That final moment
where the lights flicker
and the stars fall.
That final moment
where the world ends
leaving us
hand-in-hand
withering away.
That final moment
where love is not enough,
oblivion creeps
ever-closer.

Was it worth it in the end?
For one final moment
together before we
fell apart, bleeding?

That final moment
where my voice bursts
trying to call you back
but, with blood on my hands
and heart,
fails.

Just like the dark blue bottle
you shattered when you were drunk
yes drunk, far too drunk.
Claiming to be sober and failing
like a bird with a broken wing
pretending to fly.
Yes, just like that bottle
with the shards scattered about the floor,
I stepped on a small piece
and watched the blood drip out
as a part of you became embedded in me;
I was disappointed when the bleeding stopped.

Just like that ******* dark blue
incandescent bottle
that broke on the kitchen tile.

You've made us blue with fear,
blood dripping on the floor, red
red like the anger and the blood and the bruises
of everyone around you.

Just like the color sadness that is blue
is you
drunk along alive alone
surrounded by the blue shards of bleeding glass
that used to be the ones who loved you.

Take away me
to the Sargasso Sea
Sail away us
From the nostalgia of our ended love.

Free us both from the night that
maybe someday
turned into
never again.

It is April and we are frozen:
stuck in a world we never knew
in a love we thought we felt
a life we never lived.

I try to find
the beauty
in every living
thing
and you once
told me
that wildflowers were
weeds.

Sing we for love and idleness,
Naught else is worth the having. -Ezra Pound*

Today, there are no words on my lips.
Love has no surprises and life no pain.
The faces before me refuse
to invoke grief or any whisper of hope.

The dying oak tree in the front yard creaks
and whimpers and begs for peace.
It has witnessed the years and taken
them in indifferent solitude.
I do not think it wants to live
this solitary life any longer.

Under its rotting armor a fragile sign of life.
And just beneath that thin layer of green vitality
lies years and years of death.
I should hope that it heals or falls to the ground.
I do not think it wants to live
this ailed life any longer.
I know it will. I have not the benevolence
to chop it down.

I stare at the flora of branches,
the sun tries to emerge from the clouds:
it cannot. It sheds a tear of futility.
No one hears it, though.

I think of the days of childhood past,
where the laughter was abundant
and the smiles genuine
and the tears flowed without any hesitation.
That was a long time ago.
An innocent version of myself climbed
the branches and appreciated the
tree's fortitude.

I wonder,
can this dying oak support my weight?
Have I grown too much or has it died too much
to climb it?
Have I died too much to climb it?

I disregard these thoughts and continue:
Deadweight swings on a lowly branch.
I fear it will snap but I continue to hang.

It does.

I fall to the ground and appreciate the skinned knee.
The only pain available
on such a lifeless day.

And perhaps all those traits of myself that I always thought were ugly were really just the physical manifestations of my pain.

---

The

Self harm scars rob you of the luxury of being dishonest to yourself.

---

I had such a loving vision of you in my mind. Why did you have to go and ruin that? You. You with your childlike cruelty.

---

I feel no connection to that of my generation.
And I take no joy in being an outsider...

---

I can't do this alone
And I don't want to be alive.

---

L

Whatever curiosity I had for the world has been replaced by either total detachment or quiet despair.

Nor have my best efforts helped,
Perhaps I never wanted them to.

The present tense is past,
time and time slip and intertwine
alone along this barren stretch of
burning nothing that was
our Summer.

Brief laughter echoes weakly
but the smiles stopped singing
long ago.
Winter won't keep us warm
because we'll never forget.

It was not in the eyes that one
fell for the other
but in the silence that our love
grew and died
like a **** in the paraquat.

It was just past midnight when he fell asleep
which was impressively late considering how much whiskey he had consumed.
The dream began with her,
because, honestly, a bad dream wouldn't be complete
without her in it.
They sat on a vast lake in a small boat
with the moonlight blessing them
for the first time in a long while.

I believe that the two were happy
but despite this fallacy
he still wasn't aware that he was dreaming.

As they laughed
a spider came crawling into the boat.
He was too starled to wonder how it followed them into the water,
andas it's feet scuttered and his stomach guttered
the girl muttered "**** it, please, **** it."
But when he extended his fingers to do the deed
the spider turned to reveal
a bloodshot eye in the center of it's black back.
It's pupil was an hourglass, and time was running out.

So disturbed now from the specter that his fingers wavered
and the widow-maker pounced, biting first his finger
then his wrist, then his heart.

He fell from the boat.
The spider disappeared into blackness.
After a few minutes of breathless panic
he emerged at the shallow end of the swimming pool
that must have been there all along.

She was on dry land
and in his panic he didn't bother to question
how she made it to safety without him
with such ease
why she didn't bother to help
or why she didn't seem too alarmed
at the fact that he was now dying.

He was now only a few steps away from a large crowd,
I think he said something to her

So here was the task of seeking help
in a faceless mass of people
who also didn't seem the slightest bit concerned
over the fact
that venom was coursing through his veins
and dread was settling deep into his heart.

He searched for someone to drive him
to a hospital or a bed
or even just to watch him die so long as they'd sit and pretend to care
over the fact that he would no longer exist.
He realized that she could be that person,
wondered why he hadn't thought of her in the first place.
He turned around to find her but she was gone.

Maybe she was offended that he hadn't thought of her sooner
in his time of dying, maybe she, too, didn't see much seriousness
in his now worsening condition.

His steps grew heavier,
the eyes were losing focus.

Searching the faces looking for her,
she was either gone
or had melted into to the solidarity that seemed to loathe him so much.
They were all faceless, hostile,
avoiding him like the plague
or grabbing at him like a villain.
One man punched his teeth so forcefully
that his jaw no longer opened,
(but in all reality he was probably just
grinding his teeth in his sleep,
but the venom was sinking deeper
and he could not wake up.)

He ran, no one would help him so he ran.
There was his car,
there were his keys.
There were his shaking hands
and his fading vision
and apparently someone else was in the passenger seat
telling him that he was too ****** up to drive
someone who failed to see the distinction between alcohol
and venom but even still he drove because this person was no friend
not even a person
he never saw his face while his heart pounded
and the words slurred together
and she was not there but now was no time to think of her
and the hourglass was running out and he knew it
embarrassing tears dripped as the engine roared and his eyes darkened
the landscape all blended together i don't thinkhis mind could
dream things up quickly enough as he sped by
which might eexplain why he suddenly was standing in the desert
the car was gone the faces were gone
and he thhought "might as well have a last cigarette before i ******* die"

his hands didn't work and he couldn't grab the lighter
even if he could his mouth was still clamped shut
couldn't yell for help even if people would care
the crowd was back they were all yelling something
but it was no matter now light was leaving and no one seemed too concerned
she was gone and i'm not sure she ever was

thus he faded away without anyone to look him in the eye
and agree with him that something terrible was happening to him

The world grew black.
The stars went dim.
His heart hurt.
Their laughter faded
and he died alone.

And so I awoke to live my day
with this dream deep in my mind.
Alive to live another day,
with venom in my veins
and darkness in my heart
that no one seems to notice
or care about.

I had a dream, which must have been all a dream.
Because we two never parted
and we two never cried,
we were neither living nor dead,
but we were happy.

There was a world made of needles
but our skin was too hard to get stung.
As we walked arm in arm through
the faceless crowd, we smiled.
It felt nice.

The Sirens sounded
The world fell apart and landed on our souls.
Even then, no pain was found.
And that was nice, too.

We walked in a stiff waltz
the music was a death rattle.
I found a wilted flower
and hung it on your arm.
You found the knife in my side
that I keep hidden from others.
The blood was so beautiful,
a glorious fountain.
So I wore it on my lapel.
We looked nice.

For a blurry split-second
the world was real,
and oblivion made sense.
Which was nice.

Distress signals emmited from bioelectronic tendrils
blades under kneecaps
seeping into taste
smelling like Spring.
So many bodies kneeling on innocent grass
lined up and lined on
sitting in pews at the park
the limitless stretches of people and people
and everyone
everyone was there!
How magnificent! for the whole world to get together
and have a nice evening at the park
billions of feet stammering on billions more blades of grass
smelling like spring
smoderling summer sun
filling air rotting
sad little whimpers
inaudible under the mumble of the world
over the look in their eyes.
The heat jostled air
radiation poison
burning away life itself
keeping us all warm and alive inside.

so many people
everywhere and all around us
-- I had a thought
I wanted to write it down
before it got lost forever.
I tried.
The words twisted around as I wrote them
the pen melted in my hands
so that the the silly
silly silly words
stupid arrogant words too proud to be written down
I tried to make eloquent or something at all
I tried I tried
trust me i really tried
i didn't mean to be such a cottonmouthed disappointment
those silly words all swirled around and about
begging for anything real.
Hissed for one last moment
before the sun and the sound and the agony
twisted and snapped
melting away all that was
of the words on the paper
ofthe ink in the pen
of the shadows in my brain.
melting out dripdripping
tears as black as silence
blaring like ambient noise
I wish the words would understand
that the real real the world the real greybluechemical world
didn't want me living in it
anymore.
I don't know what I did to Life
to make it so upset
but I guess it just didn't want me hanging around,
said I never fit in well with the crowd.
Go find some other reality to bother.

And then it all set in,
0-60 in a second.
Here was your happiness
and here you are now.
And what an amazing distance that is.
when did those years go by?
why stand so sad with your soul in shreds?
Too afraid to set the strands on fire
so there they hung
ethereal chains jutting from every cell
chains that are a feast that you can't stomach
chains that are that sad song you can't listen to -anymore
chains that are that tear in your eye refusing to fall
all the loves lost if only you had just loved
who is this person in the mirror?
this blackeyed monster with eyes like sadness
and sleep like terror
with ink indignant ashamed of what you wrote
what you wrote deep down under those chains in you
mirror neuron pain must be felt
sadistic black mirror chained down and burning burning and melting and burning
and rambling
on and on and on and on and on and on
and you probably stopped reading long ago.

Everything I have to say
has been said to death
by people far more clever than me.

I'm too hungry to feel sad.
I'm too hungry to feel hungry.
I'm not asking for sympathy,
I'd rather not be seen.

I went to the doctor for advice
but all he saw were dollar signs.

And lately it's started to seem
that the best medicine for me
is a good night's sleep
and a breakfast of kerosene.

So you feel this way
but you don't know why.
And they feel that way
but won't say how.

Your brain whispers secrets
that they don't hear.
Your eyes see figures
with intentions unclear.

The smiles don't come
but their laughter looks true
and on the sidewalk there's a sad statue
with the same face as you.

I wish you could have my body for a day
I wish you could borrow my brain
I don’t think that
you
Would think of me the same
if you could know my Pain

I wish you could have my
Dreams for one night
I wish you could know what
Night Terrors truly a felt like

The only reason that I’m still alive
Is because you’d be so *******
Sad
if I died.


The o my eeason

Time does not heal, only tears do.
I lay awake and think of you,
too prideful to break down or cry.
A rip in my bones too deep to die.

I meander the Earth with heavy eyes
(you do not let me sleep much)
My body could collapse at any moment
(you've made the days heavy as heavy)
Food and wine taste of dust
and I do not love but lust.

All of this is due
to living a life with you...
And time does not heal only tears do
but I will never cry for you.

I will live a life of misery if it means you don't get the satisfaction
of my sadness.

I would give you the world
Were it not a plague
I would give you my heart
Were it not fading away

Your mind and you are
to me
the songs that heaven wrote
but could not sing.

There are beautiful words in my mind
aching to inform you
of my admiration towards your heart,
my longing for your lips
of the beauty in the fragile lines of your palm.

So many things to be said
about you and about us.

But if my mind is a pen
and you are the ink
I suppose that
there isn't much to be said
after all.
Because your silence is
beyond-noticeable
and my weariness is
growinggreater.

And those words are fading
with every quiet night
when you aren't here
and the phone won't ring.

I don't have enough hope to be hopeless
I don't feel enough to be numb.
I've lost too much to claim
that I don't have anything left.

I don't know what's sadder:
that this has happened,
or that I would let it all
happen again.

When I was in kindergarten we had a party and
I ate too much candy.
My stomach ached and
I didn’t know why.
It ruined the party for me.
I remember crouching in the corner confused,
Closing my eyes, imagining that I could
Peer deep inside of myself.
It was then that I came to the childish conclusion that there was a ghost inside of me.
That’s what was causing the pain.
I focused my mind on wishing the ghost away.
I might have even prayed.
Until eventually the pain subsided and the ghost went away

I grew older, eventually, and realized that none of that was real.

Then I grew older still, slowly, and realized that it was all true after all.
That the ghost inside of me was real.
That it never left.

And for some reason
At the depth of it all
I have fallen back into
the deepest groove of my own suffering.

I do not know how or why
this pain has come back.
Or why it refuses to leave.

Deep down
at the bottom of everything
I am surrounded --
By perfect monstrous silence
Echoing gently the constant reminder
Of my own isolation.

I haven't felt this alone in years.
At least not consciously so.
Face to face with failure:
The deepest kind of suffering.
The very essence of sadness.

The darkest part of darkness.

Nothing but this:
Alone again as always
Irrational misbehavior
Living always in a tortured instance.

The world isn't so bad
But the experience itself
Is a whole different thing.

I'd rather die right now
than walk inside and put on a happy face.
Splice myself open and drain away.

The inexplicable suffering of my life
Has taken hold of me
Mysterious, unsubtle.

Always and forever.

Under bedsheets like rabbits do we crawl
with innocent eyes
far away from the words and shadows
of our illuminated world.

Under bedsheets like rabbits do we escape
from the blare and blur of suburban streets.
Streets with blinding light
in which the constellations suffocate
to shine.

The infinite possibilites
of the infinite universes
of the infinite this
and the infinite that.
So much to discover
and revel in,
the moon will never set
but will hover, golden
over the ripe horizon.

Under the rabbithole of bedsheets
do we find a world where the stars smile back.
Where a curleyheaded girl soaks her tired feet
in a slender river
for even just
a few moments of beauty
and passion
in our world composed so wholly
of streetlights and shadows.

I'm smoking like I did before I met you.
Before and after
Each and every task.

When I was young I said I felt so old
I didn't know how much worse it'd get.

I've defined my sorrow
with a series of clever, worn-out platitudes.
Something about those obscure synonyms
always made me feel unique --
like there was something inside of me
worth staying alive to find.
Something worthwhile
in some corner of my mind.

everyone's got a suggestion
everyone has a solution
but nothing helps me sleep at night
and nothing takes my pain away

my mistakes are mine to make
my head is mine to shake

my time is mine to waste

my bones are mine to break
my life is mine to take

Pain does not make you stronger.
That's a ******* lie
preached by people convinced that
you have to be cursed to be brilliant.

The saddest part is not the pain
nor its never-ending presence.
It's the fact that you could have been
so much more.
You could have done so many things.

I could have been so much more
than the person I've become.

There are no masks at 4 in the morning,
it is impossible to conceal yourself
under such insomnia, such tire, or such intoxication.

This is why we leave our beds where the demons stay
to go to house parties where the 'normal people' play.
Because the masks begin to suffocate your face
and you'd give anything for anyone to see just a trace
of honesty in your life
built of formalities and lies.

The drinks set in, the feet lose traction,
children groping blindly for meaningless interaction.

i could not speak and i could not feel
and i saw your eyes among the stars but it hardly
seemed appropriate to nod and I knew I had lost it
but what is life but losing it
i do not think that i want this but i am laughing
so I must but how can I discern between no

i do not sigh and i do not breathe but i can feel my
lungs rattling do you know do you know maybe but it is
of no concern i do not care to

i do not expect to remember this how can i do not
have fear you are smiling guide me scorpius guide me
i do not expect much i just need to stop falling
upwards

these steps take themselves i stand still
and the streetlights slowly pass me

Geometry melting
Prismatic projections
love songs on repeat
Strangest friendships
Stranger still, our suffering
Anamolous Uniformity, this heartache
that which we all desire
the love you love until you hate
the hate you love but only on your saddest days
a hand to hold, a concept still
a heart in your chest, or so you're told
A watcher always -- your lot in life
Emburdened steps by the light of Orion
Stranger sighs this lustful hatred of life
as if there were nothing else - nothing more
so much more or so we hope
worldly compensation for cerebral sorrows
that which we all feel -- at the bottom of life
at the bottom of it all
and here we all culminate -- in this strangest of places
all that we are -- all that we were & will be
so much more and so much better than it could have been
and at least for that we're grateful,
at least for that we can make amends
at least for that we can find some meaning
at least for that we've found our home.

A path lined with shards of glass
from crystalline tears
and secret glances
the brief encounters
the blank stares
the nights spent searching for what is gone
or forcing breaths into flattened lungs

the pain of stepping on all those hearts
that I have shattered.

True: tall, handsome, writes poems
and makes them smile, even when he can't.
Ultimately left alone to walk
this path of shattered glass.

I would shatter them all again,
if it meant I could feel anything at all from their love,
if only just the feeling
of glass in my steps
and regret in their souls.

It is a nice night
people are over
A fire pit was started
I am connected to to the Bluetooth speaker
And all the agreeable party people enjoy my
Home
Cat
Dog terrier mutt

I’m not anxious
I’m having a good time it feels like
This is the kind of stuff I want
more of
in my life.

I wish they all were gone
So I could slash deep into my subcutaneous fat cells
without any risk of someone noticing.
Upside down face emoji **** *******

And so, what now?
The room lingers
waiting for something
(anything)
to happen.

A silent echo
endlessly reverberating.
A sound left to linger
like that particular snap
of a bone cracking in two.

....But this is so much more painful.
There's a scar on my arm
from when they drilled a titanium plate
into that broken bone.

You let the silence speak for you
(as it tends to do)
Quiet tears convene on the bedsheets.

Oh, please say something.
Say that you will be okay.
Tell me that you are not broken.

I do not think that I am worth breaking from.
I do not think that I am worth crying over.
I do not think that I am a monster
but that is up for you to decide.

Oh, love, please say something.
Say something.
(Anything.)

That silent echo
that endless reverberation.
... I can feel your heart
snapping in two.

But I am no surgeon.

No, I am that dying oak tree
in your front yard.
You climbed it higher and higher
unaware of my emptiness under the bark.
You climbed me higher and higher
happier and happier.

But I snapped under the increasing weight of your love
and watched as you fell from me.
You snapped in two and landed
on these bedsheets
where you can't stop crying.

Love, say something.
(Anything.)

I've always hated
that question.

I've wanted to die
since I was
eleven years old.

Isn't that
reason
enough?

you will learn to shift your weight around
You will learn to lean against things
To always clutch handrails

You will learn to rate things from one to ten ten being the worst you’ve ever felt

You will learn loss
You will lose functionality
You will lose what you used to love doing
You will learn not to partake in barbecue games, bowling nights
You will learn to politely decline invitations
You will lose friends
Hobbies
Muscle memory

You will learn to accept it
You will learn that it is unacceptable

You will lose sympathy for others
You will lose track of things
You will learn that there is always something more to lose
You will learn to hold just a few things sacred
to cling only to that which you cannot lose
You will learn that those things too can be lost

You will learn to hate god

You will learn how unobservant most people are
You will learn not to disclose
You will learn what not to say to avoid their suggestions and advice

You will learn to be alone

You will learn the difference between NSAIDs and acetaminophen
between hydro and oxy
the difference between SSI and SSDI
between deductibles and out of pocket maximums
You will learn to cry in hospital parking garages
You will learn the limits of modern medicine for the working and middle classes
You will learn to lower your expectations
You will learn the definition of the word palliative

You will learn to live with it
You will learn to smile for pictures
You will learn to claim a seat early
You will learn to summarize
You will learn good days and bad days
You will learn sorry I know this is last minute but I have to cancel

You will learn to love deeply
You will learn to apologize profusely

You will learn how successful other people will become

You will learn what it means to be a body

You will learn so much
You will learn so so much

When I see you in dreams
you are just as miserable
as I remember you to be.

When I see you in dreams
you still carry your desperation
your unadulterated shame
proudly impure upon your shoulders

When I see you in dreams
I find myself undone
by the same intense shock of
love and fear
that brought me to this point
to begin with:

where I can only see you in dreams
and we are both just as sad
as I remember us
to have been.

When you leave
I don't want you
to break my heart
I want you
to mutilate my soul.
Please
don’t take just a part of me
I want you
to devour me whole.

When you leave
don’t slip out
quietly at night.
Please
will you snap my spine in two?
Leave me heartbreak paralyzed
just for you.

When you leave
I want you to have left
only after having become
my everything.
I want you
to leave me
with nothing.
I want you to leave me
as nothing.
A distant shadow.
A hollow shell.
A nightmare memory
of what
I could have been
had I never loved you.

I want to love you so fully
so recklessly
that in the moment
that you leave
there would be nothing
at all
left to leave.

When you leave
please
leave me like that.

And
please
never leave.

And yet I always come back
Asking for more

So frequently do we hear
of the intoxicated eyes
with nothing behind them.

So frequently do they face
repudiation
from the isolated introvert.

They can't see straight
they can't think straight
they willfully walk the line of self destruction.

These eyes swirl around me,
and here I stand:
confused and fascinated.

A brief feeling of at home:
surrounded by eyes
as empty as mine.

The sun recedes into the horizon.
The moon shines an incandescent sliver.
The stars flicker, briefly.

Oh, so briefly do they flicker.
Eternal beacons existing to remind us of our own insignificance.
Out there, somewhere, is something else;
out there, somewhere, is something new.
Something new in this world composed so wholly
of odds and ends
of what-have-yous...
what-ifs, so many what-ifs.
So many what-ifs.

There is a life to be lived
where the mornings aren't so painful,
and the nights aren't so meaningless.
A life where I try to smile
and I actually smile.
Where holding a hand
or kissing a collarbone
are gestures worth the risk.
Ripe with legitimacy
will I fall in love again.

Beautiful words to be written.
Beautiful women to fall in love with.
Beautiful this and beautiful that
and beautiful everything in between.

So when the stars appear
and try to convince me of my own nothingness,
I shall fly past those nets,
quietly telling Orion
that this is my life

and I do not deserve to feel this way.

I refuse to continue existing
without beauty and purpose
in the marrow of my fragile bones.

Well, here we are:
stuck in the ambivalent winds
of our landlocked state.

Warm mornings
without warning
curse us with cold
before the clock tower strikes four times.

The landlocked people dressed for warmth
then scurried for shelter as the chill
seeped into their bones.
Fearing cold they hide their brains
safe from love, safe from pain.
It's like they don't even know
to just wait five minutes.
It'll all be different in five minutes.

In five minutes there will be time
Time for
floods and droughts
ice and flash fires
infinite wrath, infinite despair.

Trust in Oklahoma means
to stand on a faulty bridge
and fain stability.

Looking West in Oklahoma means absolutely nothing
There is flat in all directions.

And so, here we are:
landlocked lovers
amid a complacent population.

Let us not trust weather,
it can not make up its mind.
Let us not trust the wilted Mistletoe
the only flowers I need are in your eyes.
Let us not fear the cold or the heat
in five minutes there will still be time
to blanket ourselves in warmth
or strip ourselves bare
in the devious Sun.

You,
We do not talk anymore
and I know that you don't want to talk
anymore.
And I understand, I guess.
I can't really blame you,
can I?

After all, I left you with nothing
but unanswerable questions
and seemingly infinite tears.
So I can see why
you do not want to hear my voice
anymore.

But, you, do you remember?
The laughs?
The quiet nights alone
needing nothing but each other?
I was only happy when you were happy,
you could only fall asleep in my arms
or wishing you were in my arms.

What about the parks?
And the late nights?
And the whispers?
The skin, so much skin.
Passion rang through us
and we reverberated a tireless song
of contentment and ease.

And the fights weren't that bad,
the nights alone weren't terrible.
I didn't make you that unhappy
until I made you miserable
as I walked away forever.

You, do you remember those halcyon days?
I wrote you poems,
you made me a crown of flowers
that wilted hanging from my rear-view mirror.

And as the days go by in which you
resent and yet again resent me down to my soul.
I will hold no bitterness towards your name,
and hope that, eventually, you can do me the same.

You do to me what winter does to garden geraniums.
Frost does not exist on purpose.
It does not intend to puncture cell walls.
It just is. As do I. As do you.

You do to me what oxycontin does to the heart.
Oh, my zenith of euphoria, the unbearable absence of your pleasure
haunts me until nothing remains to be haunted.
You caress me raw with your fingertips.
Your warmth burns hot as ice on my soul.

You do to me what chefs do to onions.
What farmland does to streams.
What sunshine does to skin.
What wealth does to man.
What maggots do to rotting wounds.

You do to me what pictures do to moments.
You do to me what rats in glue traps do to themselves.

No one heard the voices and shrieks that night
And no one knew and no one cared to know.
Yet it happened still the atrocity.

Her echoes are in the air still,
No one can feel what she felt.
You wouldn't want to.

They say you shouldn't try to save
a drowning person.

they're in such a panic
that they will
without consciously trying
take you down
with them.

I was drowning
when we fell in love.
But then again
so were you.

You wanted the world and I complied.
Crafting a globe out of paper and wilted Daffodils;
you were under the distorted vision of Love
and could not see the fault lines and inconsistencies
that make it both real and unreal.

I apologize for when it crumbles --
as I know it will.
I know your smile will fade --
there's nothing I can do.
Nothing.
Nothing in the pseudo-world that will permit
you to remain happy.
Because I am no Atlas and I am trembling
under the increasing weight of a fabricated world.
I know not what to do and you cannot see.

I am sorry:
The world is falling apart
and I will be a casualty in the wreckage.

There is no way around it:
you are going to hurt me.
I can feel it in my bones the way
birds know of a coming storm.

I do not know if this will end
in love in the end.
I do not see a happy ending
(but I hope I'm wrong)

....And as the sun rises onto
another glorious day
where we two are alone, together
I will take the pain when it comes,
and cherish every smile you give me
until that solemn day.

I am well aware that my lines lack an audience,
that the words of others are more beautiful
eloquent, passionate?
than mine: I have accepted that.

It is within my capacity to write about how
lost love, flowers, sunsets and cigarettes
evoke deep emotions within me.
I can write
that Great God will guide me through darkness
and I will find happiness in the end.
I can do that. More people would read that.
Perhaps I could get an audience
that way.

I'll keep my ambiguity
And I'll keep my countenance.

Disregard these words (as I know you will)

No one hears the cry of beating hearts,
No one sees the nightmourner,
desolate and quiet in its misery.
I have not read a poem written by a Shadow,
I know that they haunt us all the same.

Do not read these words I fear you'll read more.

You wouldn't want me anymore.
I've changed
much for the worse.
Same old sadness
but much worse.

Same handsome face,
teeth worn down deeper,
eyes grown darker.

I don't laugh as much.
I don't talk as much.
I don't smile as much.
I smoke cigarettes now,
I've seen the inside
of the county jail.

Even if you think you want to see me,
I promise you that you don't.

smile now act like you're
happy
"You are happy"
That is a lie

Snile now act like it's not so bad
"It's not so bad"
That's so ******* hollow, dude.

I am overcome by nostalgia for experiences that occured years and decades before I was born.
I ******* hate grunge music.
I should have been a cis white male privilege zshielded ignorant beatnik
I should be tripping ***** on mescaline with Kerouac and  Cassady at this very moment.
I am overcome by many things.
By many feelings  .
Many bottles of whiskey.
Many capsules of vyvanse
Many failed put option bets
Many failed courtships
Many fleeting pursuits of soulmates and joy innate.

I choose to live.
I want to die.
Thos does jot not matter.
This may be resurrected respected from the archives one day
One day will likely statiaically probably not occur

What's going on Bunker Club?
I could make there for a rojnd or two before last call

I want to die i choose to live

I suppose there are no .ore beatniks by thos point

I wonder what Cassady Kerouac or the one dude whome I love but am too fu ked up to remember his name the ine that wrote Howl yeah that one all of th

I qonder would they qould have done given these modern soma tools
Given these fentanyl laced uppers
Given this rising tide of fascism and plasti. Refuse

I wonder...

No one cares
N o on e matter
S
Nothing is or has ever been anyth
Ing

I wonder an db I wish
And I must have lost track of the substance here

I wonder was Ginsberg, yeah that was his name, I wonder what Ginsberh would haave done hiven all that's going on.
Given all that I have amd most. Ertainly don't have.
I wonder what he would have to say about all of this then

I wonxer if he qould still Ginsberg that genius ****** HOWL as hard now as he did in rhe fu ki.g 50s.

I wonder if she ever loved me.
I wonder if I ever loved.
I woncer if any of this was genous
And I wonder if this was all jist the alcohol drug addled  futile selfindilgent ******* that it seems to neeee

Maybe it's art
Maybe it is

Maybe you should go outside
Maybe I sbould eat a meal

Maybe everyone shod just
At the very least
Ask themselves how the personally define the concept of happiness
Maybe theyvand we and i should think about tha

Maybe wr should be happy
Maybe i should be happy

Maybe this is art
Maybe this is nothing
Maybe this is sibstance abuse
Maybe when I doe they'll gind this a ccount 20 years latet and study it in text books
Maybeayyne you sho)uld go outside amd
Maybe
Maybaybe
You should ask yourself what the definition of happiness really
Is