bleach
the pink splotches on my not white clothing are because of you

dilute it and you have soap
drink it and you've got death

hum and click your fingernails if they're long enough to reach the table

rub it into your skin and forget your parents' identity
clean the counter with it

bleach

Utter control
I call myself God
Flint and stone my ******* and thumb
The wood that is consequence
Come alive by the flame from my fingers and my nod
I call myself God

Losing a poem;
It’s a taste of dementia
The loss of a part of you
Coming apart
Lost more than paper and pen
Lost important thoughts birthed on a deeper level
Million dollar ideas only because they’re sentimental
Your only success in life
The only one that matters to you
The one that matters to you the most

I've seen how the loss of industry can decimate a town.

Like when that yo-yo factory was closed down
and the workers all hung themselves from lampposts
and just bounced up and down.

Up and down.

The static in the tv
Crawls out to me
A significant black widow
Painted alive by the darkness
Black in my room
I’ve lost myself but find it again
Slump my head and watch the alarm clock glow
And count lazily way passed 4 a.m.
It’s been too long since I’ve met the dawn happily
Attempting the smile, I feel
Alike a lying man

Frigid
Slow beginnings
Sped up by a beginner's luck
Damage to the joints
Exhausted ligaments
Ice chip knee caps
Protecting you from a poisonous prayer bed, blinding white
Snow
Blue lips bluer beside pale skin
Pale fingertips; becoming one with the blizzard
We should go
But no,
Up! Heave-**!
The snow is seeping through my coat
The restlessness of an ugly fate seems to tighten around our numb ankles
I feel like you say it through the roaring
sheets of ice burying us
"We won't be making it back down"

Sometime one day I'll bury a hefty hatchet
Feel the weight slip off my shoulders
Right before I collapse
Into the grave I dug for myself
In the woods where quarrels end
Where anyone can lose their beginning