Yuh boozey faced and sittin pretty on summat.

It's my fault.

Always has been,
always will be.

But I'll try my damnedest
to come up with a good excuse.
To push all the blame on to you.

...and the yellow skies
behind her gradient eyes
send me sailing
where gravity's defied
in an upwards sprial
of homelust...

...and Kansas never seemed so beautiful...

She said to me from above,
seeing me crane my neck
at the sound of the water
hitting the roof of the tent.

I heard the stirring wind
and realized she was right,
offering a smile of delight
as she bent down to me.

Meeting my lips with hers,
grabbing hold of me with
her teeth and pulling as
she began to bounce again.

I closed my eyes
to the overcast skies
and sighed with pleasure
at the sound of my name on her lips.

when I stop to think
about kissing you
It usually reminds me
of the last guy's
**** you ******.

So when tomorrow comes
I'll try to remind myself
that this is what I chose.

This is the life
I deserve to live.

Wet boots,
menial tasks.

Remember Justin,
this is what
you wanted.

I should be going to bed at 8:00,
so I start drinking as soon as I get home.
But the issue is
that I don't get drunk anymore
until about 10:00.

Maybe I'll start leaving work a few hours early.

Maybe I just gotta focus on getting it down faster.

What would you say
if by some miracle
I found you today?

What would you say?

I'll touch your blue jeans
without consent.

I'll slide my hand up
the back of your leg and
really dig my nails in.

I'll use both hands
to pull you apart,
to draw you closer and
up against my heart.
Up against my chin.

Shirtless,
skin to skin.

You'll be starved for breath,
I'll be just starting to begin.

Our pace
will race
and together
we'll sin.

Heartbroken I'll ponder
our little origin.

A fashion show,
a shared love of expression.

Come and
come again.

Even this, feels familiar too.
Unpleasant though.

Strange and weird but,
maybe I'm just
missing a piece
of the puzzle.

Ugh, I feel so sick
to my stomach,
though that is unrelated.

Somehow, although much has changed,
some of these feelings
are still the same.

Like waking up
from a bad dream,
and then falling back to sleep.

Words.
They spell it out for me,
and shine light on my ignorance.

I close my eyes
and see everything,
on the inside of my eyelids.

As hard as I try
to ignore that crumbling keystone,
I'm still painfully aware
that the arch will soon come crashing down.

I wonder if when that happens
I'll have the audacity,
and the brazen cowardice,
to act surprised.

To feign knowledge.
To play a selfish fool.

I blatantly hate myself.

Today I went and drove myself
up against a wall.
I get angry at nothing.
I bottle it all.

Glory, I can hardly wait
for that bottle to break.
Then maybe I'll justify
all this self hate.

I want to burn a church,
I want to ****.

I want to leave this plane.
I want to cross this gate.

the remains
of a hope so deep inside
reveal a lifetime of lies
that was fed slowly
and grown with an
impossible precision
by those silly mouth noises
by lust-laced lies
by bold faced betrayals
of hearts and minds


discover cathedrals astride
genuine greed displaced by
***** deeds, any price is cheap
when love like that is led
over and over again
to dead ends.

Hey hey a deluge,
Wash it all away,
Then when the snow comes
I'll roll it all up.

I'll roll it all up,
The snow, the lights,
The plants, the dirt.

I'll roll up the night,
I'll roll up the day,
I'll roll right down the streets
The plows will all be unneeded,
Because I'll roll up all the snow
And clear myself a path
From here to Zion Grove.

Where I'll make a giant snowman
And give it a crooked smile,
That the people will all see
For miles and miles.

When I'm all done
The roads will be clear,
And I'll finally be able
To reach you my dear.

In a gross misconduct,
And verbal conflagration,
I regurgitate these words
That wouldn't be digested.
Now I'm covered in my mess,
Bits of vowels stuck to my chest
And my new jeans reek of
Conjecture and ignorance.

The door to honesty is ajar.

A breeze of truth is wafting through.

Let's tie our
shadows in a knot.

They writhe
on the bedroom wall.

Bedside lamp bathes
with light.

Sheets piled up
every night.

Let's tie our
shadows in a knot,

make them dance
on the bedroom wall.

Lick the rust from her heart,
let her pet you in the dark.
Keep her company at night,
purr away all her fright.

Your sandpaper paws and tongue
smooth out her roughness.
Your white velvet coat has begun
to prove she's not loveless.

Looking for love
is looking for somewhere new
to run away from.

Searching for someone,
to then leave
for something else.

Touch,
momentarily feel
what could be.

What never will.

hands-down
She was the first love
I have ever had

and Her face
still comes to me
in my dreams.

Pour it.
Don't want to taste it
anymore.
Just pour it right
into my heart,
funnel it into my soul.
Flood me with it,
my head is swimming.
Pour it.
Vacuous vessel,
my body and mind.
Filled to the brim,
marinated and brined.
Sopped up.
Wrung out.
Pour it.
Pouring.
Down the spout.

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.

The only thing that gets caught
in a single strand of web
is fluttering sunlight.

Banded together though...
Quite the prize,
full of flies.

The vast vapidity
is humbling.

My hollow heart
hasn't the slightest chance,
faced up against
your echoing chasms.

These...
...sallow reverberances?
They ricochet
within my skull,
making my ears ring.

Like a bullet
laced with guilt,
laden with lament.

A supersonic dose
of peace.

With a steaming gasp of passion
I listen to his name fall from her lips.
The creaking behind the door,
god, the creaking.
The rhythmic slapping,
an applause to my final act.

The weight conforms to my grip,
the weight of life and death,
and I release the magazine
to study and admire the lead pills,
all in a neat little row.

Each one of them carries her sentence,
and his sentence,
ready to write history in blood,
punctuating each line
with a bullet hole.

Our fates are constrained
by the lights that remain
in the skies at night

...so...

Don't ******* lecture me
about how hard it is
don't ******* walk away
I can make it simple

Shallow pools of rainwater
The sound of an engine running
Blue and bright
Between light and lofty whites
Wafting tendrils of steam
Curled and unfurling
Like fresh april blooms
Infant flowers and leaves
Flowers and levers
Flow and weave
Follow or leave
Floral trees
In the spring breeze

Can't quite find a way out.
Myself and my own capabilities
are the things that I doubt.

Sent it out, in the mail your
little package of sensibilities.
I'm just afraid of failure.

When the sun shines brightly in my eyes
with clear skies and blue eternity,
I can't seem to stay in this disguise.

It feels too **** good.
With perfect certainty.
Letting go, like I knew I would.

I'll be the slumpy man
caught on the clotheslines in the wind
strung out on powerlines
graced by the company of crows
and the circling buzzards
all hungry for my eyeballs

I'll be the slumpy man
hung over the sofa
draped across recliners
trying to dry out
before my braincells die out
trying to stay awake and sober

Let us take a waltz around the rings of Saturn,
without making a sound as our feet follow the pattern.
Let us sway and forever spin
every day in the solar wind.
Baby don't ever wake up from these fondest dreams
where we needn't make up, for everything is as it seems.
Let us never return to the dead-pet freezers and the bleeding,
haven't we yet earned our right to be together without pleading?


Baby there's a cafe on the moon
and we better get there soon
because I'm dying here on Earth
and a trip to Jupiter isn't what we're worth.

Because that place is a heap,
and the coffee there is the worst.

Met this broad on tinder,
she told me that she was hesitant about dating
due to the fact that she just got out of
an abusive relationship.

Sounds like just my type of gal,
I wonder how her relationship with her father is.
I'm salivating now.

I sympathized with her, and said that I too
had just gotten out of an abusive relationship.
I recounted the story about how, after two years
of daily emotional and physical abuse,
my ex had at last found the courage and support
that she needed to finally leave my ***. That ****.

I only like you when your drunk
so save me for later.
Because I don't really care about you
I just care how much you care about me.
So sail with me, are you seaworthy?
Seven shots of brandy,
seven beers,
try and keep up, okay?

I can't remember
All the good things
That have happened
And
I can't forget
the things that
I wish never did happen.

But I get to decide
What to think about,
My thoughts don't tell me
What to feel.

Choose positivity, and
Watch the world change
Around you.

The hills rolled and faded away
in an obscuring gray snowfall daze
and he doesn't want her

A pair of pairs of jeans and a
gray hoodie with thermals underneath
couldn't warm him up to her

His head, three hoods deep, dreams
coddled in disbelief at the time passed between
the last she had him and now

These months, years they may seem,
are minuscule minutes in the eyes of history
and he keeps breathing without her

With the snow now up to his knees
and a want to be buried beneath the damp gray
he hitches deep and coughs

dead things
beautiful, horrid, dead things.

The routines come.

But they come silently,
and they slither,
and they crawl,
and they sneak into our lives
one inch at a time,
hiding in those missing minutes and seconds,
hidden in hours and days lost to the hubris
of our own sense of youth and permanence.

And all the time we've wasted is held so high,
high up above our heads,
just out of our reach,
just a whisper of familiar texture on our fingertips,
as we dance upon our tippy toes,
as our arms slowly tire
of trying to reach what we once held so easily,
as we look back on the shadows
stretched out behind us
overtop of our ever-lengthening timelines,
and we realize that time is indeed passing
and that the golden memories are just that,
memories,
and these stolid routines that we never noticed
aren't making any new ones.

The routines will come,
but ****** be if I'm going to sit idly by
and let them willingly take me.

I love seeing suicide survivors.

Like ****,
you **** at that too, huh?