I can't was for the day I open up.
These years of bad luck
Die faster than how fast I'll run.

Oh and I'll run.
I can't wait to the day.
In the past, all the pain of yesterdays
Have wrapped around my basement brain.
I'll run and show again I might,
Take over this world and
Show a good fight.
I'll forget my troubles,
And move on.

I have a problem, you see.
I own objects like blankets
I cannot sleep without,
Headphones 4 inches thick
To cancel the noises that
Wake up every nerve in my body
That make me shake and bite my nails

I own stubs for fingers
With cuts and chewed skin.
They run across my forehead
To stop the thoughts from occurring.

I count,
Correct the other side
When someone touches my skin.
I make sure every first letter
In the next line of poetry
Is capitalized,
Cause that's a rule.

I agonize over small things
Because as a kid,
No one helped me.
I was too nervous to play in the hose
Or turn on the shower
Because my family would drown.
The ritual began even then.

At 6 I could not play baseball
Because in the outfield
I would tic and make my nose bleed.

I can't even breathe without
Bothering this disease.
One lung does not fill up like the other,
And I get dizzy.

I have a scar on my forehead
From completing this ritual for years.
I fear
And feel.
Why do I fall victim to this disease?
God, I would pray but my hands can hardly
Touch each other without the horrible feeling.

I tap on my forehead
The middle is where it starts
I tap on the floorboards
Therefore my mind leaks
Through the floorboards.
Comatose
Most know the idea
By most I mean me
You see, no one knows
That all I touch breaks.

------------------   -----I
                               IG
                              NITE
                           ­    LIK
                            E FIRE WH
                            EN THEY S
                            PEAK IN M
                            Y EARS.  S
                            O LIGHT M
                            E LIKE A C
                           ANDLE, YO
                           U MOONLIG
                           HT VOICES ,
                           LEAVE ME O
                           UT, I BURNY
                           OU DOWN. P
                           UT ME OUT,
                           AND I WILL
                           MISS THEM

My mind is filled with scraps of poetry
The words he owes to me
I will never get back
The fact I failed to submit
Shows I'm only bones
And the range of the water
I have been given
Has out lived the living
But the waves of the yesterdays
Like blue days of a dream
The scheme of things have played out
My food for thought
Was laid out
On the couch where we said
Monsters hide at night in bed
And tell you to give up the dream
Of winning faith and dying clean
And if the thing of things must be
The living clean
The way I live
Or never have lived
Could not hold up the way of the shiv
And if the living hope to live
Or love or all
Then washing over once was dry
Will flood the eyes of beggars choicey