i’m followed by a shadow
figure within the dark
of who i use to be
and am today,
reflecting in mirrors
are strangers with
crooked teeth,
late at night he
whispers memories
of a twisted body
beneath frayed rope
or sometimes
holds pictures of
walls painted with
repulsive remedies
delivered
by a bullet,
he showers skull
fragments of
D and T
i always try and shake
them off of me
i can’t, it’s tearing holes
in my skin
i try to pick
them off, i ******* can’t,
he never lets me forget,
i’m trying to sleep,
he finds loopholes
in releases and
picks at calloused
hands watching
the dead skin rain
and dampen
rotting fresh,
he’s in my dreams,
he sends faceless
apparitions
applauding something
i’ve done
or haven’t done
i don’t know
he shakes babies
and laughs
waking me in
cold sweats
he tells me to forget how
to breath,
your lungs are useless
your lungs are useless
your lungs are useless

good morning

inhabited within a society
by a government who lies to me,
to us, on the grounds of money;
earning and spending more than saved
to enrapture the self and capture the enslaved,
working class citizens
who worry more about paying rent
than being mentally content,
Monday to Friday, nine to five
a chance to earn, yet not to thrive
the worry placed on the gratified at ease,
posing no harm, smoking their own trees,
years in the cage for a simple possession of
a couple bags, subject to unlawful repression
yet barred for being a simplified state,
there’s lesser charges for amplified ****,
a higher power twisting by the fist,
grabbing a free nation and twisting by the wrist
there needs to be a change
within a democratic range
that allows us to be the free country
we announce in our anthem
but the government keeps gnawing
and biting the hand feeds them,
we’ll be ruled, and controlled
until a social monarchist
binds together to bindingly subsist
we the people need to speak up
and repress this social **** up;
the need to always rush,
the need to brush
aside repressions until
obsessions of contraries
conflict with progression,
living each day dead
with no room to grow and
yet the only gift we ever bestow
is sleeping and drifting away
in the unconscious
only to awake again,
a conjure suicide with
your company pen.

(I)

the strength is weary
when you see an old photograph
standing next to mom, dad, and sister
with nothing but a smile
and a tommy shirt
they’re both smiling
kneeled down to our level
dad never screamed
she’s just a baby,
no cuts
just a child
cheeks outward nose as soft
as the ice cream that
falls down it
and I
untainted mind
no anger, knuckles unpainted,
dad’s eyes squinted with a smile
he held no disappointment
in any expression

we’re still a family
but with more screaming
and no tommy shirts anymore

(II)

I saw another picture,
in a theme park I rode
down a log ride with my dad
he had a beige wind jacket
and brown shades
I was wearing a red jacket
and a smile
I remember that day actually
the wind felt chilly on my head
I remember cause mom just shaved it,
I cut my bangs off,
another happy day in remembrance,
we ate ice cream and had lunch
at a dairy queen,
we were in new jersey
the picture
again
brings homage to the good times we had
had
he still has those sunglasses actually,
the log ride couldn’t even get him
to take them off,
now the only shades
he wears
is disappointment

the tangibility of fallibility
is met between the coincidence
and insatiability of adversity,
the blissfulness of satisfaction
is met between the constant refraction
and abstraction of our instability,
distancing perceptions bound by
our misinterpreted misconceptions ,
take the contradictions of our minds
and use them as receipted expectations,
blinded by darkness for illumination
idyllically thriving on the absence of starvation
but the the realism of disdained relation put us
in a position of contempt fixation,
placement of a pedestal beneath my feet
misdirected direction towards a forked defeat,
a way to pain and a way to pleasure,
the destination of each concluded at cloudy weather,
atmospheric conditions leave injunctions towards
the ****** functions to deviate and meditate
the conflicted constant of mind and heart
and diverge from its obliged obligation from the start,
a denouncement expected right from inception
brought afloat a constant instance of introspection,
intrinsic emotions distorted at a love’s devotion
sparks a metaphysical claim towards a complex notion
of companionship and intensified intimacy;
an expectant of reciprocated sympathy
but when in reality, the thought of apathy
lies not within the partner,
but within me

i should really
quit smoking you,
i’m ignorant
no more,
ashtray’s
fill faster
than my lungs,
quietly whispering
tip toes provoke
the screams of
hardwood
every night
at around 1 o’clock,
making way
to attempt quiet
openings of
neglecting doors,
sitting amidst the
tranquility as
the ******
fissure eats
the dancing smoke
while she
paints abstracts
on teeth
tongue
lungs
heart
and the
cognitive inability
to separate
index from middle
comes not from
ignorance
but from how
she holds me
tighter than anyone,
touches my lips
more compliantly  
than any woman,
she will never leave me
even as i take her
top off and
share breaths,
her touch is
recognizable
most nocturnally,
i know the damage
she does to me
she’ll cut my life in half,
she’s the only thing
i will let in that will
**** me,
she moulds
leisure and pleasure
as if i wear them on
my back,
her body is
pale as my fingers
drip down
and feel
as i exhume
her insides
intertwining
with mine,
listening to your
cries as i inhale
provokes me to
do so more
and more
and more
until i leave you
for the night,

i should
indeed quit
smoking cigarettes
as well

i was always told
i dig too deep into things,
a mystery it was left
until i finally fell from
the sun of innocence,
i have dug myself a hole
and found home where
no woman can latch to my heart
'cause at the end of the day
we'll both be wandering
looking for such,
i can never hold a tangible
relationship with another,
vices are consistent
and weave their beating
hearts into my skin,
i want to go back,
back to feeling,
no tremors or
tainted lungs and
poisoned liver,
back to when
the meaning of a
a wish was still
seeing candle smoke
dance above a
birthday cakes,
too many times
i try to twist off
the pop-off top
of a beer and
it dawned to me
currently,
i was once told;
"talking to you is like pulling
on a push door"
and until now i realized
the door was locked.