We are the forest of the dead.
We are crimson willow trees.
We are weeping in the woods,
Hanging bodies like chandeliers

Leaves,
Crumble,
Deep in.
Humus,

Body becomes soil.
Bleeding the forest.

Cold
Wet

Moss undergrowth
Drag down the bones

The beetles form inside,
Leave larval forms behind,
Above our heads they swing,
The wind blows bleeding trees.

The machinery of death.

Brings the forest life,

From suicide.

I'm dissecting my heart today
I'm going to a hotel room
No one will follow me
The bathtub is full

Walk to the convenience store
Bruised ankles.
Bad night of skating
Hotel room empty

Filled again by my draping body
Stupor
Falling over chairs
I hang my head on the bed

Falling deep into gravity
The center of everything
The heart
Tearing

Councilling the loss
Creeping in the fenestrae
Crashing into the bricks
That make up my middle

The middle of everything
Guilt
Agony of ones self


A hate that is no ones but your own fault
A person you can't escape
Until finally the grey matter or all the blood runs away from you
Because it hates you so much

You hate you so much
You hate you so much

The liquor stores distance is the only thing keeping you from it
So ****** that you can't even bring yourself out of the hotel bathroom
Or out of the tiles
The white tiles
The grout crimson
Filled up.

He's probably got the passion in his sinnew to blow up...something. he's worth being dead. His family says they said. If one day you met him. He'd probably smile at you fast. You'd hate his guts after that. Toward sun he looked onward till his gaze died down inside his throat. He heavied over the hate he's engulfed. The sun hangs lower. The cans weigh down on his neck. The paints scratching. He's got friends though. Theyll write an articulate article. He's just food for dust mites

the world is over the animals are dead. Left are the machinations of neutrality. Equilibrated entropy. Haunting the desert. The Brownian machines are dead after the ratchet of life broke all its teeth to the tool. Broke on dinner plates of all the energy in plutonium. The Greek gods were real and as jealous as was spoke .wanting back the mass taken from the quantum blips. no longer do things move forward. Progress is non meaning. Pushing back and forth in place the tricycle to an unlearned humanity. It all imploded all is implossive. My strings and nails crack and fall off together.

I grew up named ******
Transformed into dad.
Dragged her down but she doesn't think so


For her buoyant cheeks keep me afloat

How she will wish for such devices as I get to dip over

I shall try and try and pry towards keeping her safe
Yet she will hate me

Keeping her from this would be the worst
She would never go through this point she should dull through
She will never know that I feel every sting
I will never tell her
I will only feel her love
And feel love for her life

I think about you and I every day.
I drink because I know what's to come.
Doing everything for one person.
Even staying with your mother.
Tho you aren't mine to stay.
I choose to hide behind you.
Because you are strong without knowing
As I wish to know one day
Because you are stable and same
Through times you know don't change
When they do
Because your spine is strong enough to climb
Yet supple enough to crumble from our embrace

Hugging you to the ground
Lightening striking through my heart my love.
You won't get to love me like I love you
Nor like how maybe you wish you'd like to.
That's the saddest thing.

I know I will never be enough
But I will always know and tell you that you are more special than your situation.
More than how you feel

Feelings are illusions too.
You beautiful perfect creature are nothing but what you want
Not what I want or she wants or we the collective.
WANT.
There is no want.

There's just you in Your life.

Live.

****** of Beccas *****.
My ***** mix the moistures together to make. The mixture of cocktion
Of a mist
Of dank un integrity
Crapping on the fall of shat marriage

As we bask in the dance of *****
Falling down the legs of the most beautiful of beatnik
Without knowing
It

How I've forgotten my divisions

Of the words.
I used to care of those things

Now though I am listening to howl and not in the writing criteria for my writing

I
Usually have the things I need
Now I will have a small baby head
Who knows not **** from suckle
From honey from agave
From desert

How I miss ***** in how drunk I froth in the night dry and the calm she can never know in my head how I wish to be her and for her to be me
How I wish to be one as the howl of two larynx in a bird body
Come thy voice.

Calm child soothe

I sleep.
Hanging.
From a chan.
Delier.

I ***
To the chorus
Of fornicate
Voices

I pose
myself
At the mannequins
Femur

I sit
Inside
The emp.
Ty mall.

And watch
You ****
And slip.
It all.

Away.