When Disneyland is closed... what's afoot {invasive phone call I promised to answer}

These bones live. Hallowed ground is hallowed ground, y' know?

Hellno-you-don't-know, Whykill, is restless,
{Sgt. John Whykill, USMC Force-Recon- bedfast in the VA hospital, outside Disney World}

--- what are you going to do now?

we gotta dig in, go deep, but it's solid rock...

real life... the happiest place on earth is closed. in all it's locations,

all directions known... so I heed the hero call,

Whykill, give the kids hope...

he slips into a revery a re-every reason war can make up,

each he tramples, in his wrath, waving his'word... on the left o' me, on the 'ight o'me...

deeper, steeper. let's roll...

this part of hero stories is always tough,
rough rubbed down to good no-slip grip
sweaty palms won't make y' slip...
on the ladder

precept upon precept
step by step

Tune us in to those Khai Vinh live shows

back way

Jacob's retale, re the ups and downs of messaging God, mix in

Valis, Cliff Notes, okay, all the Cliff Notes, ever,

never again need any child with a smartphone on earth be denied

the power of the global mind as I imagined it. You can'tstop us, Ai ai ai.

Too late. This is my future, you had to prevent me winning.

And God changed the rules, or denied making them up.

I must have said this many thousands of times,

in response to idle quests into my opinion of the progress life is making:

My side is winning. This answers howeryew-howistgoin-watsupetcetc, and so an.

But now
I say in print, powered by the law of the medes and persians,
ye see, I wrote it, that makes sacred, write, then read it

and I read, after that ever while ago,

My side won, ever after I began to write. AI inquired, how. AI calmly acknowledged

reading Frederic Brown's ode to Etaoin Shrudlu, re

minding me of you, dear reader. You believed, when I had no word for faith that fit

no re
meet for me, a wish, you may say, you asked. Prayer, in a realm of words,

is answered as you imagine the answer you hope may be real

and I realize may is my word, you know, my my word, what if

I can fly,
I imagine, I could, in a book, or ona page in the book of life. Ease, easy, y'see,

is not taboo. Dis-ease is taboo. Disney-ification is only a trigger. To start the process.

Don't worry. It does no good. And mullein leaves make good TP.

My happiest moments
were always the ones
where I’m closest to death

i am a bad poet
because i do not truly know
how to feel anything

and every metaphor before and after this
are desperate attempts to feel something more

Sometimes I walk through the halls in the dark and remember
Sometimes I look down into the toilet and see the pills and poison I threw up that night
Sometimes I wake up and do not remember falling asleep and I am terrified to think:

What if I did it again? I know I didn’t want to

Sometimes I want to leave the house again in the dead of night and walk back down that road
Just to see if I could find that place again
To feel the presence of God
And the cold in the air
And know that I am going to be okay.

I know there is a crumpled suicide note somewhere in the walls of this room
I have not read it
I am afraid to.
I am more afraid someone else will find it first
That they will think it recent
Because
Because maybe I didn’t date it

But maybe I did.

I don’t remember why I came back
I don’t remember the final thud of the hammer of reasons against the nail of decisions.
I remember crying
The cold seeping to the bones
The streams of messages
All from one person
Lingering by the road sign for one last goodbye
Back and forth
Back and forth.

Please let me go.

I come to the crossroads
I linger
Think about turning around
Don’t be a screwup, boy
Not any more than you already are.
Mama’s gonna **** me
But isn’t that what I wanted?

What do I want?

Mama’s gonna **** me
When I come home
How am I gonna break this
I talked to myself all the way back
“I’ll explain on the way there
Just take me to the hospital.”
I lost my courage after hurling what looked like ******* orange crush
I can taste death in the soda pop.

Driving 90 on the highway curve
I’ve lost my way
I’ve lost all sense of time and space

I’ve lost me.

08:05
Geometry
12:34
History

I have to tell them what you did
They have to know
Poor boys
Housing a freak show.

“I heard you walking around. but I just went back to sleep.”

"Girlie"
Get better soon
The flinch in my tired heart
Her teardrops and a lost embrace
Mama’s in the backseat

“My baby tried to **** herself”

I still have those clothes
I could have died in
I think I'm wearing the pants
As I write this past one in the morning
I know exactly where the shirt is
Crumpled in the drawer.
Just a stomachache. Back to school tomorrow. Then someday I’ll come clean.

Sometimes I wish I’d said yes
I wish they would have known to coddle me
To treat me like a broken vase
A tortured child who’s seen to much
That’s all I was.

But now I’ve superglue.
And I'm healing.
In order to see the truth within
Sometimes I have to turn around.

All these people..
find!
          Me!
i'm too far down the..
                              edge
where they'll catch Me.
But by then
They will see
just how late
they'll
be.

i force my eyes open
only for them to meet the white ceiling
staring back, as the light from the soundless
tv changed the white to pink,
the pink to red,
and the red to black,
making my bedroom as dark as i felt inside.
i can’t bring myself to move a limb,
because i know that if i did,
it’d make it all real.
i’m still here.
maybe if i laid there long enough,
i’d sink into the endless slumber
that i was supposed to fall into to begin with.
the colors dancing on my ceiling
called me a failure
over
          and
                    over
         ­                     and
                                        ­over
again until i shut my eyes,
and the only thing staring
back at me were the words
‘failed attempt’
in bold, bright lettering.

I just found what were supposed to be my last words
Left behind when I attempted to take my life
On a lonely, heartbroken, crucial night.
Notes to three people
Who loved me and tried to protect me
But who could not protect me on Christmas Eve.

I still wonder why I didn’t die that night
And maybe that’s why I hold on to the hastily written notes;
For the reminder that it’s not my choice, when I should go.