where are we?
what the **** happened?
did i wreck the car?
is the car ******?
I have to get to meg!
who am i?
who are you?
where are we?
what happened?
did i do this?
i'm so sorry.
does meg know.
is meg here?
i have to get to meg!
cody, am i dying?
are you cody?
who am i?
where are we?

I answered, unsure of so many of my words.

Irony is when you can only come back because you finally left.

Here I am.

I won't play the victim,
my head is made of stone,
my feet are made of gravel,
this dirt is all they've known.

"Here lies a poet, lost in his own head,
not knowing hell from heaven,
nor life from being dead."

watch me unfold,
from my contortionist dance,
swallowed by sound,
my vision most entranced,
senses overcome,
so that hearing is erased,
every picture detailed,
i remember every trace.
and we rolled over in circles,
and i went graceful through the skies,
surroundings settled into slowness,
as my brain shattered in the whys
for the briefest moment i knew i died,
and i woke,
after seconds,
five?

I am a spectator.

I'm wrecked
Pardon the pun, ***,
but oh, you love it,
and humor is the best i can do to shrug it,
that fact, hanging over my head,
the dread, the lingering thought i'm dead
the smells, the way they grab me by the throat,
the visions, the way they make me choke,.
swimming in my every moment,
ever since my crashing fall,
wondering if i ever lived,
if i ever lived at all.

and **** i have to face it,
but when i do my heart races,
i swear my ribs are folding into places,
that they never should have been,
and my chest is heaving quicker,
or is it caving in?

traces of the trees escape
the ever wandering eyes
of drunk teenagers camping
and all the other passers by

remembrance of my end or birth
i'm not quite sure anymore
but i know i've been there before
surrounded by the dying leaves,
embedded in the earth
sleeping in a scar,
awakened by my thirst.

I can't be apathetic,
frantic, engulfed in the hectic,
overtaken by stasis,
stuck in this tantric,
****** by life position.

ANd i tiptoe to the edge,
looking both backward and forward,
wondering which direction i go,
will i explode?
am i already, is ..is...
this...ohhh my God, what the **** is happening ..is this,
is this it?

But if i sit here,
maybe it won't end.
Maybe i can hold onto the pleasure...
I end with the release
I live with  the questions,
what was it worth?
can i create something worth anything?

I keep smelling dead things,
and fire, and smoke,
ammonia, and ****...
I wonder if I'm dead,
or am dying,
If i'm laying there in the gully,
where his subaru crushed me into the ground,
if my chest has caved in,
if i've been moved yet,
leaving only a stain in the dirt
and a crash path through those frail little trees
How am I here?
and not there?
That is where i ought to be...
is this some hyper realistic dream?
has this already happened?
or is it happening?
and how the **** would i know the difference?

I will live this life as if i haven't yet,
make memories that matter,
even if i am already dead.
It is the best i can do.