unknowingly pass by. I realized that all of
My fears were a product of time and season.
Perspective is everything, whispered the soft mist.

I walked by a house that you and I might have
Shared, but you are long gone and the I who loved
You has ceased to exist. Now it is just I, a single ray of
Light emanating from the silent spaces between the
Thick woodland pines who charge along at my side.
The I with the beard, the broad shoulders and the
Deepened voice. The echo of a childhood lisp still
Resonates behind my teeth.

I thought of the art that was growing between my
Ears and behind my eyes, the masterpiece that no one
Can see because it can't escape the prison bars. An idea
Too large and a facet far too small. The mist encouraged it,
She tried her hardest to coax it from me, to grease the bars
Which held it captive within my skull.

Grey moons, two of
them. Directing the ebb and
flow of my desire. Pulling my
heart forward where it turns
back to recede on the
horizon of my restraint.
The shorelines of my soul are
littered with washed-up
experiences, left by the
vessels who have been
destroyed in the stormy seas of
my tumultuous love.

There we stood, my dog and I
The wide open expanse of the winter
Field beneath our feet. The vapor of our
Breaths mix as we charge through the
Snow, side by side. I see the earnest expectation
That shines in his eyes. A bond is formed.

A sudden stop, ears perked, there exists only
The dead silence of the space between us and
The woodland trees in the distance. The thin
Border between our world and the wilderness.
We **** our head towards the sound from the
Trees- the distant yip of coyotes. A tension grows.

I see the silhouettes, they silently glide across the
Dark horizon of the forest. The taunting yips call
Out to us. The hair stands up on his back, on my neck.
Blood in my ears, the taste of iron at my teeth. We
Crouch and stalk, a snarl forms in his toothed mouth.
The opponents stand, sizing up. Yellow eyes lock.

My veins pulsate with blood, our hearts pump as one.
The dog looks back, his eyes begging for the command.
Pleading for the shedding of blood as the animosity fills
My eyes with blackened darkness, hearkening to the days
Of spears and stones. My fists clenched and a snarl forms
Around my lips and my teeth. The space shrinks.

I can taste the blood, I can hear the wounded screams of
Our opponents as they fall at our feet. Tearing of flesh
And breaking of bone as his teeth rip skin and my hands
Crush necks. And yet a sudden moment of clarity visits,
And I grab the collar despite the desperate cry. A retreat is made.

I stand here on the
Edge.
The soft breeze carries
Your scent
Through my nostrils and into
My lungs.
The mountainside is
Steep.
If you let me hit the
Jagged rocks
At the bottom,
I will surely
Die.

So don't let
Me down now,
love. Make sure to
Catch my
Fall.
Make me a nest with
The sweet honey
Words of your
Shockingly red-violet
Mouth.
Give me a parachute of
Kisses to catch the
Air with on my
Descent.

It's the optimists that I can't bear
Chinese skin farms torture for a
Collection of innocent flesh and hair
Look on the brighter side of it, bud!
As your lie writhing in a stinking pile
Of naked muscle and pooling blood

The little girl whose teeth are smashed
Whose daddy has relapsed
And sold her as a piece of ***
To be ****** over and over for some cash
So that he can buy his ****** crack
And bleed his veins for a dwindled stash

The starving owl-eyed boy who
Believes himself evil for the thought of
Turning his little brother into his next meal
And not even a little left to steal
As ribcages tell a thousand tales
Along lines of skin and bone so frail

So **** your rhyme schemes
And your bleeding heart activists
Who scream in college courts
And completely lack the knack of it
Skin them alive and burn them as well
And maybe they'd have given their
Very souls to the fires of hell

I could paint the walls behind my head
Red and grey shades of intellect

An abstract portrait of Picasso potential
The spaces between are the differential

The tachytelic nature of my mind
Seems to want my body to unwind

To fall away to the wind
A metanoia, I have sinned

The moon pulls on the earth
And the earth pulls back
Yet, for now
They are so far away

The beautiful thing
however,
Is that the moon is the remnant
Of a devastating impact
Wrought from the earth

Let that be a lesson for you
My love
That as the earth suffers in orbit
The moon silently whispers back
"I carry you with me."

I saw her in the window again
Nothing special about the window
The focus is on her

Old, grey, weary
Eyes like caves, holes with no end
Skin sags like old curtains

She stares out the window
Any window
Nothing special about the window

I almost went up to breath
My fog on the windowpane
Some ghosts are better left unspoken to.

Sometimes I hate
Every single word I write.
Nothing can be good enough,
For what is a word? A mere
Vessel. A vessel can not be a
Complete expression of that
Which it carries. For how could a
Vase of water contain the
Vastness of the sea, or the
Power of her waves? My words:
Futile attempts. Mere vessels, a
Partial representation of a soul's
Cry. What am I left with?

I couldn't tell you
Just how many times
I've walked through the
Pitch black aisles of these
Woods and heard them
Whispering their secrets of
Eternity and of a life more
Grounded and roots that grow
Into the core, bending, some
Breaking, but most standing,
Glistening as they reach
Towards the soft autumn sun.

Sweetie,
you're throwing your dimes in a wishing well
that pays no dividends.

It's the kind of voice that comes creeping
Much like the drenched leaves flattened
Leaving silent silhouettes on wet pavement
I've only felt the silent sickness from an intimate distance
I don't know who I will hear this time
But I can assure you,
The message will be
Poetic
In nature.

My very soul melts
For the weariness that seems to
Dig its claws into my back and
Drag me, wherein my flesh cleaves
Unto the dust upon which it falls.

And it seems that the darkness
Of this night has consumed me,
That the weight of this burden
I carry has defeated me, and my
Mind has receded into nothingness.

And yet my blood still courses,
Burning through my veins, and my
Eyes are sharp, piercing through the
Cursed veil as I slowly ascend, pushing
My body upward to meet the heavens.

The roots of my soul reach deep and
Spread wide, anchoring me to the soil
Upon which I stand, and shall continue
To stand. These chains, they fall as ash to
My feet. Thus, I am; here I stand.

In strength I am strong
In weakness I am weak

Life is such a beautiful mystery

Last night you taught me
To relinquish control
My arms tied to your bed posts

This morning my therapist
Tied the animal in my mind
To a giant oak tree

I saw you in a Dream.
I was lying in the grass,
The panic filled my lungs
With a silent scream and my
Eyes with tectonic tremor.
You sat across from me.
I had never seen you before,
A gentle touch to my temples.
Perhaps it was the uncorrupted love
Of a beautiful stranger that
Made me ache for you when
I awoke. I know that I will
Never see you again.

Someone has snuck up behind me
And cut the strings of my mask

I am sweating
The headaches are coming on

The old devils crawl on the walls
And claw at my skin

What is the sum of
Man's wisdom?
Stars gaze into the
Earth and no one
Hides from the
Glare of the sun and yet
What are we, but a
Shadow under it's face?

The cloud's vapor collects
And dissipates, and so is the
Life of man. What more then,
Could the words of his
Mouth amount to, or the
Actions of his mortal flesh?


Knowledge is created and
Destroyed continually.
Much less is the breath of
He who whispers it to be
Exalted. So breath what
You are on my skin and
Let the dew of your soft
Words collect on my flesh,
Only to be erased by the
Heat of the sun.

Cut, paste, carry.
Receive, bleed, recede.

Are these eyes my own?
When did you get here?

A singsong bird out my window,
Calling me to the cemetery.

I'll meet you there.
We can find it together.

Step up, step down, turn around.
Lie awake, fall asleep, fall awake.

The dimes on my counter are blue
Shades like cotton, streaming hues.

Visions of hell. Visions of heaven.
Visions of all the spaces between.

Where have you gone, my friend?
When will this all end?

**** it. Leave it. Scream it.
Jump. Run. Swerve.

This tree in particular
Seems to understand me.

Ant hills made of dish soap
Ink like blood on paper thin walls.

I always get your middle name wrong.
The first time I laid eyes upon you,
My heart thought you were a flower.
You could say the drunken stupor
Filled your veins and veiled your eyes.
You weren't there, a possession, a warm
Body left cold by the absence of a soul.
But your inscription is written upon every
Cell, every fiber of my being. Your heart
Beats alongside my heart. A quiet yet
Powerful cadence. The sounds move the seas.
My body could not transgress. My lips would
Recede, a low-tide effect, a shirking from sin.
My hands would shrivel to ash, my eyes would
Drop from their branches. I've felt the bite of the
Needle's tooth, I've left dust on ***** tissues.
But never will my lips graze another.

Cinema, you have it all wrong!
Insanity is not the man who
Shouts at people in the streets nor
The man who digs the imaginary
Bugs out from under his skin.
That is the abuse of drugs-
The effects of long term deprivation
Of reality. No, this is not insanity-
Merely flashy, fabricated shock.

Insanity is subtle. The slight smile when
A frown should be worn. The uncontrollable
Giggles that occur when you watch the
Stoplight turn from red to green.
The patterns, the visions of things that
Are inexplicable, unable to be described with
Language. No, no drugs here, these things
Are my mind's free form madness. A creation
Wrought from the deep trenches in my mind's
Winding alleyways. You have it all wrong.

Nothing will get you like
Mail.
Bills, spam, bills.
A bank statement, some
Numbers. An overdraft.
That's okay,
You filled the car with your voice
Last night.
Just some of that radio *******,
But I liked it when it came
Out of your mouth.
I guess that is what will
Keep me alive today.