My grade school
Once in the 1930's
then again in
there were two
large black and white
of the school houses
before both fires
hanging in the
At some point in
someone had decided
on two boys
The one at ground level
was always clean.
There were small white
tiles and fresh blue paint.
It always smelled like
never ran out of
There was always
liquid soap in the
shinny silver dispensers.
There were doors with
locks on the stalls.
It was a timeless
prestine and somehow
Free and unscathed
by the ugliness of
Then there was the other
The basement restroom
was below ground.
There were windows
with wire cages over them.
Their view allowed
a look at the scabbed knees
of the children
who ran about the
hot black top of
There were no doors on
yellow stains beneath
Smears of rust around the
a coarse hand soap
in the often broken
More fit for prisoners
It smelled like
piss and was always
I don't know why
one was always cleaner
than the other.
Maybe it was an
Maybe they seen it
as somehow lower
than the other.
I always chose the
It just seemed more
natural to me,
it made me feel strong,
made it all more real.
Now after so many
hardships I can't help
but look back and
often while high or drunk.
Then ponder the question.
"Have I always been
meant to live in a dirty,
even way back then?"
I hate so bad I'm not a better writer. I use to be able to make women fall in love with just my words. I squander my words. They are not mine. They will always be meant for someone else. It will always be their choice to keep or lose my words. Maybe each line was a piece of my soul and its abuse is what made it leave. I will fight the writes block with all my heart.
To write again...for now of past.
My words are lost to such neglect. I abandoned you so carelessly. I lost the heart you held inside and the soul that spoke to me. To find you once again I visit past haunts searching for your coursing song. Words that once have kissed my lips are now forever gone.
For the past...Part One
Forever locked in a single sentence. I firmly held the sum of all our experiences. Now I know for such a wondering soul. That only constant Muse would catch and keep your eye. Such a poets passion bleeds beneath your hand and spills easily like blood from a razors edge. Paint me once again naked in the moon light glow. Where only lips and our bodies were the median for the art that we transposed. If cold was meant to cease the lust it only fueled our fire. The shadows we played in were games that over took. Made memories that will outlast the soul. If only they could be writtin in the perfect pose. Dancing furiously intwined in the nearly frozen fountains. We made love within the gardens, under our moon with such abandon. If I could once again kiss your breasts floating in that water. Locked deep within your lips my moment of perfect pleasure. The night washed clean acrossed your skin with that sacred water.
one of the most sexually amazing experiences of my entire life and this is what I write! Help me pls
So down , down ,down he goes smooth and silent
down she goes lungs fresh and clean, no bottom in sight
just he and the night. The thinning light of day.
Down they go with ease. The challenge lies ahead
the music playing slow and sweet.
Minutes are like hours to the unknowing, undisciplined , unwilling.
Baptism lies in the slow pulsing of the heart and the knowing deep within that
pleasure and pain ebbs and dances as down, down, down where under the waves to deep blue nothingness and further still as far as will allows.
How long can you linger and keep your head as you strive to return to amniotic bliss, that
place that echoes with muted sound and muffled voices that held your focus.
not in this world but of it.
So down you go to crushing penance
to blue and cold to the limit and to what end.
to return is unwritten because the ultimate gamble
now the die is cast
to will the last ounce of life from lungs now flat.
To rise to life or remain in stasis
or so it seems
depleted logic dictates that you may well stay
below, beneath the waves
Now a free-diving cult film. Haunting and lovely. Man And his yearning To transcend
My last words should I die tomorrow how I wish.
I'm just tired of feeling so hurt and lonely. The pain is far too much to handle. Depression is something I've struggle with for many years now. My many reasons to live were my family, my friends, but most of all my love. Even with those amazing people in my life the depression always hid underneath. Coming out to Barre its ugly teeth when I was intoxicated or vulnerable. I hurt the women I love most in this world. I can't stand to live with that. I'm tired of the many tears. I'm tired of the heart ache. I'm tired of ruining the good things in my life. Please remember me for the goodness in me and not my evil deeds. Rest assured I'm at peace now. I was rarely at peace alive. I hope everyone's dreams of an afterlife were true. I'd love to see those pearly gates or if what I did sends me to hell so be it. Maybe we are apart of gelatinous cube, one of my favorite ideas. If it wasn't I wouldn't have married it. I will never be entirely sure why you left me Alyssa but I love you and I want you to move on with your life. I was a destructive character in yours and everyone else's life. As you know, you're far better off without me. I made some big changes trying to clean up my act but instead it all just came crashing down. I'm glad I died still married to you cause that is how I would choose to go. Having had a loving wife who cared for me deeply. I'm wrapped in your favorite blanket, my head resting on a pillow that still smells like you. In one of my favorite places. Its a frequent of ours when we were stupid kids and we'd sneak out together. Little did I know she was my future wife. I just knew that I adored you. I'm holding the book of poetry you wrote me. I'd like to be barried with it unless Alyssa wants it. She can have anything she wants. You always were a sucker for a poet and I hate that you fell for cheap words when I would of bled right infront of you. You'll find a man with far less flaws and he'll sweep you off your feet. He'll treat you well and wont taint the memories like I did. When you broke up with me the first time. I cried harder then I had ever cried over a girl. You've found another poet in your life. This time when he dies or breaks your heart I wont be there to take you back. You were always my dream girl. My sweet love. My love was my name for you because you embodied every wish I ever sent to the universe. I just had some issues that we couldn't fix. So just hate me and move on. I know this will only push you further into the arms of another man. You were already there when you left though. I also want everyone to know that I want Alyssa to have all my belongings. She knows me better then anyone and she can burn it if she wants. I want her to have my life insurance money also. Please buy yourself something nice. I'm in the same place, in the same car looking over the beautiful lake remembering my perfect moments. When I still made you happy. I remember getting you to fall for me. I will never forget that unique connection we shared. We had so much in common. Our playful nature. The books we loved. The music we adored. How I fell inlove with your brothers. How I had to convince you Jacob was the greatest guy in the world and pushing you to make amends with Gille. I always tried to push you to better yourself and situations. I was off mark sometimes but Gille's your best friend now. You've come to realize how Jacob is an endless friend, a companion til the end. You were blind to so many gifts you were givin from birth. If there was any gift I could have givin you. It was to make you realize what you have. So go find someone better then me, don't ever settle for less then perfect or I'll haunt your sex life. They built a statue of us and put it on a mountain top. I want you to know I was endlessly lusting over you. When you thought the passion died. It was because I forgot what to do. I just needed a little guidance.
Yesterday brought me Tomorrow;
Tomorrow lacking Nothing-
Nothing and everything...
hahaha I just realized off mark
You’ve got dirt under your fingernails
But I like it that way
Because then I know you have stories
Just like I have gum stuck to the bottom of my shoes
Floss your teeth so my heart can pretend
My lips are the first yours ever saw
And my tongue can count your teeth
Like your night-time whispers
You will strum your guitar
I will think of my father
But your hands hold no bottle
You will live to keep things clean
I will think of my mother
But you won’t yell at me
I don’t need much if I have you
Just promise me that’s okay
there are some mornings that i
can't get out of bed. it's much safer
underneath the covers, and even if my sheets aren't
white like they are supposed to be
they are the only things that still feel clean
because every other inch of my room
still tastes and smells and feels like you.
it was 12:07 when i saw you again
for the first time in months; you didn't know what to
say, so i said it all for you by saying
nothing; it was just enough for both of us.
later i told you that we should talk, but
when the time came, i couldn't find my words,
so instead, i just decided to cling to you.
you thought it was maybe because i was trying to
tell you i missed you, or maybe i was leading you
on- you were wrong on both accounts.
i was just scared of letting you go because you
make bad decisions when you're alone and i didn't want you
to leave the room feeling cold.
there are some nights that i
can't get into bed. when i'm awake at least i can
control the number of times you get into my head;
but sleep scares me now because every time i
close my eyes it's like you're still here and
no matter how hard i pretend that your company is easy
it's always unsettling- the honest truth is that
ever since i let you go, i've watched you become a ghost.
Legs on black shingles, sun-soaked black tar,
If I let them burn long enough, they will leave a scar.
Ripping out your handwriting, sewn into my skin,
You are stitches made of salt, you are a poor cheater’s win.
I will drink from the dreamboats , toxicity high,
Get so drunk on lust that I’ll hopefully die.
They say eighteen is cool, I’ve seen proof otherwise;
Seen more bastards and assholes, less truth and more lies.
And as this year happens, I feel like I’m throwing up,
Trying to purge out the bad, I guess this is growing up.
Driving in the fog with no headlight on,
At my funeral, I’ll be singing this radio’s song.
Clink martini glasses filled to the brim with blood,
Cheers to unrequited dreams and our eternal love.
I did it. I prayed last night for a calming of my heart and I was touched by the image of a swan washing clean my racing thoughts and I was able to finally sleep for at least a little. Two hours is better then none. It really worked. My mind raced a million miles per hour plagued by thoughts of Alyssa and suicide. I shaked from all the emotions and pain. I was so worried that I would have nightmares about her like I have. My prayer was answered. I dreamt of people feeling the same as I do starving by choice or not, shivering from cold they can't escape, their loss and hopelessness just as deep as mine and sometimes worse. We were all calmed by this beautiful image. Some blinked in and out of existence as if they were offered love just before death. We all love each other and understood each others pain. Sharing grief not by words but by spirit. My heart bleeds for them and I am not alone.
The waves slid off the spectrum
Sucked into black hole rectum
Catch a glimpse before it's gone
Everything right is really wrong
Screaming clean dirty grime
And inch of pure organic slime
Black that bleeds that bitter blue
Reason failed now it's through
Razor sharp kisses straight on misses
Smiley face bitches, ass really itches
But where you when I was born again
Secreting grief through open sin
Pouring magic down obstructed drains
Substituting pleasure for a life of pain
Love is a pebble we piss on
As it splashes on our shoes
It tends to rape me raw
When I'm shaking off the dew ...
No one warns you.
No one gives you a way to piece it all together.
No one gives you a sign to help you navigate what is ahead.
They don't tell you that you might expect worse than you could ever imagine.
The smell of piss.
On the person, on the floor, on the chair.
The kitchen becomes used as a toilet because there is no way the alcoholic can get upstairs.
The piss sticks to the skin.
Dries on the clothes.
No sense of pride.
From a high flying career.
Travels the world.
The manicured nails.
The superbly fitted outfit.
Hair fixed by a stylist.
No one prepares you for the day that is ripped away.
You believe that it couldn't possibly happen.
And then slowly, it creeps up on you.
You mop the floor, buy in food, wash the clothes, clean the kitchen...
You try and pour the booze away.
You approach the tumbler praying it is filled with juice, like the alcoholic said.
You take a smell, red wine.
And then you see the bottles hidden behind the sofa.
1 litre or 2 litre bottles of whiskey.
It is on the alcoholics breath.
It seeps out of the alcoholics skin.
You retch at how strong the smell is.
You sit in A&E whilst the alcoholic sleeps off the booze.
They wake. Blame you for being here.
When in fact they called 999 after they take a fall to the floor and are so intoxicated they cannot get up.
You are driving down the road, you see the police.
You pray it is any house but the alcoholics.
You think this is it this time.
Death has a smell.
You find the alcoholic, sat on the floor, covered in their own piss and faeces.
You cannot stomach the putrid smell.
The heart races, you go white, the police man catches your fall.
You explain who you are.
The police man is lovely and actually shows more understanding than anyone "professional" has over these circumstances.
He advices you go to the hospital.
He will take you.
He advices you this because most alcoholics, sober up and walk out.
He doesn't think she should come home.
I sit and continue to be spoken to as dirt.
I tell the doctor I will wait in the waiting room.
A half hour passes.
The come the tears, the sobs.
The alcoholic is discharged.
No one seems to understand this is a disease.
A mental disorder.
The doctors speak to you like shit.
Like it is you who is drunk and stinking of piss in her A&E.
Even when you cry she says there is nothing she can do.
"If I could wave a magic wand."
Well, fuck you.
Fuck you and your magic wand.
Your a waste of fucking space.
Of course I keep all this locked in.
I cannot take the alcoholic home.
I can't bear it.
The alcoholic dresses in her clothes that were taken off her as they stank of piss.
They have dried and the stench is hideous.
So much so you almost vomit on the doctors feet.
Once the alcoholic is dressed.
I escort the alcoholic out.
The alcoholic asks reception for a taxi.
The alcoholic leaves in a cab.
An hour later the alcoholic calls.
The house has been broken into.
Things are missing.
No the police broke it down when you couldn't answer it.
And no, you left it in such a state because you are always too pissed to know otherwise.
Alcoholism isn't just about the addict.
It is about the mess one leaves behind.
The broken heart of a loved one.
A young woman, weeping in the waiting room after being yelled at for bringing the alcoholic to hospital.
Alcoholism is bitter.
It is twisted.
It leads only to hell.
It leaves a mud slide in its wake.
It kills the head, the heart and the soul.
An alcoholic almost killed me.