I feel the need to
write it
but I can't seem to
find the words
to articulate
the heaviness
that holds me in place
and keeps me
forever
from moving forward.

I feel as though the heavy falling rain
Is nature mourning my pitifully broken heart

Take a deep breath inventory
Of yourself
Do not count your hands or feet
Not your wandering legs or
Wavering arms
Do not take inventory of your clothes
Not of your favorite shoes or
Your special hat—not even your
Coat that you save for those cold,
Cold nights
Ignore your car—payments or paid off
Your home—apartment, trailer, mansion
Your work uniform—whatever that may be

Make emergency stops only
You are still several miles from
The intersection of contentment and identity
And you have not been there
In far too long
Do not take inventory of how you look
In a summer dress or a tuxedo and bowtie
Don’t count your history with
Drugs and alcohol
Don’t count your computer, your television
Or that collection of movies
Or albums
Or books that you’ve been working on
Don’t take account of your ability to curl
Dead weight
It’s just curling dead weight
Don’t count the number of visible abs
You have
Or your BMI

You are so much more than a body
You are so much more than possessions
Your body and belongings have not
Done you well to feel like you belong

Instead take inventory of your joy
You have some joy don’t you?

Count your friends
Count your love letters
Count the moments when it rains
And you have an umbrella
Count the last time you had strawberries
Count the start of every kiss
Count the paid off credit cards
Actually, count those twice
Because freedom counts for twice as much
Account for all of your freedoms
Take inventory of playing catch with your dad
Your last home-cooked meal
Account for the last time you rode a bike
When you didn’t think about exercise, you just felt the wind
Count the times you wrapped birthday presents
Count the smell of the last bouquet of flowers you were given
Count the last time you went to the zoo
And you swore, nobody ever fell in love with the
Animals quite like you did
Cause you have an eye for beauty
And you’re seeing it everywhere
Take a deep breath inventory of the beauty you have seen

And when you can’t seem to find anything that matters
To take inventory of
Count those dark moments where you still
Have the hope to rack your brain
To try to find a memory where you had joy
If you still have hope to try to find it
That is joyful
All on its own
Because I know they can be hard to find sometimes
Those things worth taking inventory of
But I have found the greatest of these things is love
Not the way I love Pulp Fiction and Casablanca
But the way I love my wife
And my father and my mother
And a good rescue
Cause that is what I’ve had—a good rescue
And life is sweet like honey
Not because it’s easy
And certainly not because I feel good all the time
But because I have found joy in a rescued life that I can hope in
When I take a deep breath inventory
I have to realize all I have is love
The rest will go away someday
But not my hope and joy and love

i just walked away,  
my journeys astray,
dreams - the ash in the ashtray,
but i had not seen them all,
it was not time yet for them to fall,
but we just let them,
and let no more stem.
i loved watching you,
you loved reading me,
now i can feel it, so real,
how it really felt, our bodies,
clung to each other,
i still smell you,
from so far apart,
i hear our skin on each other,
i want to dream of it,
feel it all again,
but i cannot sleep,
but lucky you, you can,
you have for a long time been.

The morning started with a shower
Arms braced against the wall in a kind of supplication
Pushing hard so damn hard you want to fall
You let the water wash your  dreams and pain away

The morning started with you leaving
Saying I'm so nice as you walk out the door
I know your tired cause we didn't sleep
I remember your whispered promises that were quickly disposed of

The morning started with you lying next to me
While I played Rilo Kiley
So close I could touch you but I could tell you didn't want to be touched

"Sometimes in the morning I am petrified and can’t move
Awake but cannot open my eyes
And the weight is crushing down on my lungs
I know I can’t breathe
And I hope someone will help me this time..."

I played it in a moment of honesty
My one true expression as I watched the distance grow between us
I wanted to fuck you again cause I hoped it would mean something
Thank you for teaching me that the third time is the charm and the fourth is for sleeping not fucking
It's hard to find this kind of rejection early in the morning. Thanks for staying open late to accommodate me.

The morning started with me laughing  at you when you said where's the underwear?
Writers can laugh at painful parallels and prophesy true unintentionally but not uneventfully
It doesn't help me not want to fuck you again
So we fuck again for the third time. The last time.
You kiss less when your not drunk

The morning started with some smoke and water and generic Advil
Proscribed to all the fallen like vitamins
You look good naked
Next to me
I wonder what this morning will bring?

This morning started with me inside you the second time
You made me cum inside you like you wanted something that I had to give
Maybe love maybe pain -you did like to be hurt
You didn't remember that I said I want to hurt you less cause I actually like you
I choked you cause you wanted it more than me
I feel like Kriegers robot arm sometimes
Perhaps we could just affix a cock to the arm and I could be replaced
Go on vacation to the city of lost whore sluts
I hear the buffet there is wonderful

The morning started with me inside you
On the kitchen floor
I threw you up against the wall too hard
You fell down so I took you right there
On the linoluem Under flourecent lights
You were so tight and tender and tough
You fucked me desperately like you hadn't been getting enough
Sorry for banging your head up against the fridge

The morning started with you next to me
Both of us drunk
You kissed me right
Out of the many there are few that do it
It's a weakness for me and dangerous to believe in the power of knowing through a kiss
You dry humped me like a dog on speed
It felt good
That and the kissing
I said no
I wouldn't fuck you
Like I said before
You said it had been to long
That you never did this
I said I needed to wait
That I liked you
I didn't want you to be just a fuck
Not just for you
But for me
Sometimes even seasoned whores need to feel special
I said that I'd fall too quick
You can be very persuasive

The morning started with me on the couch with your friend
We had makers and he had Jameson
He called it neat but it had Ice
I didn't say anything
You told him that you knew me for a long time and that i was gay
In retrospect it probably helped that I talked about color and carpets and paintings and poetry
I tried not laugh as we tried to pass of our little deceptive parody
Sure it was successful but what does it really say about me that he'd believe it
Oh the irony of pretending to be gay to get a girl
The things we do
He left after a long soliloquy on decorating and fashion
I think you might be like me and sometimes confuse the facts of your friends and stories with your dreams
I thought your adept practiced and surreptitious deception was endearing
I wanted to kiss you all night so I was glad he left
After he was gone I told you in the bathroom that I wanted to kiss you all night and you dropped your pants and peed in front me
You looked at me like no big deal and said what I don't care
I really starting liking you then

The morning started at the bar the night before
You sat down and smiled and flirted with me
You told me I would have to wait a year and a half to fuck you
As we drank way too much and both grew more beautiful and gracious with every ounce of liquid forgetfulness

The morning started the night before at your work when I hit on you cause you were laughing and smiling and had a little halo

The morning started like any other morning
With lies and  rejection and sweetness and passion and loneliness
If I knew I was going to be used like this
I would have used a condom
Not to just protect against the std's but to protect from intimacy
I hope I won't fail on both counts
A little worried
That's why I write this story

and I think
this is like a black hole
right inside my feeling
then there are days I write
and that is a warm feeling
but not all will come out right
reader thats nots you, thats me!

You, who for some infallible reason, was weeping, said-
"You are lying, and that makes me sad."
"But I never told you a single lie."
As soon as I said that, you started crying once more.

I used to reassure myself,
When the paper airplane that I threw-
Full of my foolish whishes that seemed so beautiful at that time-
that didn't reach the sky, but instead
came back down to my feet-
"It was just too far away.
That's all.
That's all."

And-
there was a time when I climbed the side of a radio tower,
repeating desperately to myself that the stars up there were not a myth.
At the top,
overlooking the city,
I tired to reach those lights.
"..I'm just not tall enough."

Now,
I think to myself,
my beliefs are just a mirror,
Reflecting my repeating delusions of a perfect world.
But when that mirror,
that sick fantasy,
that desperate,
oblivious
illusion shatters-
There is nothing but shards of dust left on your palms.

Did you know?
I am scared of the moon.
Mainly,
because I think, sometimes,
"That could be me, up there."
With no light of my own to shine upon the world, only reflecting what others saw.  
But, still.
The sun's warmth was too brilliant and bright,
my pupils couldn't help but dilute every time I faced it.

I've almost given up on the exuseful theory,
that everything in the world is masked
beautifully.
And that only the gifted,
and few,
could unveil that ugly screen,
and see the true façade underneath.

Until I have found a warmth untriumpthed by any other,
until I find a kindness that lets me say-
"Thank you, Thank you, Thank you-"
Over and Over and Over again,
Until I find a feeling that makes me feel like the world,
is somehow,
sometimes,
beautiful,
I guess,
I'll try to stop making excuses for everything-
and accept the fact
that the world
has its secrets too.

fuck you Malcolm
you beautiful bitch
the skin that your shedding
is making me itch
the trains coming closer
the tracks starting to throb
the crowds getting louder
more like a mob
run Malcolm run
who ever you are
jump Malcolm jump
get into the car
get the fuck out of town
before they catch on
that the buildings on fire
and the moneys all gone
fuck you Malcolm
you unknown neuron
you lone made up being
i thought upon
oh but i love you baby
get the fuck outta town
i feel everything will be better
when you're not around
go Malcolm go
get out of my head
and onto the page
i think Malcolm
seems a good name for rage.

They told me not to burn bridges but I love the smell of smoke.
Let's hope they hear the sound of your voice feel its deserved choke.

If you were even worth it, then I'd gladly cut you down,
but I think I'll let you get crushed by your
phony fucking crown.