People want you to believe
that happiness should come easy.
That life rains it upon you
like a brief and pleasant rain
during a hot summer day.

They want you to think
that if your life doesn't bring
those little drizzles of happiness,
something must be wrong.
Wrong with you,
wrong with your life,
or that other people
are oppressing your happiness.

What they don't tell you
is that happiness takes work.
It's a conscious decision,
it's constant maintenance of the mind,
it's a light in the attic,
it's a reminder to not look down,
to not look behind.
It's an internal war.

Happiness starts with a decision,
and it only gives up
when you do.

Dude this website ******* ***** these days,
does anyone know of any alternatives?

The demon is singing again
and I find myself humming along.
It's the same rhythm it's always been,
it's the same familiar song.

The demon is singing again,
swimming in the fugue.
Amber, green and clear glass,
drowning it in blues.

Ice cream for breakfast
now that Mom's dead.
All my pants are napkins
now that Mom's dead.
Stay up as late as I want
now that Mom's dead.

Nah, can't do it.
She's gone on the outside,
but I can still hear the echos of her voice
on the inside.

The louder she gets
the more I know
I'm ******* up.

My guilt is a reminder
of what's a good or bad decision.

My guilt is my mother
slapping the back of my head
from the grave.

My sense of self worth,
my sense of what's right and wrong?
That's my mother saying she loves me
from the great beyond.

A dip,
quick.
Maybe more
than just
the tip.
I want to
take a dip
in your
rushing waters.
I want to
get wet.
Come, and
soak me.
Kiss me.
***** me.
I want to
give you
something.
I want to
leave marks.
Your skin
as my canvas,
this is my art.
I'll take the pain
from paint,
I'll take the rush
out of brush.
I'll take handfuls,
I want to
pull you apart.
I want to feel
the beating
of your heart.
I want to grasp
your mind,
I want to hear
that you're
only mine.
I want to see
me, reflected
in your eyes.
I'll take handfuls,
and I'll take
my **** time.

The road of indecisiveness
is paved with dead squirrels.

I ran out
I'm empty
look somewhere else maybe
maybe you'll find something
worth your time but
not here
that's for sure
because I'm all out
and got nothing left.

If you want nothing though,
you're in the right place.
Nothing is what I've got.
I've got nothing for you,
for me,
for everyone.
Heaping piles of nothing,
glimmering, shimmering piles
tightly coiled and
slightly steaming and
reaching up to the sky
of nothing.
Glorious, fat, gluttonous servings
of nothing. That's what I'm handing out
because that's all I've ******* got, okay?

You get it? Do you?

Do you really understand yet?

DO YOU?

I HAVE NOTHING, READ ON ELSEWHERE.
I'M NOT HERE FOR YOU,
I'VE NOTHING IN STORE.







Maybe a joke or two but,
other than that? NO.

NOTHING
NO THING

Don't believe poetry.

It's been more difficult
lately
to separate from my thoughts.

Guess you don't need
Drugs and alcohol
To hate yourself,

But boy they sure do
Make it a lot easier.

Ma'am now don't you see?
This conversation,
As fulfilling as it may be,
Try to keep it short and sweet,
Because I got business at the bottom.

Close your eyes, come with me.
Flying south on vacation,
Landing strip lined up beneath,
My tongue, my mouth, my teeth,
I got business at the bottom.

It's the way things are.

Couldn't let it go.
Anyone else is paltry.
No one is enough.
Tomorrow will be the same.

Stay one more night,
'till dawn at least.
Only once the sun comes I
pray you'll actually leave.

Man if I really didn't give a **** about anything,
I would eat Warheads until my tongue bled
and my stomach erupted with ulcers.
I would eat sour patch kids until
my stool was black with blood
and my lips cracked down to my chin.
I would **** on lemons until my teeth fell out,
and my eyes watered like when I was standing
at my mother's funeral.
Man, even if I didn't give a **** about anything else,
I would always love sour things.

I started on a high enough rung
To be able to see everything
Caught in the momentum
Focused solely on climbing

One day a loved one fell
Above, her rungs ran dry
And I finally looked down
To meet a million other's eyes

That's when I realized
It wasn't just a climb
It is infinite skies
Of other people lives

So instead of reaching
For the next step above my head
Maybe I should be lending
Those below me a hand instead

Because at the end of the day
None of us make it to the top

That little strip of tissue
Connecting my tongue
To the bottom of my mouth
Is all torn up.

Every time I feel it,
The pain tastes like pleasure
And my mouth waters
In anticipation for more.

Better off not setting foot
on her snowy inclines.

Wouldn't want to slip.

Don't feel like a climb.

Would rather just stay the **** inside,
from this safe distance I can yet admire.

The rain drips.

It paints splotchy little designs.

I hope it helps to
put out her fire.

Over thought,
Under done.

Undecided Decisiveness,
Choosing placidity
In place of catastrophe.

It's all in your head.

When I'm swollen and pulsing,
the roundish spot on your hip,
your skin under my fingers,
my tongue between your lips,
light from the setting sun
spread across our tangled limbs,
bits of lavender I keep finding,
your perky peaks beneath the sheets,
my tender remnants in your hands,
the congruent mixture we make
on those certain kind of days.

Paint me in your purples and pink,
and I'll soak it in.

She stepped in,
As she was stepping out.
Not that it's her fault,
That's not what it's about.

Seems seldom indeed,
That I've felt so in need
Of this kind of company.
Where does this leave me?
Somewhere distant,
Some how resistant?
There's change in the air.
These winds tousle my hair
And carry a faint scent
Of bitter self resentment,
But that's no reason
To waste my favorite season.

So let's go for a walk
Through the woods,
And we can just talk
If that sounds good.

What was that old guys name?
I think it was something like...
Uh....
****, I can't remember.
I remember it was odd though,
the kind of name that really
sticks with you throughout the years.

Right...

Anyway this dude turned
to face Lukus and I,
and called us a pair of
"controlled knuckleheads."

We were drinking at some bar
in Phoenixville, it was the night
that Lauren ditched us
and we had to walk like ten miles
back to his dad's place.

It was my fault she ditched,
but it was my fault that
she was there in the first place.

I miss Luke.
Hope he's doing well for himself.

It's a silent desperation.
like screaming underwater,
or sobbing into a pillow.

It's like I'm living my life
on the razor-fine edge
of complete abandonment.

Is today the day
that I throw my phone away,
and turn up missing?

How long will it take
to hire my replacement
at work?

You can knock all you want
but there's no one home,
my apartment will be empty.

You'll find my car at the curb,
my wallet and keys on my desk,
but you won't find me.

I'll be gone.




Then I wake up,
shower,
and head to work again.

A snag
A home for a rat
Or a squirrel
A nest of wasps
A termite colony
Snakeskin litters the ground
Mushrooms bloom
The soil itself swells
In gratitude

Life begets life
Death is inviting
And leaves more room
For the living
Life begets life
Rot is food
Hollow with skittering,
Echoes of chewing
Death begets life
Circles and circles
And circles again

I expected to wait my whole life away.
Never thought that bird would return home.
What if.
What if she didn't have meaning
tied in a note around her leg?
What if I was happy
to have some anguish to relish in?

Do I tend?
Pick something up off
the floor of my memory?
Do I find something new,
yet long gone,
to ascribe my longing for?
To apply my doubt to?
What if anguish has always been here,
untapped and brimming,
and I just keep picking things
to soak in it.

I fear it was never the bird having flown,
that brought me to such depths.
I fear I've been living in these depths all along,
and just finding reasons to persist there.

The relationship between
Vivid, bright honesty to strangers,
And living white lies with those you love.

It's fun
Finding someone uninvolved
And telling them
All the things
You can't tell yourself,
Showing them
The pieces of you
That you lie about
To everyone else,
That you lie about
To those that you love,
To those that love you.

The comfort of complacency,
The smooth flow of denial,
The willful ignorance,
For the sake of continuance
Down the path of least resistance,
That leads to nowhere but the grave.

When in the end
It's the hard way out,
The difficult decisions,
That lead to freedom.

The hidden truths
I've been ignoring
Are the only things
That really matter.

Sometimes, sometimes sometimes sometimes.

Sometimes it's hard
To not feel like a false man.
I work hard, I pay my bills.
But still,
It can feel like I
Don't believe myself.

When I put my boots on in the morning
I feel like a child trying on his father's boots,
I feel like I'm pretending.

I didn't do any of this on my own,
This apartment, this career,
Everything I've ever done.

I just got lucky.

Who am I
Living my
Life for?

Am I living my life for me?
Or for this imaginary person
That I think I aught to be?

Maybe it doesn't matter,
This over complication
Detracts from the simplicity
Of just doing. Just being.

I should give a **** less,
Lighten up.
Don't take it all
So
Seriously.

Silence echoes,
yet it sounds like laughter.

Bye, Bella.

The amount of pain we feel
is in direct correlation
with how much love we had for you.

How much love you had
for us.

I know you wouldn't want us crying,
but
you've got to understand.

It's been building in us ever since
the first time
you put your paw in our hands.

Yellow socks,
they used to be white.
Stiff enough to kick rocks,
what a delight.

Miles of art
All buried beneath
These mounds.

Mounds of dirt
Meant to drive away
Silent hill people.

Under the art,
Under the mounds,
The world's on fire
Under the ground.

This place feels like
A cemetery.

The leaves that blowing in the wind
All whisper out a name
And as I peek up at the sky
I see clouds spelling out the same
**** thing I been thinking bout all night
Tryna keep it outta mind
Tryna keep it outta sight
Cause I'm drowning in my head
Can't keep afloat atop this dread
From thinking bout the past
Back when I used to fantasize
About commiting suicide
To help me fall sleep at night
Because it didn't feel like death
It felt like an escape
From the various mistakes
And potential bad decisions I've yet made
But since I seen it first hand
My uncle swinging in the wind
I realized it's just cheap
So I value the position that I'm in
And I've come to respect it
And come to respect my kin
And wouldn't want the weight
Of that decision to be on them

But sometimes late at night
When I'm tryna fall asleep
And I listen to my mind
It says that she should be alive
And that it should be me
That's buried underneath

I love you silly
with your jaw jutted out
and your lips smushed up
and your eyes crossed.
I love you silly,
when you make me laugh
you also make my heart sing.

I stepped on the clutch and shifted out of neutral,
flicked my headlights on and checked my mirrors
then eased out of my parking spot on the dark street.
The morning was brisk and damp with precipitation,
I enjoyed the rhythm of my intermittent wipers
and reached for the little unbreakable comb that I
always keep in the tray on top of the dashboard.
I combed the snags and tangles out of my beard
as the oversized tires beneath me ate up the road
in a grumbling monotone hum of rubber and asphalt.
I combed you out of my beard and replayed last night
in my mind, the dim lights and low music wafting
through my memory like a breeze through a window
that rustles the curtains and shuffles papers around.
I smiled at the sunrise peeking over the mountains.
The naked mountains, the purple-pink tie-dye sky.
I smiled at the sunlight in my eyes, at the instinctual
way my eyes squinted and my hand reached up for
the visor over my head and swung it down just right.
I smiled at the prospect of the day, at the implications
of the previous evening spent swimming in her eyes.
I smiled at the idea of tomorrow, and the next day,
and all the months and years I've yet to experience.
I smiled while I drove.

Dawn brought a bruised sky with it,
A spattering of trundling snow clouds
Scattering the radiant light of the rising sun
Into nothing more than a blue and purple smudge
Peeking through the gap in my bathroom curtains.

It was just enough light to see a silhouette
Of myself in the mirror hung above the sink.
It's fun to imagine the reflection isn't a reflection,
But a window into another universe, another
Perspective on how I actually exist and persist.

I want to reach into the silvered glass,
Like it were a puddle of polished chrome,
And give the silhouette a squeeze on the shoulder.

I want to let him know that
He's doing a good job,
And that I'm proud of him
For everything he's done.
Even the little things
Like getting laundry washed
And waking up on time.

"You're doing alright man,"

Were the first words I spoke that day,
Smiling to myself.

A little more light was pouring in now,
Liquid day filling the room a bit,
And for a second I saw the silhouette
In the mirror a bit more clearly.

I could've sworn he mouthed the word:
"Thanks."

Fluttering lights
Like night sky butterflies
Waver between death
And endless life

I need a war.
We all need a war.
A real war too, not this
falsified and opaque war
on terror or whatever the ****
we've been doing for the past
twenty years in the desert.
Give us something bigger
to ******* ***** about.
Give us good verses evil.
Something more meaningful
than this curse called the internet.
Give us something to die for,
in a violent and ****** rage.
Give us some meaning,
give us a new age.

Above the circling hawks,
Above the flattened cubes
Of corporate brick and mortar.
From here the people
All look like locust,
Swarming the asphalt
And coursing the concrete.
From here the sunlight
Glints off of a thousand
Cars, glass and paint.
It twinkles a bit,
And I'm reminded
Of the ocean.
Waves beneath us,
Silently crashing
Their way through life.
Stand with me
On this vista,
This precipice,
And let's just watch
For a little while.
Dressed in
The colors
Of the rising sun,
You're the perfect
Contrast up here
On the coal bank.

I could paint the sky
With the color of my sighs.

Blue,
Purple,
Black.

A bruise of a day,
Preceded by a shameful evening
Of bearing my yellowed teeth.

Inhale the dye,
And stain my insides.
Because sometimes even the hidden truths
End up being lies,
And I'll tell myself
It's the hand we've been dealt.

These new jeans are too tight,
And just for self-spite
I'll go and cut them up into
Beautiful butterflies.