I want to write a poem.
No, like I really really really wanna write a poem.
Problem, stick it to me.
Pause
Poems have to be good.
Okay, so a poem doesn't have to be good
However, the point of the art is to have someone read
Those flippy little words that you pulled out
Of some intangible existence and pasted on
The Internet.

The Internet,
So you don't always put it online but,
Other people are "supposed" to read it.
To enjoy it, give you a pat on the back,
Maybe an "I see what you did there".
So poems are supposed to be presentable.
You've got to pay in sweat and ink but,
At least the words themselves are free.

What if I don't wanna have to make a "good" poem?
Okay so I really do want a pat on the back but
Sometimes I really like pasting things from
Intangible existences.
Fancy words right? Let me pat my own back.
Sometimes I just like putting my emotions on paper
While sounding like I read
More dictionaries than Webster.
Ha, ha, sigh.

There's a problem with having to be inspired to write shit down.
Do you think someone pays Taylor Swift's boyfriends
To break up with her
So she can write the
Next big hit?
I wouldn't doubt it.
My guardian angel should make the people around me
Say weird stuff such that I can write about
Walking on waves of shattered glass
Or
Singing of birds in circled flight.
Maybe I'd be better off being hit by a car.
That'd be some pretty touching poetry.

Some people write happy poetry too,
I don't know how they do it.
Sorry but, my world isn't flowers and  butterflies
Enough to warrant discussion of
Staying in the fairy meadow of light.
Sorry, I'm just jealous.

Maybe I just like writing stuff down?
What if I just don't want to be forgotten?
Leaving a legacy in my words more indellible
Than a pat on the back.
Doubt it.

I just don't want to forget.
Brain, why don't you get it?
I'm sitting here getting all intimate with an idea and
The next morning Brain's got no clue what their name is.
Like really, even if we invite a friend over and get creative with
Our tongues and mouths,
Brain doesn't remember the moments shared between us.
Paper doesn't think very well but it's got a decent memory bank.
So I save up for a brand new poem.
I thought words were free.

the drifting sinew
sore and elongated
finding resolution in the rushing pools
seeking their bays and harbors
for uplifting a city
gravel and granite and cement articles
the loosened grains between our toes
trembling highways and thin skies
for me this is about noble forces
about flying birds and rolling whales
the viking apes and sagely elm
our lifted pillars
of sweat and stone
stand trial against the kings and queens
and will you bear false witness
for the sake of these implications?

In the suburbs,
I am driving through the dark heat
of summer night
in a luxury car I don't deserve
to a house that is at least three times too large

In the suburbs,
I am a college graduate,
headed to medical school
and I won't pay for that either
so the remainder of my school fund
is being spent on pettiness
Which is what much of it went to already.

In the suburbs,
my phone flashes
with your neediness.
You shouldn't have left
but I was never there,
not for you or your friends
whoring around
at these high school reunions.

In the suburbs,
all I have are the scraps
of memories,
of trembling hands on breasts
and sticky fumblings
in cars
cloaked with sweat,
of drinking in dark basements
that stunk of my young, bad conscience,
of halcyon days

In the suburbs,
the wind licks from my tongue
the scent of alcohol
but throws dust in my eyes.

In the suburbs,
I switch off the headlights,
and race along the blackened asphalt
as the moon lights the way overhead.

Where echos bound off cavern walls
Thundering, spacious water falls
Giving power to the ember furnace
Crafters work with full earnest

Our clang of metal forming metal
Our  laughter around the stew-filled kettle
Lacboring long into the night
Carrying lanterns for our light

A golden tint in the arenose air
A rich man's delight, deep in this lair
A cornucopia of jewels and stone
Picks and axes spark on the hone

Melted metals with tools of the trade
Upon the anvil are ceremoniously laid
To be shaped and formed into desires
By light of the blazing, crimson fires

Where we find sweat and danger as one
And rarely journey out into the sun
Have amity with our fellow men
And all write to loved ones with one pen

The cavern echos, the rays of gold
This ancient house of tales untold
To find this place, a costly fee
For a way of  escape will never be

everyone's trying to say stuff and it's so important
i go crazy in the summer because of how much i sweat
i sweat so much i could fill you an ocean and promise that if you drink it you'd survive

you and me on a deserted island filled with desserts
cream puffs and personal sized blueberry pies like the kinds they sell at ~whole foods~
except better, cause this kind of blueberry pie is chalked full of gluten

you and i could live on this island
my sweat sea, dissecting us from everyone else
we'd eat sweets
and get so fat and lick at each others faces, not even bothering to mutter that the other
has cream on their cheek

Dear tragedy,

You decay me open,
Bare to the hiccup of the mind.
You wash me in sweat,
Saliva on my skin.
The Komodo.
The line fair in my teeth,
It's a good catch.
I fall open,
Tongue tied and what not.
I am untrained in lucid.

Carry me into dust.
Float me in wind,
The cursing gust of regret.
Oh tragedy,
I live to watch you work.
You move like the rapids,
I have no choice but to let go.

With all of me,
Johnny Panic

Where a rapid heartbeat and short breaths reside
A cold sweat lingers, feelings of past revive
Older now, still only a child inside
An adolescent soul, but adult in mind

I’m scared.
Cold, alone......... scared.
My body aches from fighting.
I won, but at what cost?
Revenge shouldn’t be the answer.
They took her life, my true love.
I’m crying, crying like I’ve never cried before.
A life for a life, but at what cost?
I became the person, I set out to destroy.
I’m a monster, a creation the devil himself devised.
I’m scared.
I’m alone, cold, and nothing to cling on to.
I have nothing........ nothing.
There’s only one thing for me to do.
I’m picking up my choice of death.
Goodbye monster.
You’ve done the most evil thing imaginable.
It’s time for you to go.
I’m taking you with me, back to where you came from.
Forgive me Father, for what I’m about to do.
I’ll see you in a few seconds.
Five....... My heart is beating fast.
Four........ Sweat is covering my face.
Three........ My heart is beating faster.
Two........ Hello love, good to see you again.



One........ Goodbye.

“BANG!!!!!”