My body heat
in a bottle.
Camera on the floor,
balance empty Mr. Beam
atop its lense.
Did I hit record?
**** it,
I gotta let go.
Bubbling up, man,
protein in my ****.
Yeah yeah yeah.
I'm dying
sure,
but so are you
and you
and you.
Outta room.
Pinch off
and save it for later.
Stop recording.
Another thing
that I'll never
show to
anyone.
Great.
Just
great.
Good job Justin.

Crunchy,
heavy taste.
I love them
as much as paste.
Now free
from the burden
of intelligency,
happy
as can bee.
Green smiles
from me,
that's the color
the parlor
used to be.
Let's brake a
thermometer
so we can play
with the mercury.
I like the way it beads
in my palm,
but it gets smaller
and smaller
until it's gone.
It's okay
I still feel
relieved.
I still feel.
It's okay.
See?

My thoughts start to wander
and right as I begin to wonder
my phone buzzes.

I get home from a long day at work,
in the shower my mind begins to search
then I get out and turn on the TV.

I wake up from a vibrant dream
where a gripping idea comes to me,
so I sit down at the computer
to google what it means
but before I even hit enter
I open up another tab
and click on YouTube
to see where my favorites are at.

Whiskey goes in there somewhere too.
Bourbon, rather. Whatever.

I think back on the times
where I had nothing.
Often with longing.

I've gotta take a **** so bad I can taste it.

That sun is deceiving.
Faux fluorescence, fickle morning light.
In my eyes
so bright,
on my skin
cold as night.

Conniving contrivance of combustion,
yellow liar in the sky
feeding my hopeful mind
full of summertime delight.

Don't step outside,
lest you find
that sun is deceiving.
False light,
bitterly white,
dancing in the
azure heights.

Learning how to type is hard in your 30s.
****,
I guess learning anything
is hard in your 30s.

I don't know how to type, so
last night
I started taking free lessons.

The learning isn't hard, but
the forgetting
is going to be a struggle.

Twenty five years
of bad habits.

****.
I could apply this
to anything
in my life.

When first we met
I thought that you'd
save me.
Now I know that
you were just sent to
betray me.
Crazy.

When I placed my bet
I never thought
it'd be
another twelve days
spent down in
my basement.
Shame me.

Crazy eyes
blame me,
shame me, please just
don't tell me lies.

When first we met
I told you to
shame me
all the time.

Now these days
just flow by
all the time.

Gotten too proud,
too full of ourselves to
walk that line.

That used to divide us
all the time.
Shame me,
blame me,
baby.

Up too late
tonight I've stayed.

Blessed be tomorrow,
Sanctimony of weary.

Can't wait for
Sleep then
work, then
sleep.

Ever have something to say,
something that you REALLY want to say?
Something you're dying to express?

But you just... let it go.
Because you know
you'll never be able
to get it all out.

Now imagine that feeling
for every conversation,
every sentence,
in your entire life.


God I want a whiskey.

I don't know what to say,
or what you want me to say.
I don't want to just say
what you want me to say.
I just want to float.

Salty ripples
lapping at my sides,
squinting at
the summer sunshine.

When I close my eyes,
I'm
there.

Stop peeling up my lids,
don't make me look
at this... this,
this bottomless pit
sunken into my skin.

I don't know what to say,
I just don't want to,
okay?

Ah, but it seems my preferential tendencies
are rendered sundered and inadequate
by your overwhelmingly imposing emotions, and it's like they never ******* mattered
one ******* bit to begin with,
did they?

I'll keep that in mind
for next time.
I'll know just
what
to say.

Never been quite sure
where it all ends,
whether it be down in Hell
or up in the Heavens.

Don't matter much to me
you see, 'cause
I got friends in both places.

Wheels of time
spin on
and I'm
nauseous.

It's easy to explain, really.
If never a father I become,
then never shall I be a failure at it.

*****.
Half-man, boy-child.
Weak.
Immature.
Unfinished.

All of the above,
sure... but,
not a failed father.

Again wheels start to creak,
and I'm already knee-deep
in empty cans of WD40.

Sun's been gone now
three or four days.
I know it's out there
buried deep atop the greys.
Not bothered much
by bouts of lite rain,
intermittent,
just like my wipers.

Sun's been hidden
again and again and
I just want my eyes
to be filled with rays.
I just want it tangled
in my hair,
warming my heart.

January.
Deep December,
don't bury me
in your naked boughs.
Carry me through you,
on skewed wings
of your damp fallen leaves.

February awaits,
looming.
Buried in the greys,
patiently peering at me
with it's sunless gaze.

Turning into ashes,
burying themselves,
people been really
making that decision
more and more
these days.

Guess it don't make
a great argument
for the state of things.

People'd rather live in hell
than deal with living here
for one more day.

Maybe they're renovating down there.
Maybe it's nicer these days.
I'm sure I'll see it too one day,
one way or another,
but till then I'm just praying
we all stop preying
on ourselves.

There's a car behind me
on the stretch of old interstate
between Artistes and Centralia.
Barren road besides us.
Rub my eyes, check the mirror,
and just like that
they're gone.
Relief, I can slow down a bit.
Hate holding folk up
in this old Peterbilt.

They never play sad songs
on the radio anymore.
DJs are emotional doctors
prescribing me how to feel.
I miss the radio,
seems it don't miss me.

Still trucking,
but basking
in that ringing gold.

Lone open road,
I'll get there and
there ain't nothing
wrong with that.
Though, tomorrow I'll wake
and not want to start again.

Every morning.

Never want to start any more.

But once I get going,
well, it's not so bad.

Flip the radio on
and just be begrudgingly happy.

My suspension of disbelief
is riding on leaf springs,
and trying to enjoy any ******* thing
is a bumpy ride for me.

I just don't know
what I believe.

For being comprised of 60% water
bodies sure do burn real nice.

Sure he always walks around
with his head hanging down,
but I'll be ****** if
he doesn't find the best stones.

Gentlemen.
Ladies.
May I implore you;
where is it?

Where is it.

Where is the meaning
that was promised?

Where is our Great War?

Are we not deserved of
an all-encompassing evil?
Have we not earned the right
to glory, to kinship?

This paltry existence
is riddled with mediocre evils,
made up plights,
self imposed moral ambiguities.
I want more. I want to face more.
I want to watch something bleed.
My mouth waters.

Put me in coach,
put us all in.
We're ready.
The bench has been warmed
for my entire life.
An entire generation,
lost to modern ease
and simplistic complexities,
all just yearning for Hell.
Craving the hundred-yard gaze
granted only to the survivors.
**** your PTSD and fill us with shell shock.
Give us nightmares, memories.
Give us stories that we dare not tell.
Give us our great war.
Give us an ultimate evil to face.

Give us something to ****.
Put me in front of an insurmountable enemy.
Put me beside the righteous, the keen,
put aside the drones and ICBMs
and let us lead a modern blitzkrieg.
I want to be riled by my general
into a primal scream.
I want to watch my brothers die,
I want to weep for something.
Something bigger than me.
I want to be found in pieces
strewn across blood soaked earth.
I want a government *****
knocking on my mother's door
to give her my dog tags.
She would mourn, and grieve,
but she would be ******* proud of me.

Give me that release,
grant us all the relief
from this endless monotony.

The dawn of digital doorbells came,
but I just keep knocking away
because if you're not even home then
what's the ******* point anyway?

I don't want to be seen
through your ******* phone screen.
I want a greeting, a smile,
I want personality.

Now these glass eyes
peer all over me,
like drones in the skies
over foreign countries.
Reminding me
I'm a stranger.

I'm not meeting that gaze.
They can watch my back
as I turn and walk
away.

Even the sunrise.

A party's
not a party
if it happens every night.

Catching a buzz
a bit too much,
it ends up catching you.

Cotton candy skies
every morning,
even the sunrise turns against you.

Days come
and come
and come.

Relentless battering of time
Against my skin,
beating us all
to death.

Even the sunrise gets old.

Even the sunrise.

Happy birthday Mom.

Tangled up in.

The corners of your soul
are growing cobwebs
and I'm caught.
Lightless, sightless.

Tangled up in your sacred flame.
Fingers stretching towards the sun.
Blind eyes searching for warmth.

Free me from these cold shadows
sprouting in the corners of your soul.

These hidden battles,
quiet fights.

Turn it inside out
and
flood with light.

Don't have dreams, aspirations.
Dreams are just another banal experience,
only not yet realized.

Better yet, have dreams but leave them be.
Let them be dreams,
let them stay a golden land of idealism
to which you mentally flee when
caught in the midst of your current
mundanity.

Don't chase them,
don't turn your dreams
into your routines.

Place them upon a shelf
and marvel at them with
an enormous and writhing sense of
what if.

Enjoy that feeling,
revel in the wander-thought
for that is the truest form
in which dreams exist.

Annoyed and whiny little fools.
All led astray with their keen writing tools.
Moan and ***** enough and you'll see
that my poetry isn't for you, it's for me.

So *******, **** your talent and charm.
Go write your feelings out and drown
amidst this ocean of mediocrity.

******* all.
Worthless people.
Spew your trite.
I'll spew mine.
Let's ignore each other
for the rest of time.

He thought she'll be sad a long time,
regardless of the beautiful sunrise.

Light broke over them and she sighed,
the warm touch of the morning rays
felt good on her closed eyes.

He saw her smile and he knew why
yet he still thought she'll be sad
a long time.

Sometimes moments like these
can last an entire lifetime.
Memory, always tangled up in
idealistic webs of rose-colored light.

Perfect as that morning was,
she was sad a long time.

Hey Candy and Chris
can't you see that this
ain't no way to spend the day?
The slots' bright lighting
make the light inside her
fade, fade away.

J-J-J-Jenny and the bets.

Hey! Don't waste it away
the years come and don't stay
when you're spinning that roulette.
Still she sits down beside them
filling up on the tidal
feelings that she gets.

J-J-Jenny

Jenny

Jenny

Jenny Jenny Jenny Jenny

Jenny and the bets.

Whether on an evening dinner date
or out for a long walk in the afternoon
I see them glare vapidly
at little rectangles of doom.

Time accelerated.
Everything will be gone so soon
yet still I see their eyes glued
to little rectangles of doom.

In joy and despair
love and contempt
the feelings are there
and they feel so true.
When black rectangles of doom
gaze right back into you.

Become abyss.

Remember when
I was me
and you were you.

Now we're just
the things we've watched,
rectangles of doom.

God I want to *******
quit.

I think about it
all the time.

For what?



...This?
I don't think so.

Either pass this mindset.
or die in the cab of a
...

I pray for the pain of
this mindset passing.

This?




Either combustionless
or insane.

The easiest way to quit smoking
is to keep looking forward to
the nicotine headrush you'll get
when you start smoking again.

Every day, every hour and minute
that you manage to hold off
will make that euphoric feeling
hit you that much stronger.

Lips pinched tight around
a cylinder of paper and fiberglass,
the sound of a Bic striking,
dipping the tip into the flame.

An inhale, a deep sigh through smiling teeth.
Slight spinning and just going limp,
letting your head hit the back of the chair.

Eyes closed.

Quitting feels...

...so

****

good.

When, at night, I'm alone with
chapped dryness on my lips
I close my eyes and just imagine
you giving me a Vaseline kiss.

Who's here
when I'm not?

Can they read this
as I write it,
does it carry across?

There's something
here
with me,
something that's
not me.

Together but not whole,
just a bifurcated hull
held together with flex tape.

We don't sink.

Is anyone here?