I'm good at whining
What can I say

I whine a lot
Every day

There's always something
That makes me complain

O boy
Here I go whining again

pulling leaves off trees
we drudge on

pipe down pipe down,
the too strong feelings went away like smoke,
i love you on the regular dose now
can't tell whether i feel relief or fear
think i loved the idea of you too much
but im good with me now
calmer alone,
you are the wind that makes the flammes burn a bit brighter
and not the whole fire,
i am the whole fire.

Dissolving and a scarf.

Brought about.
Cyanide.
Where it goes.
Stagger.
Bladder
It hurts.
Like some lead.
On the floor.
With a hope to maybe blink.
Scarlet finish.
Return in ultimate bliss.

Garrett Johnson.

Crackling leaves on the walk home.

French hysterics.
Off the deep end in chasm.
Manic.
Sequence fathom through the room light.
Dreadful.
Sarcastic rummaging through cheek bones as papier-meche.
Quiet.
Rubbing eyes.
Folding Sweatshirt to tunneling tunes that keep you alive long enough.


Garrett Johnson.

Its as if we have become too lazy to even exist.

Sometimes at night,
to fall asleep
I turn on my brightest light.

At the highest peak of my fright,
I turn towards my ghosts
and look at the beautiful sight.

I face them,
build up the might
and just smile.

Because there's no one in my sight.

Wanting to cry for a life I've never known.
Wanting to mourn connections I've never had.
Wanting to feel heartache over pain I've never felt.

Why is so much of my life skirting by the edges of human existence?
Wishing for, hoping for, wanting a life like others
So close to feeling fully human
But maybe I am Pinocchio

Almost, but not
Quite.

me.gs

Have to forage for words that I can weave
into cogent verses that sound sublime.
Try to hatch a suitable scheme to rhyme,
strain my murky ideas through a sieve,
count syllables – my secret pauper’s peeve.
Must stop watching this TV show and climb
out of bed. Holy smokes! Look at the time!
I need to start writing now, I believe.