Wash your hands in the river
Fall asleep on the stairs
Sending out strangers to get the paper again
Cigarettes radiate off strands of her hair
You think you're in love again

Static stereo night stalker sing me to sleep
Put me out of my misery in my kitchen sink
Please don't call the doctor he said I'm not clean
I am not your poltergeist but
But I lucid dream that you love me, outside of my body.

I heard it in the voice on the radio
That clicking noise from the back of my throat all the way down to your stomach
The kind of thing that will give you the shakes if you're not careful with it
I don't wanna control it, my fathers sadistic
and so is my mother.
But we only pretend that we love her.

I dare you to look at me the way you would at your fathers grave
Pin me to my coffin tell me I'm safe
I know you're not scared of me yet
But you need to be.

Put me out
I gotta get out
Put me out
I gotta get out
Put me out
I gotta get out of this hell in myself.

I always hide in my basement
Waiting to die
I always hide in my basement
But I never tried

Doubt pours out of the water spout,
which is connected to my face.
So I shut it off,
And like a tablecloth,
conceal my cluttered shame.

I leave my castle,
and with a tattered hassle,
I strike a lovely pose.
But a pose it is, and like a stifled hymn,
I shutter at empty prose.

As soon as I leave,
I cry and then grieve,
wishing I never departed.
I long for my bed, to rest my troubled head,
and get these lost thoughts charted.

Even that's a lie,
cause I wait to die,
caring not at all to think.
The narcotics I bleed,
flushed out by swirling steam,
carry me passed the brink.

But when I start to pass,
crossing the overpass,
I slam my brakes and beg.
Then life appeases,
my Id does what it pleases,
while I struggle standing on one leg.

After night approaches,
I ash my final roaches,
and slip into my home.
Is this incarceration,
disguised as a democratic nation?
The confusion manifests as a poem.

This is never eased,
and with a new disease,
my intellect is infected.
But, this growing doubt,
that clogs my water spout,
is despairingly reflected.

Though, answers dance around,
in their lovely gowns,
they leave when the music halts.
Then my cataract,
allows the mind to detach,
and hides the mirror and my faults.

But, this is not much relief,
because my chattering teeth,
remind me that the world is cold.
Reluctant to breath,
I role up my sleeves,
because the world is for the bold.

I know now. Redemption hangs in the balance between the fertile crescent and the great pyramids.
The Genesis and the deconstruction.
The dowsing of the flame and the re-combustion.

We're all promised what we won't find. That's why you build up hope and waste your time.
Your position as protagonist will have you looking for exceptions, but we're all just clay living in the third dimension.

Clocks twirl and sing to remind you to keep doing what you're doing, but you would anyway, so who are they fooling ?

They're just as useless as the dollar or the president, or the concept of rules to our residence. And you can't shake the feeling that removing yourself would be best.

Though you're probably right, because our stagnant plight is leading to the roots and dirt. (It's clear as day)
But no one can stomach this, frightened and ******, so with new ideals or meanings we will flirt.

Be free.

I've been keeping a journal of trips I wish you'd taken with me.
An album of photos you should have been in.
A list of nights I wish you'd spent in my passenger seat.

I've been collecting all of our favorite pieces of myself in a mason jar;
Fireflies to leave by your bedside so if you wake up in the middle of the night you won't feel alone.

I know too well the hourglass purgatory that is your absence;
Frighteningly similar to the sensation of waking up in empty darkness, unable to remember falling asleep.

I can make no noise but the scratching of pen to paper now.
And when I try to display the pieces of my heart,
they only find their way up into my throat.
Next to whiskey burns to ease "hello"'s
and "goodbye"'s I've waited too long to give.
Next to the "no, thank you"'s that were ignored,
and the thrusts of strange men that I missed you during.
Next to the laughs I've faked
at jokes that reminded me that you never liked my sense of humor.
And next to the cracks in my voice,
when the song that made me miss you before you were gone came on the radio,
but I still sang along.
And I'm sorry that "stuck in my throat" isn't loud enough to tell you
that I'm sorry that I was never enough.

Roller Coaster
Sparrow
Paper Bag
Picture
Diver
Market
Elephant

Roller Coaster: This won't be the typical mention of a roller coaster, about the ups and downs. But rather the fear I felt on the line for the ride and the reassurance I was handed by my companion and how I wish to feel that safety in words again.

Sparrow: I carried a baby bird to healing 4 years ago with a broken wing. But today I was asked for help with another and I could not have cared any less. I don't know if that's because I've "come to my senses" or just lost hope in flight.

Paper Bag: sound of ripping paper in half pause This is what I really heard when you told me you're doing well, without me.

Picture: I never did know what I'd find to do with this picture of a house, that I found in a house, that used to be my house... I'll just use it to say "house", because "home" is a word I don't know what to do with.

Diver: You are a cliff diver.
You take that leap of faith.
Your safety fails you.
Your back up fails you.

Really close your eyes.
Grasp the horror.
The betrayal.
The eventual impact of landing.


Thanks, mom.

Market: Remember when we had to wash our hands after every trip to the super market to avoid germs? What did we do to avoid what really infected us? What did you teach me to keep this sickness from creeping into my chest and eating me alive from the inside out? No preventative measures were taken against the most terminal illness that I could have picked up in any market, in any lifetime. So this is me, begging for a cure, and for the medicine I seem to have missed too many doses of.

Elephant: So... How's that for an elephant in the room?

It’s a little ****** up,

every time I get into my car

my impulsive desire is to drive

to you, wherever you are.

That every time I pick up my phone,

my hands try to dial your number at the tone.

That every breath I take

my senses miss your scent

and every mistake I ever made

haunts me with our end.
Also,

It’s a little ****** up how much I still love you.

Dread is what I feel when I force conversation to escape my lips

Dread is what I hear when I hear your voice, or any memory you narrate in my head

Dread is what I taste when I taste sugarless coffee, bitter and desolate, always how you liked it.

Dread is what I see, when my minds eye looks back into the nights I held you near. It's what I see, when I see your half dead eyes faking joy.

Dread is what I smell when I get into my car and smell a cigarette or a perfume that resembles yours.

My life is nothing but dread. Every night is a funeral and every morning a death.

But there's still Breathe, so most would say I'm alive. It's as if they forgot our nature and what it is to strive.

My senses shackle me to this cross, which faces a movie screen of terrors. I watch and cry, continually suffering with widows and beggars.

Shut it off, I wish I could, you see, but another fear that holds life dear, Will not set me free.

It's as if my brain holds my chain and dangles above the key. It won't let me out, with the painful doubt that I will cease to be.

But it doesn't add up, this is what I want?  An expensive life, a beautiful wife, something I can flaunt.

The hypocrisy, is like this democracy which binds us to despair.

You used to stand by and cover my eyes, give me a rest from the pain, but my wounded flesh and my horror cries left you with disdain.

So then you left, what did I expect? The world shackled you not, so I'll just remain up here, shackled with fear, watching this eternal plot.

I saw someone I knew from high school
as I was walking into the bar.
He was doing shots with some other guy
in a corner booth on the other end of the room.
so I strode over and made myself at home
showing them both how to really drink.

Then I recognized a few of the girls they were with,
well one in particular, and that was all that mattered.
The instant I recognized her I knew it was a dream.
I knew that it couldn't be real.
She was pretty, but I didn't talk to her right away,
I had my fair share of ***** until everyone wanted
to take the party back to someone's house.

I saw her glancing my way,
and vaguely realized I was making her glance.
Making her steal quick looks at me among the crowd.
Making her smile at me.

When I convinced myself of this I walked over to her
and made nonsensical small talk as we walked out of the party.

She took me to her apartment, filled with cats.

She started to cry, inexplicably, and I folded her up into my arms.

And I flew us into the sky, slowly floating between buildings and trees.

"Why does this have to be a dream?" She whispered in my ear.
And I chuckled quietly.

Because I knew it was actually me saying it.