no one really understands anything we try to say
so why do we say anything at all?
we could mingle in coffee shops forever and we would make no change
if you think that what you're saying is being heard you are wrong
people would rather sit in front of a TV and have **** spewed into their brains
rather than read a book
or simply, just listen

we are inadequate and we a laughing stocks
if you think of yourself as an outcast you are probably right
but it is only because
society has taught people
that being creative is something that only an askew mind does
a mind that is torn
and in the seams lies creativity and originality
and sadly both of those things are frowned upon nowadays

so remain in our coffee shops and stayed hunched over your typewriter
because if you are caught being something different
you will be no more than me

Birthdays never change anything
Yet there is always a pang of joy in my heart
Knowing that Death is definitely closer
My old friend, I cannot wait to see you again

every time i enter a convince store
i look at where they keep the candy
my eyes drift to your favorite snack
i remember how many times we were in that same store
and how often you would look at me with such adoration
and beg for me to put something sweet in your life
i've learned that i could never be sweeter than a treat

It is so difficult. I am not a mind reader, I only know what I want not what someone else wants. How am I supposed to know that she wanted me to kiss her. How do I know anything at all.

. . .And indeed there will be time

She has texted me every night for three months.  We've read so many horrible teen romance novels that  I thought I was going insane.  And the worst part of it all was that she made me read them all aloud. ******* aloud. I hated reading aloud. She made me overcome my fear. She told me that I had a great voice and that I should be a radio show host.

There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to ****** and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;

I'm sitting in this car half ******, half drunk. I am 15.  I am a freshman. She is 18.  She is a senior. I'm sitting here and everything is spinning but the only thing that is remaining still is her face. Especially her eyes. They have a glow to them that I cannot describe. She is wonderful in this artificial lighting. It is three am. My mother told me to be home at nine thirty so that I would have plenty of sleep for school on Monday.

Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.

All those ****** ******* books, they were all so bad. The Twilight Series, that was torture. But I can recall reading one book that was so powerful to me at that fragile time in my life. The Perks of Being a Wall Flower. That book was so powerful too me. I connected so well to that Charlie. I thought at that time that Charlie was me. I was Charlie. And I knew his pain beyond anyone else's understanding of that character. I was him as he was me. I knew what it was like to love a girl who didn't love you.

And indeed there will be time
To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?”
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair —
(They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”)

Now it is three fifteen in the morning.  I am so tired, so drowsy.  AND THE NERVE OF THIS BEAUTIFUL GIRL.  She prevents me from nodding off.  She places her hand on my thigh and asks me if I've ever been in love, to which I quickly reply, "I do not know what love is, so how could I have been in something that I am unaware of?"  She then laughs in my face, saying that I am funny.  I don't  think I'm funny,  I never did and I never will. But she does. I don't know why, maybe she is trying to ****** me, how am I supposed to know, I am not a mind reader.  

Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

Once we finished Perks, things were odd.  It was as though I'd just read her my diary.  If I had gone through that book and changed a few names this would have been true.  So I don't know about her, and I probably never will, but as for myself I was beat red with embarrassment. I felt as though she now knew everything, she knew my ins and outs, she knew the inner workings of my heart.  I was so exposed, my emotions were so naked and evident.  And I felt like she knew that I loved her then, but she wasn't Sam therefore she didn't love me, I knew she did not.  We had practically just read my published diary.  It was horrible. I was so scared.  

I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.

I've got this crazy idea. I know what to do. Girls like it when boys make the first move right? So I know what to do, I will just lean in to kiss the girl! But wait, she is much older than I am. She has had much more experience with guys, right? So if she wanted to kiss me she would just lean in and do it.  I am so unsure, what the hell is going on? Why did she even invite me to hang out with her?  I hate the way I feel when I'm in her presence.  She is so mature and beautiful and I am so . . . not.  I don't get why she even wants to see me.  But oh god, I do want to see her, she is gorgeous! THOSE LIPS! I've got to do it. All I have to do is lean in and touch my lips to hers. It is that simple.  

Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

It is 9th period, I used to have off then. I would sit with my three friends and her.  At some point we decided, the girl of my dreams and myself, that I would take her to prom. This was very odd because at that time I was in sophomore and she was a senior. So the planning commenced and we began to hangout more and more. Eventually we made mutual friends with Patrick.  He is now my best friend. But her stole love from me.

And I have known the eyes already, known them all—
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the ****-ends of my days and ways?
               And how should I presume?

I failed.  I didn't kiss her.  The pressure is too much.  I cannot bear it. This pressure to kiss a girl that I've kindred feelings for so long, it is unfathomable. How am I expected to do such a task with such little prior experience? She should have kissed me first, I wish she had. It would have been wonderful. I know it would of been. Now she is tired so she asks if I want to go home. I do not want to go home, not one bit, but  promptly say, "Yeah, it is getting really late." So we're off back to my house. We finally arrive and just as I  get out she says something under her breath. I ask her what it was she said, and she tells me. She tells me and it breaks my little heart. She said, "I wish you would have kissed me, that would have made this night perfect. I am dead.

For I have known them all already, known them all:
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
               So how should I presume?

Prom was a horrible time for me.  I pretended to be happy.  At that time my happiness was dependant on making others feel good, on making others happy.  It was an unfortunate turn of events for me, in hindsight. By some divine intervention our plans to go to prom were abolished.  Patrick was the new candidate to take her to prom.  But she didn't want to disappoint me so I was still invited to go. Then there were three, the three of us would go to prom as a trio. And that was the most awkward thing ever.  Everyone who encountered me would ask things such as, "Hey JohnMichael, funny seeing you here. You're a sophomore why are you at the senior prom, who are you here with." I would either walk away or laugh at those comments, I didn't feel like explaining my horrid situation to anyone who did not already know.  It finally ended. I was tired from dancing with myself and being alone. Patrick and my love were of course hitting it off who knows where, I kept them out of sight the entire time. I didn't even go home with them, I had my cousin pick me up early, he lived surprisingly close to the hall.  Once I go home I cried and cried and smoked more cigarettes than fathomable.  I was a wreck and everyone knew it, my mom, my dad, my brother, even the dog.  They didn't question anything. I felt like Charlie. He understood me because he was me at the time. I was him.  I knew what it felt like to love someone who didn't love you, as did he. He knew my trials and tribulations.  

By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

Quotes provided from:
"The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock"  by T.S. Eliot

I don't want to be with her because in the long run she only makes me sad
because I'm not good enough to fix her
and I want to fix her
but in the process I only get depressed and frustrated because I'm not good enough

But I still love her

the feeling of loss
not directed towards anything in at all
just the knowledge that the past is over with
that nothing can ever be taken back
nothing can be redone
everything you do is permanent

yet at the same time
we are told that
nothing will last forever
so live in the moment
but to me, the moment only happens once
so I have to make it perfect
and that simply never happens

Sitting alone voices float past me
I fathom what it would be like to be free
To get out of this cage
To turn a new page
Something new
...
Yet in my mind something is askew
There is nothing new
The same old thoughts come rushing to me
Breaking and beating all I can be

finding little pieces of shrapnel buried in my brain
I can't pluck them out like I would Rose thorns in my skin
but I can feel them shake shake shake like beads in a baby's rattle every time I walk past a girl who can also stare right through the fabric of my being
Airport security always stop me, strips me and is puzzled to find that there no bombs in my bags or on my person.
But what they don't know is that I really could explode at any moment
Brimming over with words to say to you if I could ever see you again
But this time I want to really see you
Not sneak into a hospital
Run past doctors, surgeons, and your parents
Only to catch a glimpse of you being kept alive by modern medicine

his head grows hot
no heat can hit it
but as he lets thoughts brew and bubble
asking himself the "ifs" and the "buts"
until he is about ready to pop
there is little to do to stop
what is about to happen
he runs from his cave with acid spewing from his mouth
he lets it hit his skin and he screams
he is contorted and wallowing
he is no more than a puddle

*** is not love.

People do not love you when they take you for their own pleasure. They will leave you empty and cold, things are cold once they are gone.  That feeling is not love. People who love you do not make you feel like that. People who love you will make you as warm as the most pleasant spring day.  The resounding sound of trumpets will blare from your heart and then shake your entire being. It will rattle your bones through and through, shaking the fiber of your being and overfilling your soul with joy.  People who love you will make you feel like this on a daily basis.

*** is a factor in love but certainly not the entire thing. Do not allow yourself to think that someone truly loves you  when they only learned to love you because they became used to loving your body.
I warn you now but you will forget my words.

You will be caught in the gusts of young love. You will be fooled and then seduced by a coy young devil. This devil, heed him please, will invoke all the feelings that you thought you had long lost.  They will rekindle the fire of your heart. This devil will not use the wholesome wood that is the lumber of love to kindle this fire. This devil will use a poison that creates the worst of fires in your heart. THIS FIRE WILL BURN YOU TO ASHES. WARNING MY DEAR YOU ARE NOT A PHOENIX. YOU WILL NOT SURVIVE THESE BURNS. YOU WILL ONLY BE A SHELL OF FORMER YOURSELF.

Please do not forget what I tell you.  I am not telling you this because I had a premonition. I am speaking from my own experiences.  I am a burn victim. My shell is decrepit rotting shell. It can foster little emotion and even less empathy. I do not wish this fate upon anyone else.  I simply want the best for anyone, because no one should feel how I do currently.

You will be used in the same way I was, because you are ignorant to pain. You do not listen, because you are ignorant to what is right in front of your eyes. My words you see them right now, in fact they are in your head as soon as you read them, yet when I tell you to remember them you will not.  

You can be the thing that someone wants quite easily. It is very easy to feel wanted also. Many people will want you. They will say they want you because of this quality and because that quality, and when they say this you will easily feel accepted because you feel wanted.
But you are not what they need and they are not what you need.
Your heads will ****.  They will grow tired of you and realize that you are actually not needed only wanted.

This will destroy you. Some of these people will up and leave. But some of them will live the lie. They will make you think that they need you and you need them. These are the worst kind. It will not be noticed for a long time. It may take years to manifest its true form. But when it shows its self it will be horrid. It will have a putrid smell that makes tears swell from your eyes. It will show itself in the underlying face that is beneath the mask they have developed to fool you.  You will not be able to handle this. You will be torn into indistinguishable pieces. No one will ever be able to put you back together. Please remember my words so you will not be a victim.

I do not wish what I have felt on my worst enemy.
I do not wish this pain on those who have caused it for me.
I wish it only on myself, I was a fool. So naive, so innocent. I was easily broke.

the most dangerous weapons are depressed minds with sharp objects

I want my world to be as beautiful as the one you see

No one has ever made me feel like you do but you cannot ***** out who I am
My old demons bark at me from the cages that I have locked them in
The reoccurring memories serve as slabs of meat that are throw to the dogs, they rip and tear through ****** flesh
I am sorry that I am not near, not close enough when you need me most
Not close enough for you
I think you should know that every song we used to sing echos endlessly in the halls of my heart, clamoring, smashing, banging all there is to break.
Now let me rest my tired feet, let me re-lace my boots
Because I have been running for far to long from something that is still exactly where I left it.

it is getting to the point where  I am going to die
because with each step we take farther from each other
I feel my hear strings draw taut
they will not snap, the ties that we had a stronger than twine
they must be spider webs
1,000 times stronger than steel

and I'm stuck here, I've stopped running away from you

so each step you will not cut our ties
only tear my heart
and I understand that you can't stand to associate with me anymore
but just keep a steady pace
so I can familiarize myself with the rhythm
of a breaking heart

I remember the first time I killed a girl. She loved me. I loved her.

I would hand her Xanax and cigarettes. One time she handed me her heart on a silver platter and seductively smirked whilst saying, "Dig in."

She then, unfortunately, was burdened with my child. We decided to purge my family tree. We did so faster than a gallon of Roundup kills a single dandelion. I had no desire to let my family tree grow, it is a horrid thing.

Soon after she was filled with grief. So then I killed her. I used my divine nonexistent influence to perform a task that she was oh so familiar with. I teleported from Albany to Long Island in a matter of seconds and hand fed her all her medications, then her mother heart medications along with all my own stock pile of pills I used for recreation. Her heart rate began to slow. She died. I laughed.

I now have two tear drops tattooed on my face.

After you left not much had changed,
But the fact that you would no longer lay by my side was a
Constant reminder that my
Days would no longer be filled with
Eternal joy.
Frankly, I never considered you to be a
Girl with a strong set of morals and I
Have not encountered someone who
Is worse at making
Jokes, but recently your name has the ability to
Kindle a fire in my chest and
Let me say that this is not a proficient fire. It is not a fire that
Makes sufficient heat. It is something that spews wretched flames that
No one should have to witness.
Only I, the forsaken one, should have such
Pungent tones and
Questions that impose such
Radical ideas continually
Shot  at me.
Time to think only has
Unveiled to me that you're a
Vile person. You lack any sense of
Willpower, you are so easily captivated by love. You make me want to use
Xanax to
Yield myself some
ZZZ's.

YEARS  AGO
I knew that I liked you
It was your short hair
It was because you seemed unobtainable

NOW
I think that you forgot that I exist

Don't be so constant and then swiftly drift away
Because at the end of the day we like to start again
We begin when the sun sets
And I will try my best to forget
All the wrong that I have done

You can lift me up, yes you . . . please stop doubting yourself
You were the light I was so long looking for
But you're headed west, go on chase the sun
I guess I will see you soon
Don't try to find me when you come back

I know that it is wrong to complete a puzzle from the inside out
but I think that it is going to be the only way to fill the wholes you've left in me
so now I find myself vacuuming my bed sheets with my nostrils
because I know that the smell of your too short cut hair
is the only thing that will grant me some sleep
I've concluded that it must be your fault that all my lighters have no safetys
I remember cutting my gums every time I'd bite one off for you
Blood just so lighting your cigarette was easier
  But things never were made easy for me, were they?
You ran me dry of money, dry of money, dry of tears
So much time spent on you

It is never about the coffee.
It is never about forgetting to put the cap on the toothpaste.

What it is about is the affair you had while I was away.
We like to cover the big things up with the small.
We drape the elephant in the room with veils that are fights about my ****** parking job and lack of ***.

You will never be straight forward and simply tell me that I am not good enough.
You will never tell me that you hate my lazy demeanor or loath my entire side of the family.
What you will tell me is that I snore too noisily and that you get no sleep because of it.

I will never tell you that I know what you have done.
I will never tell you that I am actually sterile so the child we almost had was not mine.
I will however yell at you when the coffee is cold and when we are out of creamer.

But... it is never about the coffee my dear.

Dear Campbell,
. . .
Watching a family member waste away is a horrifying experience.
Knowing that I could do little to help my little brother was almost as crippling as watching the same young man strike our mother.
Knowing that I would be subjected to the same treatment was also discomforting.
Having people tell me all the horrible things he had done was never comforting.
Watching my car window shatter due to a fist and a family dispute made me realize that things were getting out of hand.
Looking up to talk to my own brother was as odd as speaking formally to a new born.
But the worst thing that I ever did was nothing.

I'm sorry Campbell, I feel as though I failed you as an older brother, I was both intimidated by your size and scared of my own brother rejecting my advice that would have been provided only for your betterment. I know that I am a failure in most facets of life but it pains me most to know that I could never set an good example. You excelled in all the sports that we played together and were always better at enchanting the hearts of young girls. I just wish I had a way to go back and do things right. I wish I could do something to help you, because in reality all I did was encourage you with every ride to a trap and in all my participation of your antics. This is mostly an apology that you will never see because you are locked away in a rehab. You seem to be getting better. I hope you do not revert to your old ways when you get out, I hope you don't run with the same crew of kids and get caught up in the same illegal activities.
I'm sorry that I wasn't good enough for you.
It seems like I'm not good enough for anyone.
But if you ever need help in any way, shape or form know that I will be only a call away.

Love,
Your brother

That's right I was thinking about love
What is it
It's what people tell each other so they don't feel so alone
I'm lonely
So lonely

You live in your own world
No one can come in
It's scary
Being so alone
Oh right I'm alone

"Hello"
I tried to call out
A soft hum came out
I was humming again
I really don't like that song

Barred down by family
I never liked the feeling
Knowing that someone else suited you better than myself
I had dedicated so much time and effort to making myself better for you
Therapy and medicine I thought that they'd help
But no, they have longed stop aiding me
Because I'll never be good enough
I'm alone.

You must be a landmine
or something like that
because when I came across your path
memories blew out from under me
and the fragments dug deep into my skin
So now you aren't the one who is bleeding in their bathroom
I am
I sit and try to dig out the pieces of you that are still in me
But I don't think they'll ever come out

I run my fingers through my hair
constantly
In an attempt to rid you of my mind but you are
constantly
there. nagging at all the things I do wrong
constantly
putting me down and asking why I
constantly
**** everything up. and to that question I am
constantly
looking for an answer. so I've assumed that you will
constantly
reside in the depths of my mind. you've faked so many things that I
constantly
doubt everything anyone says to me

I'm coming home
Here I am, it is I
I announce my return
Through the valley of broken glass I trudge
I carry the weight of all the things I have done
With broken back and feeble legs I will plop my self on your couch
I have learned many things and broken many more
But I am coming home
I must return
I have seen the horrors of man
I have faced my demons
No one was ready for it
but surprise here I am
so please, make me a *** of coffee
I am so weak
But I am coming home
and just as soon
I will leave

A 40 year old wine mom sits in the same room as me.
She says that her problem was destroying her life.
She share stories about how in the course of a day she would drink a bottle of wine and how her problem was getting really "out of hand."
I guess she never knew what it was like to drink to stay warm, what it is like to look at a bottle of wine and know that it will do nothing to me, it is as good as water.
She then breaks down saying that she were growing apart from her family, I guess she never ran from home. She had never deserted everything she had once knew and loved in an attempt to chase after yet another high.
But sitting in these rooms has made me realize that pain is universal. That the wine mom may not be going through the same things that I am but she knows pain. Pain is something that we all know. Pain teaches a lesson to all of us. We can all learn from pain. We can think that we have suffered more or less than others but in the end we all have been hurt somehow. All we can do now for each other is try to understand, to be a set of ears.

We knew all hope was lost when we wallowed in sheds with only a candle for warm
The coldest February could of froze us to our cores
But no force of nature was prepared to face us
No gale wind can knock down pillars of love that we were

Last night I looked in my back yard
There was nothing there but an empty shed
Empty memories

spilling boiling water on my arms
isn't even comparable
to the burns you gave me

She says that she loves me.
She says she has never loved so hard.
She says that she will always remember me.
She says that she hates her Dad.
She says that she loves small children.
She says that she loves my hair.
She says that she loves it when we make love.
She says it is her favorite thing.
She says that she likes how funny my ribs look.
She says that she doesn't like that I smoke.
She says she doesn't like my brother.
She says she hates her parents.
She says she hates when I flirt with other girls.
She says that she hates my friends.
She says that she doesn't want me to go out tonight.
She says that she thinks I'm an addict.
She says she loves me only after I say it first.
She says she hates my haircut.
She says that she loves all the drugs she has tried because of me.
She says she hates me.
She says that she isn't sorry.
She says that I'm weak.
She says that I can't leave.
She says she hates it when we fight.
She says she hates me.
I say that I'm sorry.

I want to stay here
I want to stay there
But every time I look down
my legs are no longer there
they're running far far away
I'm always trying to catch up

I can't wait till I'm dead so I can meet my first child