I couldn't be me without you.

On the back of my heels.
Things are starting to feel unreal again.
Exit in sight, but my feet are on the edge of quicksand.
I've got plans of running away.

She's been feeling alone.
I'm sitting too close to the fire.
I'm wary of hell in her eyes.
Can't take the heat.
***** that desire.
I cannot stay.

Sounds are getting too loud.
Colors are becoming too vivid.
It's all too bright.
I don't want this life.
Escape to a place where everything's black and white.

Feel a solemn rhythm,
but please don't force it.
Clamor towards a common goal so you can value what your worth is.

Take a step back or two, or three, or four or more,
but there's no turning back from destiny after you've walked right through its door.

So take those strides with confidence, and even if your feet may falter;
they'll always be someone to worship at your designated altar.

Force the beat to match the feet of those whose are out-of-step.
Catch the break that falls from grace at the top of unfathomable depths.

Kick the can to show The Man that you can thaw the world they've frozen;
no amount of pesticide can **** the garden your plants grow in.

Now write me off to this full mooned night
There's no one left to check this flight
I'll leave you all on the cold hard ground
And fly into a new dawn's light

But I go alone
As you stand in stone
And now my speed is slowing down

Because what's the point
Of going there
If there's no one else around

I think I'd rather stay with you
Under your wing
All safe and sound

I'd rather take a walk with you
Than to get lost and never found

Through the park
And through the dark
And through the night, til we see day

This may be better than aimless flight
I think this is where I'll stay
It took a lot of wrongs to find one right
Thank you for showing me the way

Misplaced feelings of lust and aggression.
A fresh new take on an old depression.
Watch as we make mistakes on purpose.
Hear us proclaim our own lives as worthless.

Misjudged values and dusty pedestals stacked chest-high with the best nonfacts - cracked down the middle.

None of this was ever about you;
just a made-up answer to an unknown riddle.

Laughter resonates through my funny bones.
We're all having a good time
so that we don't feel alone.

It's grown inside my brain;
this constant repetition of the phrases:
It's all alright. It's good. We'll be okay.
I'm fine. As a matter of fact, I'm great.

Nevermind never minding all the things I love to hate,
and the crying sessions in between.
This ****'s ******' funny.
I'm laughing my *** off.
No, but yea. Seriously.

I had a dream that you Snapchatted me.
When I woke up the next morning,
I had the hardest time determining whether or not it had actually happened.
What was it that I opened?
Caught between too convincing possibilities.
Still, I miss the dreams where we used to transcend reality.
What ever happened to them?
Did they get buried beneath our physical limitations?
Did we get so caught up in our own problems to the point where fantasy became too outlandish,
even in sleep?

**** that.

I'll dig them back up -
No matter how deep.

Art is like the ultimate hand shake.
They say you can tell a lot about a person from their grip,
but so much more is said by what they create.

Do you remember that time?
My family has a home video of it.
It was my birthday,
and we were little kids,
and there's this moment in it
where we are standing quietly -
Staring at each other
Awkwardly.
You smile and giggle,
and I smile too,
but only a little,
because I'm trying to be still.

When I see it, it's like walking into a time portal.

I remember what I'd said to you.
I remember how I'd felt:
Like everything was moving too fast,
so I asked you for some help.

I said,
"Just stand here a minute. Don't move.
Let's just stand here for a second."

And you did.
And there it is!
Us standing awkwardly right in the midst
of chaotic childhood revelry -but removed from it.

We're like two young souls frozen
forever in a moment that made no sense,
and when I see it,
I long for that first loss of innocence.

"Well hey there! How was your New Year's?"
Well, I sang a song and made a toast
To the fire in our hearts
I apologized to the host
For drinking and driving the last time I'd left
When I'm drunk I like to think that I know better than the best

I lit off fireworks with a pretty girl
We listened to James Brown while gunpowder spiders lit up the world
We took alot of shots
And sat by the fire
We talked of this, that, and the other

Later on I found my friend with his head in his hands
Crouched up against his car; crying over the dead
Lamenting that they couldn't be here for this event
And I cried a little too, because that kind of thing messes with my head

My childhood friend was also there
He had driven in from out-of-town
He was tripping on acid, and had me pinned to the ground
In an insane attempt to give me some sort of comfort
I finally got him off me with an effective headbutt

Then I ran down the street
While yelling, "I HATE EVERYTHING!"
Then slowed down to a walk after I'd gotten far enough
Smoked a cigarette and contemplated the true nature of love

So when you ask me that seemingly innocuous question
"Hey, how was your New Years? Did anything happen?"
All I can say is,
"Well, ha! It was definitely something!"

To do it clearly,
it'd take a book.
I'm not up for that kind of work,
so I'll attempt to cut it short.

You are but a part of a convoluted mix up.
A constant element in a periodic table of personal madness.
An important ingredient in the recipe of death and rebirth.
The other side of a mirror I'd gaze into in order to gauge my self worth.

Too vague.
I'm getting nowhere with this.
Let me try to put it into simpler words:

Identity crisis.
Bad acid trip.
Social experiment gone horribly wrong.
An attempt to live my life in accordance to the lyrics of a song.
180 degree turnabout of my own strengths and flaws.
Less weight for what I felt and more placed in what I saw.

You are just a part of my deepest plunge into what I thought it was to be insane.

This is far from enough,
and it's surely a mess,
but it's so hard to explain.

With boulders on my shoulders,
and a great weight bearing down.
The last thing I could ever need
is another reason to doubt.

A monkey on my back,
but a blue bird on my wing.

Yo chimpanzee,
come back me up;
I'm about to sing.

Is pity passed down in the genes?
What about sympathy?
I fear I've inherited an overabundance of both.

It drains me to the point where I feel like a ghost.
Sometimes I wonder if I didn't die a long time ago.

Am I stuck in limbo,
just repeating the same old pattern?

Swerved just in time to pass by my escape.
Narrowly avoided making a fatal mistake.
I'll live stuck in this.

I admit, there's more than I can chew on my plate.
Flung it like a frisbee at that ******'s face -
Swing and a miss.

I've found another safe place,
and something akin to bliss,
but I can't stay here.

13 minus 27 is 38.
Took the east-bound train to Missouri by mistake.
Halfway between the station and my home-state I got decapitated by a snowflake the size of a plate.

It's cheap because this place is haunted.
The hallways echo with the laughter of its last occupant.
Who was she?
More of a squatter, really.
She lived here for a long time without paying any rent.
I tried in vain to kick her out repeatedly.
("Legal issues, you see.")
At least, that's what I told my accountant.

She was something else, I'll say.
Seeing her was always a major event.
What happened?
Just up and disappeared one day.
Must've took up residence in some other poor sucker's head.
Part of her spirit still lingers, however, as I've already said.
She left me with little more than her safety deposit, and a ghost.
I'll always resent her for leaving like she did.

I could have loved her the most.

Blue marble,
lifeless eye.
Rotten cherry scented earth.

Nuisances poking up,
being pulled out -
composted for new dirt.

Don't you go getting sedimental on me.
Grains of insignificance ingratiating themselves in want of new life.

Rotten blueberry orb.
Fermented fungal stink.
A world in full decay.
Eyes that cannot blink.

A friend said, "That kid's not right in the head,"
and without even asking, I knew who he meant.
I couldn't tell you how many nights we'd spent together.
The only difference is, to me,
he always made sense.

Empty girl. I can fill you up. Oh, would you look at that
How about another one?
Live it up right now while you're still young.
This ain't so bad is it?
I told you it was fun.

Simple girl. I can stir it up.
Complicate you so completely you'll swear you've had enough.
But I've got you started,
Now it will never stop.

Your passion is piling
Building up in your gut
You ask for release
I can give you what you want.

Live it up while you're young
Isn't this fun?
You say I broke your heart
You're not the only one.

You scream and you writhe
You sing out in hate
Can't say I didn't warn you
I told you this would be great

Lonely girl. I showed you my world
Not very pretty is it
But at least it feels real
Take what you've learned and do what you will
Mend all the birds that I nearly ****
And I'll cheat, and I'll lie, and I'll break, and I'll steal
Scan every room with hungry eyes until I find my next meal
And you'll always remember
I know that you will
When that heart of yours beats for me
You'll tell it to be still.

That's one hell of a spider web,
but I like the way it vibrates.
If it takes two to tango then how many more do we need to tap dance?
I think I fell out of the Conga Line and into the river.
These **** shoes will be the death of me.

That's one heaven of a flower arrangement.
Congratulations on your spatial awareness.
If I had a few more of these then I think I'd finally be able to understand the extent of our particular disease.
It seems we're always partying on a molecular level.

I don't proclaim to know the half-truth of secrets spoken in ancient tongues.
It's all a bit too convoluted,
but if you pull this tab right here then the whole thing comes undone.
And yea sure,
maybe now we're more vulnerable but that just makes it more fun.

I am stretched out
in an effort to stretch out a moment.
To stretch out a feeling;
to elongate a sensation of lingering longing.

You can be the thief stealing the blood pumped between heart beats.
You can be the queen of unfulfilled destinies.
The one to slay the tyrant king and bring peace.
You can be the promise of everything.

I feel ya strutter.
(Don't you dare stutter on my name.)
I feel your presence in sporadic bursts of **** near unbearable pain.
(I can take it. (I can't take it.))
Neural connector fireworks igniting in my brain.

Sear my flesh.
You're the worst and the best.
Watch how the blood gushes right out of my chest,
and get wet.

I can take the pressure.
I am a pressure ******.
I don't participate in anticipating the release.
I get off on the anxiety.

(Don't ever let me go.)

Let the pressure build and grow forever upwards,
like an asymptote.
Eternally rising down and falling up;
our figures are irrational.

I can feel your digits all over me,
but this plane has no ejector's seat.
I've been flying this thing manually,
and now it's crashing into you.

"If you ever get better,
then I'll only get worse."
Somebody call an ambulance.
Somebody call a hearse.

"If you ever make it out of here,
then you'll be the first."
Somebody call the presses.
Somebody spread the word.

One of us made it out alive.
Escaped the trappings of our modern-day world.
"He did it for himself!" They say.
But I heard,
he did it for some girl.

I'll swim after writing half an essay about my favorite philosopher.
I'll swim again and think of her.

I'll drown after agreeing to go out tomorrow night.
I'm not looking forward to being brought back to life.
I'll drown again and think of her.

I'll burn after I turn out the lights.
I can't sleep when my head isn't right.
I toss and turn and again, I burn.
All the while I think of her.

I'll melt as the dreams come on too fast
with desires of the one I cannot have.
Into a boiling ***,
I am thrown and stirred.
I'll melt again while I dream of her.

The magic word is "Hello."
The tragic word is "Goodbye,"
And the madness is wondering of who you'll think of in those moments right before you die.

The magic is in the present.
The tragic is in the past,
And the madness is in wondering if you'll ever find a happiness that will last.

The time has come to say "Good night."
That time has come to pass,
And this is no time for writing when all these thoughts are coming so fast.

The beauty is in the infinite.
The eternal is supreme,
But the most beautiful things are happening before I can figure out just what they mean.

Nine million maniacs scribbling nonsense on the wall
in a mad but noble attempt to make sense of it all.

Here it is now but soon it'll be gone.
I won't lament the loss:
I'm moving on.
Everything I've ever known has come back more than twice.
It's a boomerang effect, and sometimes it's nice.
Though sometimes I do I lose myself
in wishing it would stay,
but the night has got to end at some point.
Tomorrow's a new day.

I heard her laughter through a wall made up of space and time.
I swear there's something in her voice that reminds me so much of mine.
If I tell you a joke will you do me the service of granting me a smile?
It's nice to be reminded of my lost innocence once in awhile.
I'll force rhymes and recycle lines just to get a rise.
I'll speak absurd profundities to spark a twinkle in those eyes.
Her glad and simple laughter makes me want to cry.
When I'm in her presence, I feel like I could die.
You simple, silly girl.
You clever, brilliant thing.
You make me feel alive again.
You make me want to sing.

Hey you with your thinky pain,
your existential crises,
your broken bleeding heart beating in vain.
Hey you!
I say, hey!

Stop being a ****.

I don't want to be just another notification.
Just another bland "like" on your poem,
followed up by yet  another generic comment.

I want to stand out in my attempt to show you how much the words you wrote meant to me.
I want you to understand how close you've come to understanding something deeper -
Something inside of me.

But maybe that's just the thing:
We're all trying so desperately to be understood.
A handful of anonymous clicks hardly does us any good.

Just another means to a fix -
Another indulgence of an insatiable addict.

I'd quit if I could.

I know how to grab your attention,
but I'm not sure how to keep it,
so I'll keep this as shallow as I can before diving into the deep end.

I know how to bob and weave,
but I'm not sure what I believe in.
Something to do with the conservation of energy, I think;
expending it in a dream-like series of experiences before eventually going back to being a part of Everything.

I know how to cut a rug,
but . . . well actually I don't think I know what that means.
Hang on while I look it up:

Sometimes, when I say your name,
you wince.
(I want to force you into a corner and press up against you)
Your face in a grimace;
you cringe,
(I want to ravage you savagely)
as if you're in pain.
(I want to turn into sand and bury you alive)
(I want to take these two hands and tear you apart)
It's quite rude, really,
(I want to bite off your lips and devour your heart)
but I don't hold it against you.
It seems involuntary.
(I want to explode on you then swallow what's left)
I think there might be something wrong with you.
(I want to **** all the life right out of your breath)
More than anything though,
(I want to turn into a river and drown you in the flood)
I'd like to know
(I want to spread through your body, bones, and blood)
why.

I used to write my dreams down
until you showed up.
Now thinking about them just hurts too **** much.

I read amateur poetry,
while drinking cheap port
and listening to Chopin
(accidentally; Youtube algorithm took a strange turn,)
but still, I fancy myself classy.

Some schlub in sweatpants on a Friday night, drinking alone,
critiquing a long dead artform with wild scrutiny,
thinking I know better just because I've been here a thousand times before.

Just know, if I say anything that offends you,
that this is where I'm coming from.
And I hope that will incentivize you to let it go ignored.

Everyone loves a low-born story,
as opposed to the thematically villainous silver spoon -
unless of course they give up too soon,
and let themselves be consumed by the rest.

*Could've been someone,
maybe even one of the best.

I was at this party one time,
where an ex-girlfriend of mine
gave me **** over the type of beer I was sipping on.

"Ohmigod,
I can't believe you're drinking a blonde!"

In that moment,
I remembered why we'd broken up;
Her pretentiousness was way over the top.

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.

Amber rays shine on a hand that weighs the pros and cons
of an ace of spades against a flush of hearts.
Trade one in to get it started.
A three of clubs leaves me brokenhearted.
Deuces wild;
meanwhile, I'm delaying tricks that will leave them convinced
that I've still got their number.
Stacked as such,
drawn into a straight pulled right out of my sleeve.
Your queens over kings ain't got **** on me.
Ante up.
I'll put you all in.
I only ever play for keeps,
and I always win.

I've got about forty-two more rides to take,
before I'm 42.
To be exact,
I'll extract four more strains of sap
from two different kinds of trees.
Grind them up with twigs and leaves
to leave me heavy in a state between wake and sleep.
There's a 4:2 ratio of diseased to clean blood running through my veins.
(Contemplate a number long enough, and you're bound to go insane.)
I've got forty two thousand hundred million neurons currently exploding in my brain.
They're all dying in vain for the sake to explain a simple number.
Before the two of us met,
I had the fortitude to remember to forget too.
Every memory of our quartet centered around me and you.  
Four score and two billion years ago
was 68 billion years before the universe was born.
4 + 2 = 6. Four times two is eight.
I've stained the floor with two different shades of paint.
Isn't it lovely?
Ain't it great?
I'll wait for two signals before I wave my two hands in the air.
I've got four fingers on each,
and two thumbs to get me there.

I'm gonna get out.
Just as soon as I figure this out.
Right after I finish drowning my doubts.
"Hey gang, look at me;
I'm a caricature of myself!"

I'm going away.
Riding off into that sunset.
Chasing a new day.
Just as soon as I remember the things I'm supposed to forget -
I'll make my escape.

I'll create a new life,
as soon as I realize
the extent of the weight that's been keeping me down.

"Hey, everybody look;
I'm a ******* hobo clown!"

The thing about fiction (lies, promises, religion) is,
that it's only as true as you believe it to be.

Holes in the heart.
Holes in the head.
It's a heavy burden to carry such emptiness.
It's true what she said,
whoever she is;
this kind of thing is rooted in dread.

White washed days.
Black out nights.
Holes in memories.
Holes in eyes.

Vomited out the soul with the rest of my insides.

Trying to fill the gaps between thighs.
Cutting through the silence with heavy  sighs.
Getting high, always trying to stay high.
Replace the missing pieces with beautiful lies.

Pastel houses,
carousel mouses.
Culture clashes in tourist-reliant suburban wastelands.

Toxic aftermath pouring out of performers' hands as everyone claps.

This is what I grew up in.

These streets are full of magic.
The kind that seeps from grand dreams seen to fruition.
The kind that charges tuition on the merits of your madness.
The kind where failed ambition sleeps in back alleys,
feeding off forgotten sadness.

Go slow;
There wasn't snow on this road forty minutes ago.
The factory's closed on account of inclement weather,
and the wind blows as if it's got a grudge against the trees for standing together.

I get home and go back to sleep to dream of sandy beaches and palm fronds waving in a warm breeze,
beckoning me to return.

As do boats.
As do bodies lying in moats
surrounding castles' fortified walls.

Hope mopes.
Waiting in line at the airport to be cleared through customs,
unaware that it is itself contraband.

Hope is for dopes.
Every man is an island.

Some haven't developed proper ports yet.

It spilled out and the ***** swept it up.
A ghost wearing sheets that were brought to your mouth.
Don't tell me 'bout things I don't wanna to hear about.
Don't talk to me right now.

A wraith in a dress and a ghost to impress.
A beast in the sheets with a white handkerchief.
Don't speak to me about things I don't wanna to believe.
Don't ever speak to me again.

Going through my very own time portal
Watching my life through my head
And I'm sitting wondering how I got here again

Singing a new song with clicks and clacks
Knowing it will soon get stale
Sipping on my brandy and ginger ale

You might understand a different plight
But this one is all I know
Sometimes I wish I had somewhere else to go

Remedies are all anyone can say
I know that they never help
A person's got to learn to save their own self

And all it takes is some will power
To keep myself away from this
But I can only ever stand to do
Whatever I wish

And all I have is all I've ever had before
Sprawled out on the ceiling of my own room
I think I'll spend tonight on this bathroom floor

Let this one go
Then wait for the others
Those were the men I once called my brothers
But I'm a chameleon
Now watch me change colors

This bridge has grown old
It's stood for too long
Bishop takes rook
No longer your pawn
Abracadabra
Now I'm gone

Sink to the sea
I'll try not to wonder
If you'll ever think of me
In so many colors

The step of a ladder
That has come to break
My soul is no longer yours to take
But I hope you don't think
That my feelings were fake

I'll hang on to the memories
That I know weren't in vain
Fleeting moments of bliss
Will remain in my brain
But I'm moving on now
Things can't stay the same

I coat all my canvas
In so many paints
You help me discover
The color of my mistakes

I'd prefer to not ever wake up instead.
Please God, won't you please strike me dead.
I've given you plenty of reason;
we've never been friends.
I can't take it anymore.
Let this be the end.