My face did not smile today,
as I looked at it in the mirror.
Something is always wrong.
And my lips can never summon the courage.
My face did not smile today,
as I took a shower; could not bring
myself to tears.
Stuck in the middle; claustrophobic,
like my skull was an oakwood box.

I did not eat today,
as I prepared for the day.
I couldn't believe my gray,
withered eyes would see
all across the table and it's
countless useless objects.
Signs of folded clothes, and
cups abandoned from the night
before; all evidence weighs down on me.

I am the beast that I run from.
Like a sharp knife rapping in my chest, I feel
plants tangle my ankles, trip me as I scream.
I smell their acid breath as they crunch through
bone. Just like books of old; the young die in
pointless wars of self. The young are caught in the
self perpetuating stream of grief and anger.

So I am mad, so very mad.
And to the people I love I unleash it,
like the plants inside covering the skyscrapers
and industrial highways of my mind, or a dog broken free
of it's chains; I destroy everything I touch.

My job
kills people.
Like a bee
that has stung.
One day I
will die.
And what?
Lock the door, and never ever look at my face.
The torment of seeing you, seeing me is insane.
But what if I loved them, the things you hate?
Like sneaking beer from my parents,
and pretending to feel great.
What if I, in your eyes,
was a ship without a captain?

I think I am
a
ship
without
a captain.

lost.

Can a love that began with someone else's sacrifice have a happy ending?

A love secret and unconfessed.
A love so great that even torment is sweet for me

dear you,

please remember that your voice has power.
power to raise an ocean of words,
please make them mean something.
power to create a storm,
please don’t destroy too much.
you have been given hands to create,
a mind to wonder,
a life that is worth living if you make it worth living

The summer sky;
it breathes tonight.
And if there was one highlight,
it was you.

But tonight I'll grab a rope,
and if you've figured it out by now,
this is my suicide note.

No place likes perforce feeling,
no analogue solution could keep me reeling;
no amount of love could ever keep me from peeling.
I am insane and I have become the beast I worship.

So tonight I'll grab a rope,
swing from the branches till' morning.
Swing until you come into the yard mourning.

This is my apology,
for being someone
that always leaves.

This is my final number,
a jazz tap finish to a life
of blunders.

Do I need to remind you again?
No place likes perforce feelings,
not now; not ever in a millenium.

Light the highest fires, or
burn the tallest trees,
I would never **** myself,
there's far too much to see.

Does that make it worse?
Not being able to "do it" but
thinking all the time that
surely "today will be the day"
and I will one day be forgotten, erased?

Oh, you've forgotten already,
no place likes perforce feelings,
everything you do; it's beautiful.
You should really be in a magazine,
as for me; I belong where the ocean screams.

I want to lay down in a ditch,
with my balloon and my gun,
wait until the morning comes,
just to watch the sun.

Then I will put it slowly
to my temple, aiming the barrel
like a confetti tube to a birthday long ago.
And in those little hearts was innocence.
We used to play war in the yard.

They never told me how real it would be,
how much it would scar.
God, we used to play war in the yard.

It takes a while to pull the coherent thought out of my mind. Like trying to rip a snake from the inside of it's tree trunk. As soon as one is finally caught, there remains another hundred that grow and grow over time.

thoughtless, uninspired, trying to think but at the same time tired.

I like to think I'll follow through with my mind, and
exercise the intelligence I know only comes out in waves.

Being insane is like running with scissors-     you're in danger of yourself until you eventually fall. It takes a while to get up again from that.