I've been giving my Hit Points away in exhange for a cheat that will grant me invulnerability.

Best in show,
a pomeranian;
You know it.
Bet you thought that glossy fur would fade before the time to grow it.

I'm annoyed by your showy words and non sequitur phrases.
I've had it up to here with toy dogs and indistinguishable faces.

I've a proposition to make -
not one to be taken lightly -
What if we switched places tonight then held our lovers tightly?

Would we feel like strangers in their embrace,
or would we finally understand:
What it takes to calm me down,
and what it means to be your man?

It seems to me that one gets **** on,
and the other does the *******.
(Not directly you see;
this ***** exchange is done through a third-party.)
One swallows his pride for the sake of relief,
and the other is proud of the way that he stinks.

Empathy is a curse,
but apathy is surely worse.
Make me feel something when I feel hollow.
Get away from me when it's too hard to swallow.

I can't wait to partake in things that make you sick.
My stomach stays high tide.
Stay away from it if you can't swim.
My guts are laid out in patterns;
peaches and fruit flesh stuck to fingertips.

(**** my **** then give me a kiss.)

I can't wait to imitate art contained in this.
Two figures trapped within an unfinished painting.
Four strokes of inspiration to complete the lips.
A splash of white to end it.

I couldn't be me without you.

I showed the librarian how Dostoevsky predicted the internet (and what we'd use it for) over a hundred years ago.

She seemed unimpressed.

"My dear friend,
how have you been doing?"

Not so good man - think I'm losing it.
I'm goin' off the deep end.

Relax.
Take a deep breath.

((. . .))

"What are you doing this weekend?"

I'm not saying that I'm not capable of it.
I'm just saying;
I'm not meant for it.

I like you so much,
it's bound for disaster.
Let's pretend we're in a musical.
Take my hand, and we'll dance.
Let's start with the "Happily Ever After,"
and have a doomed romance.

Clearly an absurdist.
Small stakes for what his word is worth.
The hare let the tortoise beat him accidentally on purpose.
Everyone loves a good story.
When ego is beyond everything
how can you care about fame and glory?
Victory feels silly.
Like a brand new bride without her ring.
Losing only hurts the pride if they allow themselves to feel the sting.
I am far from winning,
but farther still from admitting defeat.
When that rhythm hits me,
I'll sing along and move my feet.

I asked my manager this during a rough week on a day when I was terribly hungover:

"How the hell did you survive your twenties?"

His answer:

"Video games. Lots of video games."

Green is the color of envy.
Green is the color of American money.
I need that money in order to survive.
Green rhymes with broccoli, kale, and dandelion.
But only not at all.
Green is just a scientific thing,
like chlorophyll.
Green is just a color.
Green doesn't mean anything;
It's just a misunderstanding between each other.

Is like a carousel,
and there's a pleasant sensation,
and it makes your head spin.
So many gaudy animals to choose from.
You get used to the dizziness.

The music is loud,
and there's an onlooking crowd.
It's so much fun
to go round and round.

Stay on too long and you forget how it feels
to be on stable ground.

These zebras and giraffes.
These benches and poles.
They do nothing for me anymore.
They've turned into hurdles.

You can't get anywhere
when you're just going in circles.

I'm quite taken with you.
You're the apple of my eye.
Like a chocolate fudge sundae on a Friday night,
You're as sweet as pumpkin pie,
But my teeth are prone to cavities.
I dare not take a bite.

Okay, wait
So there is real life
And then there's fantasy
And somewhere in the middle
There's synecdoche

I get it, I think
At least I think I see
But still I wish that you could better explain it to me

I'm caught up in coincidence
Lost in metonymy
Every metaphor I come across
An extension of my being

I'm drowning
But swimming
I'm so lost
But winning
A battle that I can't define
Rooted in believing
A date with fate I can't avoid
But have no business seeing

I remember telling my best friend of how I once saw god
He clammed up and got real quiet
Waiting for me to go on

But there was no more to say
And on that day
I knew what it meant to be free

It was frightening
And lonely
And deeply affected me

My life ever since has been a spiritual tragedy
I don't know how to fix it
I'm not sure what to think

It scares the **** out of people when I tell them
That God is all I see

People, you know, are like never-ending rainbows.
Nauseating colors and no pots of gold.

People, it seems, are like toxic streams.
Flowing endlessly with waters that you can't drink.

Like piles of so many strands of straw,
hiding golden pins underneath.
If I could find one I'd ***** my fingers and bleed
all over these troublesome docile stacks.
Light it on fire and turn them to ash.

People are like so many cigarettes in a pack -
always craving another even as your insides turn black.

And people, I swear,
they act like they care,
but when push comes to shove they all cower in fear.

So people, beware!
For I am not scared.
My strength comes from inside.
I'm self-aware!

And people (me too) know not what we do.
Spend our whole lives pursuing beliefs so untrue.

That's okay, people.
I forgive you.
And through your existential struggles,
I find you beautiful.

"If you're the least bit sensitive, this world will eat you alive."
Is it any wonder then that so many of us want to die?
But I gave up a long time ago on suicide
Such an ignoble way to say goodbye

So if I must go, I want to be beaten by some ******* while defending a woman's honor
Shot by an oppressive father for attempting to liberate his daughter
Gunned down by the government for standing up for the rights of another
I guess you could say,
I have dreams of becoming a martyr

"Only the good die young"
Only through self-sacrifice can you become
Deeply ingrained in humanities' collective brain
I want to make a difference
Before I grow old and insane

Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.
Lincoln
JFK
Jesus Christ
Gandhi
Joan of Arc
Tecumseh
And then there's Socrates

Somebody help me, help me please
I want so badly to die for the sake of a belief
But it's all so ****** up now
Twisted and torn
Sometimes I wish that I was never born

And there have been others who felt the same way
Vincent Van Gogh
Rothko
And Hemingway

I know it's not fair of me to say
They all lead lives wrought with such pain

Like Bradley Nowell
And Kurt Cobain
Some saw it coming
Like Mark Twain

Freedom really is a double-edged sword
After Jack Parsons blew up he left us his words
His mom OD'd shortly after having heard
Greatness can only last so long in this world

And what of Albert Camus?
Was it really unplanned?
And that poor old Nietzsche
Came so unglued at the end

And fate is really something
How can we comprehend
Some lives are surely doomed
From the moment they begin

Not in light of things,
nor in jest or for fun.
Just let them vent some feelings, would you?
Just let this **** be done.

Stupid ******* ****, eats my ****, I'm so sick of it.
How everyone complains how the end is near but
To me they're all just victims who don't know how to deal with the
Here and now
The lost and found
It's that tiny little difference that makes it all worth while
Do you learn from the mistakes that your convictions dictate?
The inevitable errors that you're bound to make
Who's to blame for everything that is not the same
Which are only familiar habits that have stuck in our brain
To align
The planets in a way we see fit
And that's just fine
But baby, it still eats my ****

There's a part of me that has a hard time believing that the things I've done actually ever happened.

But every now and then,
my past actions come crumbling down on my head like a ton of bricks.

I don't have anyone to blame but myself for these seemingly unwarranted guilt trips.

Self-induced punishment.

Don't be surprised when I end up hating myself for it.

Just because you're deep in thought,
doesn't mean your thoughts are deep.

Just because you're lost in dreams,
doesn't mean you're losing sleep.

Things are always what they seem,
except for when they aren't.
Objects in the mirror are closer than they appear to be,
if you know what I mean;
clearly blurry and vaguely crystalline.

Anyway, I'm hungry.
Let's go get a cheeseburger or something.

Give me a break
Just what can I do
When every thought and action
Stems directly from you

Get out of my head
I can't stand the doubts
I wish you were dead
I'm better off without

You
I know it
And you know it too

If only I had never, ever met you
Then this would be nothing
I'd be safe and sound
Living alone
Probably dead by now

Because I never could stand it
And you stand so proud
Jealousy, admiration, hope, and oh wow
No wonder I'm drowning
No wonder I've drowned
When this is my reaction to treasure I've found

Stay in the sand
I'll bury you again
I'm not your family
I'm not your friend
I'm just a man counting down to the end
12, 6, 7, 8, 9, and then 10

The other me is of the dastardly type.
Quite a *******, really.
The other me likes to stay out all night,
and is awfully fond of drinking.

He says, "Y'know what your problem is?
You spend too much time thinking."

The other me doesn't take advice.
He prefers to make his own way.
He says, "You've gotta stop going with the flow,
and start making some tidal waves."

The other me is good with women,
and often calls me gay.
He says, "You'd might as well be a ****** -
that thing between your legs gets no play."

The other me is restless;
uncouth, rude, and reckless.
He takes over sometimes for days on end,
then leaves me to clean up his messes.

The other me is an *******,
with no regard for anyone but himself.
Arrogantly vain,
he puts those who care about him through hell
and drives me completely insane.

Me and the other me got into a fight today.

It started when he told me that I need him.
"Come on man, I mean, honestly.
I'm the only thing keeping you alive right now.
You're nothing without me."

(The other me likes to use the word "harmony."
He says it's a precarious balance.
"Our togetherness is destiny,"
but he'd **** me if I ever gave him the chance.)

So I hit him first when he least expected it.
You see, he'd never expect it from me,
but he laughed when he realized his nose was bleeding,
so I hit him again and he dropped to his knees.

"Dude, what the hell are you doing?
I thought we were friends . . ."
Then I leaned in real close and said,
"Stay the **** away during the work week,
and you can have every weekend."

You know what you suffer from?
It's a displacement of the Soul
It's not way up there above the endless sky
Or trying to get at you from down below
It's always been right were you are
And I hope one day you gain control
So that you can radiate it out from yourself
To become a part of everything you will ever know

Let's all have a pity party
I'll share with you all my laments
Then you can croon your condolences
So that the healing can commence

Let's all share some sympathy
And mewl and condescend
Let's all feel better about ourselves
At someone else's expense

We'll be nice
And give advice
Convinced that we are ever so kind
Our victim will be flattered by our attention
By the fact that we took out the time

Let's guilt them into forsaking their self worth
And bend their will to suit our own
We'll reduce them to the status of a begging dog
And then we'll throw them a bone

Individuality is to be abhorred
As are the flaws in their body and face
We have to all get together on this
Someone's got to put them in their place

Then we'll hang a sign around their neck
Which reads "Don't Be Anything Like Me"
This is turning out to be a great success
What a grand ol' Pity Party!

I bought a carton of eggs this morning.
Just a dozen.
Along with about $100 of other groceries I needed.
I didn't need the eggs though.
That is to say, that I didn't need to buy them.

(See, my sister has four fully grown chickens
who lay enough eggs to cover her family's needs and then some.
More eggs than she knows what to do with, honestly, and I could've easily gone to her place to get the dozen instead of buying it at the store.)

But I didn't, as a matter of convenience. It was simpler to buy them while I was at the store; to make one trip instead of two.

But then, when I was unloading the cart of groceries into the trunk of my car, that carton of eggs I bought, which (unbeknownst to me) had been placed on top of a 12 pack of toilet paper which toppled over after becoming unbalanced without the support of the other grocery bags that I had already unloaded, came crashing down.

They hit the parking-lot cement with a smack.
"Oh no, not the eggs!"
That's what I'd said.
I seriously said that out loud.

I picked up the bag with the fallen eggs in it. I opened the carton to see if they were alright, though I already knew at least a few had broken.

5, maybe 6. Maybe more. I don't know how many broke exactly, just looking at it made me sick. I walked the dripping bag back up to the entrance (after playing with the idea of going back in and being like: "Hey, my eggs broke in the parking lot because your inept bagger's idea of how to stack groceries was clearly inspired by the game Jenga. I demand a new carton of eggs!") but instead I just tossed them. The whole carton.

I'll just go to my sister's house before breakfast tomorrow.

I'm broke like a joke that ain't even funny
I'm pretty good at everything except making money

I never cared for its garish symbolism
Its incongruity between power and weight
Or the increase of gravity you get with the more that you make

I endeavor to remain just as light as a feather
But if you feel obliged to give me some
Why that's all the more better!

Cigarette smokers are like dinosaurs -
a thing of the past.
Maybe more like dragons,
with all that smokey breath.
I'm not saying it's cool though,
it's really rather grotesque.
All these stinky dragons chasing their own death.

I'm one of them too,
but I try to hide it from you.
I'm a self-loathing smoker,
like a self-hating Jew.
But I'm hooked on these things.
What's there to do?

This isn't a romance.
It's hardly even a friendship.

Fibromyalgia, microfibral mania, Malaysian phalanges making
fibrous writing utensils used for playing fetch with Fido.
The point is moot.

I got filled up with something thrilling and I've been
spilling it out of me ever since.
Inspiration is the basis of how to make a difference.
Swelled up from songs and quotes
now spread them out into the world.

Pay it forward, play it back;
put that ride in gear
get it back on track.

There's a whole world of people down in the dumps.
If you've got passion and if you can feel love,
then extend your hand to pull the others up.

I am not above you.
You are a reflection of how I was before.
I'm no longer afraid to love you.
Let's both feel better and never let that misery touch us anymore.

Burnt out psychenaut
trying his hand at making art.
Mosquito bitten,
from bed-ridden to facedown in the swamp.
Glorifying mind loss.
Tossed and turned in ocean waves.
Slamming into stop signs.
Disney's just a hindsight.
Theme parks just a crime spot.
Tourists just a foreground to hide what's in the backdrop.

Sometimes I tap my cigarette in time to the syllables of the numbers nine through twelve.
Sometimes I wonder if anyone knows what the hell I'm talking about.
So I walk around outside to try to understand my mind
just to get lost on a journey and leave it all behind.
If you could join me, I'd show you all of the lights.
The ones with deep meaning that make everything all right.
But it's times like these that I'd rather be by myself:
Nine, Ten, E-lev-en, Twelve.

As a kid I always lived inside of my head.
Backyard battles with demons were always so vivid.
One time I stuck a bunch of duck feathers into the back of my shirt.
I ran around the pool jumping -
just trying to leave Earth.

As I grew up, I maintained my thirst for adventure.
Fell in love with facing fears -
succumbed to a lust for danger.
Always trying to disprove my doubts.
Nine, Ten, E-lev-en, Twelve.

Fell into doing drugs and developed a taste.
Having fun with a new crowd.
Learned to deal with disgrace,
but sometimes I'd catch my reflection in a mirror
and couldn't recognize my own face.

But all the while coming closer to achieving my dreams.
Knowing one day I'd fly away on my wings.
Came to find out the true nature of the place that I dwell.
An angel can't fly when he's trapped down in hell.

Nine, Ten, E-lev-en, Twelve.

Some people endeavor to portray a persona.
Some people perpetuate the beliefs of their parents.
Some people pretend to be somebody they've seen on TV.
Some people have trouble accepting that they're actually existing.
Some people perceive themselves as being unlike anyone else.
Some people have an aversion to personality profiling.
Some people just can't help themselves.
Some people feel a need to place everyone they've ever known into categories.

A dynamic life
That's what I've always wanted
And it seems to be what I've ended up with
It's such a thing to look back and see how far I've come from where I was
I needed to believe in progress

When I was younger
And learned about Siddhartha
I became so inspired
I finally knew what to go after

Enlightenment
The cure to these insufferable thoughts
Some sort of consistency between what was real and what was not
No one ever told me about the side effects

Nietzsche was always after me
Plato trying desperately to show me the trees
Capitalism challenging me to determine the difference between what I want and what I need

The side effects:
I couldn't tell the difference from one person to the next
The opposite of dynamic is static
I've grown numb by the shock of every time I encounter it

How can you be so dense?
How can you not see?
There's very little difference between you and me

Sometimes I feel mad
I get so angry
The side effect of pursuing enlightenment
Is insanity

Perfect is boring.

I worried when the worst of them turned out to be the finest warrior.
I hesitated when I contemplated choosing him as the most decorated soldier.
But these peons need a beacon,
and he's the finest specimen we have.
May he lead them on like moths to the flame;
to glory,
fame,
and death.

I get scared sometimes,
by a coldness in the reflection of my own eyes.
As if they know something I refuse to believe.
Like he's daring me to see beyond the lies.

I've written poetry about chess,
as a central metaphor for the way I go about living life.
I confess that I like Knights the best.
They're the only pieces with the power to jump the rest.

Sometimes, I worry
that I'm just being used to create some kind of story.
That any chance I might have at Happiness
gets thrown under the bus for the sake of His glory.

I've often accused my mother of having multiple personalities.
She refuses to take any tests.

I've made a little man out of paper clips.
I hung him from a rubber band noose
that hangs from a shelf above my desk.

Sometimes, I'm filled with fear.
I get the shakes in grocery stores during the middle of the day -
paralyzed by the thought that I'm not really there.
Afraid of the things that my ghost might say.

I once wrote a poem fully explaining your mental state.
I know I've got it saved somewhere.
By the way, I think you're pretty great;
these and other phrases you've no desire to hear.

"Knight to e6,
I believe that's checkmate."

Paper Clip Man hung there for weeks,
but his steel wire neck refused to break.
Eventually, he got a hand around the knot,
and used his strength to gain another breath he never again thought he'd take.

I've never written a poem about backgammon,
but they say it's one of the oldest games ever played.
I bet I'd be real good at it.
I'll learn how to win some day.

"Everyone's dying, but we're doing it faster."

All I've done is talk trash about you
Ever since I burned your bridge
I'm not sure why I do it,
This constant talking ****.
Perhaps it helps the sadness,
The lingering regrets
Perhaps you feel the same way
Uh huh
Yea right
I bet
You know you really can go **** yourself
You're such a stupid *****
You filthy, *****, ***** ****
Go **** another ****
My friends all laugh and call you names
To join in on the fun
But it really makes me kind of sick
To think of what I've done
I don't really hate you
at least, not down inside
In fact I might still love you . . .
I hope you ******* die

Windows into other lives.
Don't climb out;
You'll fall and die.

Brother: You're like that guy standing at the counter of an ice cream shop yelling at everyone who buys vanilla that they should have bought chocolate instead.

Me: Ha, but no! Vanilla is my favorite flavor. I don't even care that vanilla is associated with "conventional," it's just my favorite. Have you ever seen Thank You For Smoking? There's this part where the guy argues with his son about ice cream; about which flavor is bes . . .

Brother: Okay, chocolate then. So you're that guy at the counter telling everyone who buys chocolate that they should've bought vanilla instead.

Me: Nah bro. You got me all wrong. I'm the guy encouraging everyone to try every flavor. To go with what suits their tastes. I want them to follow their gut, then fill a cone up with the flavor they identify with the most.

Brother: So you're that annoying guy standing behind them while they fill their cup? Telling them, "Hey, try this one! Don't forget to try this one. This one is good too!" Meanwhile they just want you to *******.

Me: Not even. I'm not even at the shop. I'm at the house of the person trying to come up with a new flavor. I'm telling him/her, "Yea, that's a great idea! Add that and let's see how it comes out. You've got a good thing going here."

Brother: Whatever man. Experiment all you want. People like chocolate for a reason - that's all I'm saying.

Me: Well then, I'm saying that chocolate isn't enough for me. I want something beyond chocolate. I want something beyond anything that's ever been invented before. I want my taste buds to be completely flabbergasted by an explosive new flavor. I want to be on the cusp of the next great thing. I don't even care if people don't realize how great it is. I want to be a part of it, that's all.

Brother: Yea dude. Do you know how rare that is? Good luck with that.

Me: Yea man. You've no idea how rare it is. That's what makes it so incredible when you find it though! It's what I live for.

Brother: Well that's . . . that's inconsistent. It's all full of gaps.

Me: Don't you understand? That's what makes it so special when it happens - because of how rare it is!

Brother: Well, good luck with your Rocky Road. I hope you don't starve along the way. Chocolate is great; that's all I'm saying. Lots of people love chocolate.

Me: Well I don't. Let them have their chocolate. I'll keep looking for the next new thing, and when that doesn't happen, there's always vanilla.

Brother: Just stick with vanilla then, if you like vanilla alright. Vanilla is where it's at. That's your thing.

Me: It's not though. Vanilla doesn't quite satisfy. I don't wake up in the middle of the night craving vanilla. Vanilla is not the ice cream I dream of.

Brother: Ha, whatever man! You're ****** then.

Me: Yea, probably. Do you wanna go get some ice cream though?

Brother: Totally.

Being lame is underrated.
(What a stinkin' silly statement!)
Being bad is such a bore.
(What was all that nonsense for?)
I'm okay with just being me from now on,
and I don't need this anymore.

I'll say it now and I've said it before; the best book I've ever read is about the paradoxes of war.

A friend asked a question, then added
"But spare me the lecture."
I told him the best book I've ever read was about architecture.

An alien sent a question from his head telepathically to mine,
So I thought of that book I once read of a man unstuck in time.
(If the title was placed here, it would just almost rhyme)

Near Betelgeuse, I picked up a man in need of a ride
I asked where he was headed, and he said,
"Nowhere in mind."
He had a book with him.
It was some sort of guide.

I once kicked the crap around with a young kid in a hat.
He looked down at my hands and said,
"Hey, what's that?"
I told him it was a book full of phonies and jerks.
He nodded, then lit a cigarette.
There was blood on his shirt

A man once recited,
Word for word,
A book I recognized after having heard.
I said, "That's my favorite!"
And he gave me a look.
The best book I've ever read was about burning books.

I once played God, and gave a dead thing new life,
But it was so grotesque that I had to run away and hide.
A tormented and wretched human imitation.
Made me think of a book about a man tortured by his own creation.

One time I was reading a book above mentioned,
When a man came up to me and asked a most impertinent question.
He said, "I see you reading all the time, but have you ever read
the greatest book of all time?" I glared at him and said,
"No I have not, but I've heard much about it.
It's a very popular book, but I do without it."
He said I should reconsider.
That it's not one to pass.
I told him to take that **** book, and shove it up his ***!

Put on suspenders and gave them a dance.
(When it comes to girls,
he hasn't a chance.)
I could care less about warnings and threats,
because for tonight
I know I'm the best dressed.

Went to a show and lost all control.
"I'm just here for the music.
I love it.
You know?"
Nine times out of ten,
they don't.

Went to a gym,
and never felt so depressed.
"I feel surrounded by lonely people desperate for ***."

This from a guy who proofreads his texts.
Spells out his laughs.
Drinks from the glass.

"What you need to do
is work on your shoulders, triceps, and chest."

Nah,
I'm good on that.
I'll just keep doing the things I like best.
"You'll never find a girl that way."
Ah,
give it a rest.

I have at knack for falling for self-proclaimed *****
And they tend to be fond of me
Perhaps it's forgiveness they see in my face
Or that I don't try immediately to get between their legs
I don't want that kind of thing for free

Here's a phrase I often hear them say
"I think you're too good for me."
"I think we should just be friends."
And sometimes this is okay
But sometimes this is where it ends
I'm not always up to go through it again
Loving a girl who'd rather get ****** instead
"It's not that I don't like you, I'm just ****** up in the head."

I have a thing for girls who hurt themselves
And they take a liking to me
I kiss all their scars, and steal all their blades
Try to convince them of their supreme beauty
They often say that I should go away
"Just leave me alone here to die!"
But I just can't bear to think of their pain
If they only knew what I could see in their eyes

Sometimes I wonder if I'm not insane
If this isn't my own kind of masochism
Falling in love with the broken and used
Maybe this is my own form of self-abuse
But somebody's got to look after them

My mom likes to feed the ducks and storks that frequent our lake.
We often refer to her as the "Bird Lady."
They congregate in our backyard, waiting to be fed.
She throws them cereal and dried up old bread.
She's given most of them names.
Whenever one becomes a mother,
she keeps track of the ducklings.
Most of them don't make it.
They fall prey to hawks and cranes.
I can always count on her for an unwarranted update.
"Juliet lost another baby today."
"I don't care."
If they lose them all,
she likes to call them Bad Mothers,
which I find ironic.

This morning, I saw three pelicans in our lake.
I guess there's a first time for everything.
They were white with black-tipped wings.
They were feeding with a sort of unexpected grace.
They'd dunk their heads then come back up with something in their long orange beaks.
The bottom of which would shake. All loose and leathery.
After they had their fill, they flew off in unison.
One after the other,
like one, two, three.
And afterwards I thought,
"**** swans."

“There is no beginning, no middle, no end, no suspense, no moral, no causes, no effects. What we love in our books are the depths of many marvelous moments seen all at one time.”
― Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse-Five

Apparently, you can't put links into poems that you post on HP. I wish I'd known that before I wrote a poem that is almost entirely made up of links. If you're interested in reading it, send me a private message. I'm pretty sure you can still put links into ***.