Maybe this will
make more sense
in the morning

Maybe this will
make more sense
with a bullet in my skull

What's great about this whole situation
is how easy it is
to fall back into old habits.

A subtle benefit to male privilege:
being able to have anorexia
without anyone batting an eye.

My highs are too high
My lows are too low
My flats aren't flat enough

My life is not life enough
My hatred is too much
My sadness is my love

My medicine is prescribed
My voice is in my eyes
My mind is set aside
My body is no paradise

Abilifuck

My soul was set inflamed
pinched nerves i thought i was dreaming
i took the neuropathy less travelled
this turned out to be bad
bipolar affective disorder BAD

But now (thanks doc)
I have the Abilify to do anything I want
I've made a Paxil to myself
to be as sane as I can be

*** shoulder
*** leg
*** wrist
*** head

Torn knees
Broke teeth
Weak hips
Slipped discs

Limp forever
Ankle pain
Cry forever
Melts your brain

Slip and fall
Snap in half
Out of socket
Dirt bike crash

Barely living
Stuck in bed
Unforgiving
Filled with dread

*** shoulder
*** leg
*** life
*** dead

I have run out of reasons to hate myself tonight
I'm sure I'll wake up with more in the morning

But for now, a stony silence has fallen upon my brain
so otherwise self-obsessed with self-hate.

I do not recognize the stranger in the bathroom mirror
and although he appears too tired and sad
to be any sort of handsome
he doesn't look as ugly
as the man I normally see standing there looking back
always so tired and sad and confused
and ugly.

So ugly.

So ugly, save for tonight.
For I have been set free from those intrusive spirals
the burdened repetition of every unfortunate thing
the burdened repetition of every petty thing
the burdened repetition of every monstrous thing
the burdened repetition of every made up thing
I have ever said, done, thought,
or been forced by demonic circumstance
to bear witness to.

For once I do not dread the thought of another day.
I am not crippled by questions of how exactly
I will grind through it all.
All the things that I must do
that I will inevitably not do.
All the promises that I have yet to make.
All the promises that I have yet to break.
All the lies that I tell myself and others
so as to briefly pretend
that I am capable of living
that strange thing
called life.

I am sorry.
I am ashamed.
I hope one day to be forgiven.
Or at least I hope for more nights like this one:

far too sad for sadness
far too tired to sleep
far too unhinged to remember to forget
that everyone, myself included, deserves to be loved.

I have run out of reasons to hate myself tonight
I'm sure I'll wake up with more in the morning

And I talk too much about politics
And people watching
And other things that no one seems
To care about

I walk alone at night
And watch the people pass me by

I'm not sure if I'm happy
Or if I'm sad
Or if that even
really
******* matters

Everyone's afraid of growing up.
Losing that unique edge.
becoming
One of those adults spouting off the platitudes they used to so self-assuredly mock.
Those healthy boring folk with their
sleep schedules and
multiple bank accounts with
commas and
**** like that.

But as I sit here on the couch that my roommate
brought home
after his parents bought a new one
reflecting on who I should be; who I want to be
and who I really am ;
an adult, apparently....
I'm right at the cusp of thirty, after all.
Yet
my biggest disappointment
is the simple realization that I still have far too much in common
With my eighteen year old self and his
panic attacks and
substance abuse issues and
Three month heartbreak affairs and
Chronic feelings of being misunderstood and
the ****** poems he writes to try and
come to terms with
all of that.

...and we drank by the river
because we had nowhere else to go.
I fought back the urge to tell you
that I loved you.
Because I was finally learning
that love isn't always enough.

I ain't that much older than you
And you're smarter than me
So
You should understand this
Sudden detachment
And you shouldn't believe me
When I say that
I am sorry
Even though
I truly am.

I’m not a monster
just because
I broke your heart.

You broke mine too.

All else has failed...
Those who insisted that contentment
comes with perseverance
have lied.

All else has failed...
It's like sitting idly
waiting for the world to end.
There's nothing better
or easier to do.

All else has failed...
Panic attacks and crying spells
on the ***** carpet.
Sweat dripping from meaningless *******
with a girl I tried so hard to care about.
But could not.

Those big words that makes us so unhappy....
I spent so long learning them.
Searching for bliss in my own intellect.
Everything I have learned
about life and love
pushes me farther from it.

I wanted to fight the darkness
but instead fell inside.
And those big words won't help me escape
because I can't say anything.
And they can't hear anything

Nothing is real anymore,
All else has failed...
I'm losing my ******* mind.

I had a dream
I guess you could call it a nightmare
You were there

I don't remember what we were doing
I was distracted by my leg
The bad leg that never stops hurting
It turned bright red
Swelled up
Hurt so bad I writhed around until
I finally decide to saw it off
To stop the pain

I don't remember what you were doing
Just watching i think
Or maybe you didn't notice
But I was glad that
you were there.

I wanted to write you a poem
I really did
Tried real hard to come up with some words
They didn't even have to be poetic or eloquent or whatever
Just had to be something.
Some sort of proof that anything happened at all.
Do you remember? Do you remember anything at all?
Xanax works in mysterious ways.
Like how our bodies fit into each other and how
we both have these ugly scars and how
you cried in my arms and I knew that I
couldn't say anything to make you feel any better because
I knew what you were going through
at least to an extent
I know enough about sad chemistry to know that words don't do much
but then again
I guess I didn't know about that other guy you're *******
until you told me  he saw your scars and called you a freak
and that was fine because I was still holding you
but then you tell me
you're still not over him
and even that is sad but fine.
I'm not here to judge
I'm not here to make things worse.
I'm not even here at all.
Because this isn't even a poem
And you aren't really a friend
And you can't love what you can't remember:

your lips on my cuts
me holding you tight
and how close it all felt
like how for a brief second it was all terrible and beautiful and
somehow okay all at once
but maybe you don't remember any of it.
And all that's fine
too
because
this isn't even a poem.
It doesn't even have
a proper
ending.

The Fall leaves are rustling,
forming some sort of poetic image
I guess.

“O thou invisible spirit of wine,
if thou hast no name to be known by,
let us call thee devil!”-William Shakespeare*

It's cold outside and colder in here
Under the surprising privacy
of a blaring crowd
I gleefully lose myself

Put on my pseudo-smile
and talk to my pseudo-friends.

Maybe even forget it.
Forget that I feel like a set of floating eyes
Forget that we're all mounds of flesh and hair
Forget
Forget you all

My eyes are brick walls and fence posts
And I am opening the gate to all in sight
I watch my ethos come crashing down
with every increasingly true glance
of yet another Siren.

Only under the blare and blur
of that frozen house
Could I have ever mistaken formality
(or the lack of)
for some sort of kindness or legitimacy.

I've nothing to say to you
but my mouth keeps moving
I've no joy to give to you
but my face keeps smiling

Curse the fate of the hidden one
destined to reveal himself
under most forgettable circumstances

I didn't remember much,
but let us be honest:

when the sun rises
(as it also does)
and your burning eyes long
for lost innocence and vitality

The air will pulse and the room will echo
but I will be gone:
and I'm taking your memory of me
as a parting gift.

I hope that the world treats you
with
the very same
childlike cruelty
that you
treat the world
with.

As Prometheus runs East,
Light leaves and the Underword emerges.

it is too dark to see the wilted flowers
strewn about our lives
and in the eyes
amid the smoke and tears.

It is night and I am alone.

The weight in my eyes increases
turn turn take the stair
into the house so dark and down
(the Door chuckles as i enter)

The eyes that stare --
those big words that make us so unhappy --
the illusory pain -- ever-so-persistent:
all those that make death so appealing
are somewhere.

...But they are not here,

I breathe out smoke
and watch it fade into the Stars.

Who among us has not?
Well...
Well, what?

Specificities fall to the floor:
we are what we are.
Nothing more.
Nothing more.

Tears refuse to fall
Or cannot help but remain.
Tears or notears, poison all the same.

The walking Shadow:
relentless in its crawling means.
What of Sound?
What of Fury?

I hope
I hope
I hope....
I hope your eyes bleed until the light pours out.

we meet
in the cracks between
the love you lost
and the love you're
walking away from
we meet
in a dark quiet refuge
of cold secrets and comfortable silence
a sad romance world
where you don't love me
like I love you
and I convince myself that
that is okay
so long as you're next to me
and maybe
we might get to meet again
one last time
before you change your mind
and walk away from me too
but at least
I knew that it would happen
that I would be alone again
left only to feel grateful
for that crack in time
where you loved me too
before you realized
that you didn't

All the bravest people
have already killed themselves.

I wonder what
they'd
Have to say about
all of this now.

I'm snorting coke in the bathroom
And what's sad is I'm thinking of you
I lost myself yet once again
I lost myself and I lost you, too.

It's 8 months since I last saw you,
I talked to you once from a Texas jail cell.
The clock it was ticking
And I knew that was well
fitting for the love that we had.

I'm not sure that you will read this
I'm not that I want you to.

I've spent this whole summer
Snorting coke in various bathrooms.
I can't claim that I've always thought of you.
But I can't claim that I am alone.

You are, you will
Forever haunt me.
Just like how these poems
Always fall apart.
I lose track of rhyme
And of reason
But never of thoughts of you.

Ashley,
I will love you always.
Even though
We've drifted along.
The paths we've always needed
To float upon.

Even though
I still die in my sleep.
All the time.
Every night.
I think of you
and then I die.

And you are a ghost
And I love you too
Always and forever
I will think of you.

I 'm drunk on a park bench
You won't leave my mind.

How typical I think
Yet another man who thinks
That he can take your mind.

You're suffering without me.
You suffered so much with me.

What else is there to say?
I'm snorting coke in the bathroom
Of a bar where I don't want to be.
I don't want to be thinking of you
Yet still you penetrate my night.

athought interrupted is lost
ohwell it lacked anything compelling
anyways.

but it's them not us
andusnotwe
and him not i

but it's summer not spring
and the earth is too
hot
because too many tears
and too many screams
heat the earthforwhat it is and notwhat we need it to be

At the party...
talking to my best friend's older brother.
He's a few years out of law school.

He sues small oil companies for environmental reasons.
But represents medium-sized ones
for some reason that I can't care to retain.
Net-neutral enough...
I suppose.

I get the feeling that he feels out of place.
That he'd rather be talking to someone
more similar.
More naturally engaged.

I can't blame him.
I feel the same way
myself.

Awake begging for sleep
like Romeo in the tomb.

I just realized
that I forgot the color of her eyes.

I feel sleepier already.

Be dark but not
too dark.

Be tortured but not
so tortured
that it tortures me.

The thick of it all
is wearing me thin.
I know that you're broken,
but where have you been?

Be everything I want.
Be everything I need.
I love what's in your blood.
I can't stand how much you bleed.

Be dark but not
too dark.

A naked body next to yours
won't make you feel
less alone.

A kiss as soft as moss
won't quell
the shadow's voice.

A clean escape
won't ease your steps
as you walk away.

But those things don't matter much,
because it's dark outside
and cold inside
and you can't sleep
and the phone won't ring.

I wish that our bodies
had services lights
the way our cars do.

That way,
wherever I went,
I could light up the room
the way I used to
before I got so sick.

And I understand what T.S. Eliot meant when he wrote that poem....
Because I feel so hollowed out.
And I want to scream and end my life
but all I do is
whimper.

Cigarette for breakfast
at least I still have the energy for that.
Panic attack last night
at least something can raise my heartbeat.

A wish that my bed was a casket
at least there's one conviction that doesn't change
after the night ends
and after the sun rises.

I'm too tired to remember
just how sad I am.
And I'm too ******* sad
to fall asleep.

I smoked five cigarettes
before I left my bed this morning.
I brewed a *** of coffee
and I turned on the TV.

I don't need friends
I've got myself.
But god I wish
I was someone else.

And they say
there's strength in pain,
but I'd rather not
feel this way.

'Cause it don't take much strength
to **** every day away.
And that's all I want to do
anyways.

I think I bought
a bad
elf bar

It
has
a strange mouth feel
and tastes exactly
like
And I mean exactly
like

shaving cream

Leaves dying not dead burning orange and
burning red
only fall to freeze soon instead
not even the sun and the cirrus painting gold
a sky too tired hold
much anything but of black or blue
can free my mind from thoughts of you

cars grumble home fences rust a little
stray cat sleeps alone we laugh and giggle

but every Sunday has to end
and Saturn's people wonder
if they'll ever love again
for them night is only 5 days away
before the drinks are poured
and the people come out to play.

silence sounds like something
and the darkness never cries
they believe in everything
but the tedium never dies.

"Despite' is such a romantic word
and
I am not feeling particularly
romantic this evening.
Daytime scotch whiskey
and Chopin
living out the stereotype
of myself
That I am.


Nothing in life is "despite the pain'
so i will  instead say
sinply:

It would have been a beautiful life
were it not
For all the pain.

Broken glass shimmering like diamonds
along the shoulder of the highway.
I wonder who had to die
to place them there.

And for the record,
I don't need any help realizing
That I am a hypocrite.

I've got a solid grasp
on everything that's slipping
out of my fingers.

I don't act like anyone but myself
It's not a role I'd recommend
but at least I'm not tortured
by what people don't see

I embrace the patterns I generate
In my downward spiral
and I don't blame anyone
but myself

I awake from night terrors
and scrape through the day
i'm failing that's fine
can you say the same?

Hang that **** on your hat
Say it’s ******* important.

Set yourself up for success
Fake it til you make it
Make sure you’re on speaker phone
Say you’re a revolutionary and believe it
Who
The ****
Gives a ****
You stupid ******* artist yuppie ****

So maybe a burned down church
adorned with graffiti words of love and satan
with light shimmering off broken glass
from windows you broke in times of turmoil past
a broken camera slung from my shoulder
and a confused terrier cradled in my arm
might have been an imperfect place for our first kiss.
But we are imperfect people.
So maybe it was perfectly imperfect
for us.

Maybe we are imperfectly perfect
for each other.

"Every inordinate cup is
unblessed and the ingredient is a devil."


The sun has set and the switch between
lives is applicable.
We are all dead tonight. Frozen
in a hidden world far away from
innocence and frowning faces.
Far past the sun and far past
plastic cups and lost inhibitions,
lost in a torrent of ecstasy:
we transform into beasts.

Beyond this and so much more
Beyond undeserving smiles and lustful pursuits
Beyond "no regrets" and spilt drinks
And hollow laughter and moonlit faces
And spins and joy and misery and
And
and this, and so much more.
I will never grow old... I will never grow old.
*And let me the canakin clink
clink

'Pandora left all but hope,
I watched the world unfold from out in a cage,
it was quite beautiful until I lived a life there.

The world I see is not the world I live.
Dare I to choose a life sanctity?
To repudiate the winelife and sit in silence, pure?
I will find pain in both worlds.
Might as well have fun in our misery.'

I saw you in the morning
you hadn't slept all night.
You looked so tired but
said you felt alright.
I knew that was a lie
you lie all the time.
You can't hide how you're feeling.

You said you felt so empty
at least you told the truth.
You said you felt so sorry, well
all of us do.

You said something that
sounded too sad to be true.
You said life is just a game
and then you lose.

I saw you in the evening
it was clear that nothing changed.
You said that you felt better but
acted kind of strange.
I could see it in your eyes
how you didn't want to cry.
I don't know what to say.

Disconsolate perspectives on what I
can't see.
There's a splinter in your nail bed
and you never can sleep.
There's a broken, sad statue of who you
used to be.
Now you're left to imagine what
it's like to dream.

i never wanted nothing else
than to be an honest man
but there's only one way
for me to execute this plan:

not talking to my family or friends
not even saying goodbye
cause every time i talk to them
all i say are lies

Middle class tragicomedy turning darker everyday
breaching past the line of typical dysfunctional
with every dark blue bottle of ***** and
orange plastic pharmaceuticals fraudlently prescribed
black swollen bruises on mom's face
****** up you asleep drink in hand
with the tv still on drink
while mom cried in the youngest's child's bed
the eldest kicked out for doing drugs
me on the bathroom floor learning how to disembowl a razor
and carve it into my flesh.
West Texas camping trip when you bought a motorcycle
and said have fun
and I crashed into a ditch
and snapped my leg in half
and the helmet flew off
did you know that if you hit your head hard enough
everything before and after will feel like a dream?
and that's when it all got darker
as a 15 year kid dying in West Texas
having lost his will to live 1 year earlier on a plane leaving California
waking up in an ambulance
remembering nothing but knowing two things.
My name is Kyle, something bad has happened.
Born again in a hospital bed
surrounded by strangers claiming to be family.
Leg bones snapped in half
then drilled with titanium
and the pain never went away
not for a second
you took all of my pain pills
you held the medical bills over my head
you told me that it was my fault that I crashed
and yes it was my fault
but I didn't buy the ******* bike
and I didn't want to ride the ******* bike
and you can say whatever you want
because I'm crippled now
and my memory is broken
and I have a headache that doesn't go away
but deep in this broken body of mine
there's a silence that speaks for itself
there's a sadness that doesn't hate itself anymore
there's a tear that refuses to fall
there's a hatred reserved only for you
there's a love born out of spite
a beautiful tortured brilliant love
with room for everyone but you my loving father
my loving oblivious father
sick brained hateful father
and me your victim limping away
from the scene of your crime
that was my childhood.

Alcohol antipathy
OxyContin apathy
Razor blades on bathroom floors
Xanax bars and so much more

Screaming cursing down the hall
Bodies slammed into the walls
******* kid just **** yourself
Never said that go to hell

A broken man with nightmare sleep
Love and trust and shattered dreams
There’s your ******* legacy:
All the ways you ruined me

Why is it
that only after the bottle is empty
and you won't remember anything
and you won't regret anything,
that the world is worth destroying?

I know that you are my father,
forgive me if I don't sound empathetic.

But I can't wait for the day
when I pick up the phone
and am solemnly informed
that you choked on ***** in your sleep
and finally left your family
alone.

Another day, another bottle.
You've killed your family,
it's time for you to die.

It's not
the fascists with their guns.
Or the Democrats with their bumper stickers.
Or the boomers with their Facebook.
Or the leftists with their Twitter.
Or the toddlers with their iPads.

It's not
the billionaires with their minimum wage.
Or the landlords with their land.
Or the hospitals with their bills.

It's not
the ocean with its plastic.
Or the forest with its fires;
no....

The worst part of living in this boring
post-modern nightmare dystopia
is that even the ******* drugs
are poisoned now.

I am filth embodied,
spending my time
communing with mold and cockroaches,
spending my time
sitting in filth
because filth is home.

I do not feel *****
I feel just fine.
There's month old dishes in the shower,
rot in the fridge,
toenails on the table.
And it is home.

Filth is not good or bad.
Love is not ***** or pure,
it is two naked figures in front of a grimy mirror
marveling at their comfort.

"Free speech is dead!"
He proclaimed loudly
into the

microphone.

Limitless sorrow defines my self
if that is my choice
I cannot tell.

Within this fear I will always dwell
if that is a shame
it's just as well.

I finally found God.
He told me His name was Nothing.
And Nothing is in my heart
wherever I go.

My family and friends can see
that Nothing is inside of me.
They ask what's going on in my life.

I tell them the very good news.
That Nothing is inside of them too!
I try and explain my new found religion:

Nothing is sacred
because Nothing will greet you when you die
and Nothing will love you forever
and Nothing will save you from yourself.

I found my god.
I named him Nothing.
And Nothing helps me sleep at night.
And Nothing takes my pain away.

From the first moment of conception,
as yours cells sprang to pull apart from one another
as if making two from one was an admirable accomplishmen
excellence was expected from you.
"Excel boldly towards great expectations!"
Affectionately inscribed to
shine in the sun.

All those eyes swirling around you
insisting you smile so bright.
Bloom to a flower despite the rocky soil
of suburban streets.

Master your studies
Love like a poet
Live like a saint
Make lots of friends
Make no mistakes
Contribute to history
**** like a champ
Take the pain in stride
Then die like a hero

Great care was put into raising you.
Your parents stood from a pedestal
and flung you into the sky
expecting you to fly
despite your feeble limbs
and fear of heights.
Flying through the air with
eyes like eclipses.
Given a pen to write great words
...guess they never noticed it had no ink.

You stand in the mirror for hours
they think you a narcissist.
You couldn't be far from it,
just confused.
Confused as to how anyone could
think of you as special and grand.
Confused at how everyone else is so much better
at simply living their lives.
Like it weren't such a great,
tremendous ordeal.

It's like no one else notices the beauty
in watching two specks of dust
converse in the breeze.
How is no one else fascinated at sitting, perched
on a street bench
watching the passer-bys go about their days?

Staring at those strange eyes
trying to see what they see.
Trying to see how anyone could fail to notice
those corpses for eyes you have.
Eyes where the iris wilted;
nothing left but pupil.
Black, monstrous pupil.

All those times you watched
the ones you loved
stand in horror at those eyes.
The sheen of night reflecting their
portrait back to them.
Seeing far too much of the world.
Seeing what they don't see.
Monstrous things, terrible things.
You want to scream these overwhelming thoughts to the world but
theysuffocateamidtheblareofbusystreets.
Words fallen upon distracted ears.

You found shelter in the darkest corner of existence
still expected to converse happily
still expected to live with a smile
still expected to hide your unfortunate understanding
of the way things really worked
in this absurd world in our infinite Universe.
The abyss gazes also
and its faced has likened to yours.

You do not fear eternity
eternity is every day of your life
the only thing temporary are those fleeting seconds
of happiness that others seem to reside in.

But I shouldn't say that you don't care.
You do
You can't help but care.
Hell, you tried not to. You really tried.
Tried not to care for the quiet girl across the room,
or for the gutter cats with no bowl of food
the children across the world
whose problems are so much worse than yours.
You've fallen in love so hard you tore you heart in two
one for him and one for you, one for her and one for you.
All those countless times the moonlight messenger solemnly informed you
that your love died in a tomb, never to be revived.
You looked to the sky
but it was cloudy,
there weren't even any stars to defy.

You're expected for great love
but you never expected the way your heart pounds
and your stomach turns
when you fight back the tears
of a great love lost.
Staring into a devastated face
seeing in perfect form a heart you've shattered.

It's like they don't know just how burdensome
these great expectations are.

But perhaps -- most importantly --
they don't understand
the beauty of a sunrise after a sleepless, crying night
or the gratitude felt from finding a legitimate hand to hold.

You are expected for great things,
everyone thinks they are.
Let them earn their degrees
to live in boxes with greatly expected children.
Let them live their lives, they are just trying to be happy.

But you, but me, but all the rest of the people like us.
Let us leave this place
with the preoccupations and the pedestals.

Our bodies strengthened by the expectations we abandoned in exchange
for a peaceful sunset and that little light
we forgot shone
in these tired, confused, marvelous eyes.