It's the ones that get a hit, maybe two
That'll shred your soul apart
It's the poets with followers a few
Who's writing pierces the heart.

It's the poems that you can't believe aren't trending
That are worth a read and then another
It's the poems that are beautiful and rending
That should be on this site's cover.

I've ****** it up, I've tried
to rearrange the order,
or cut the syllables symmetrically.
I've only showed you the worst
I've got to offer.
Wanted to help,
but
when I was traveling
a syringe tainted
complex or sleeping
where the roof
caved in and
drip,
drip,
dripped next to
my head;
I've known it too.
Cut me out, it's my fault,
my feet hit the pavement
like a cliche. Everything's a cliche.
Complex sleeping.
Everything is elusive and dark,
and slippery and larger than
life. Some nights I almost cry.

Gripping to you is the best workout I've ever tried
Because you're slippery, elusive, when I've got a hold
Returning to water when I thought I had ice.

I've developed an emotional carpal tunnel over the years
My hands are leather hard and my knuckles bleed
And it hurts so much it brings me to my knees; to tears.

I've never let go though; the day I saw you was the day I--
The moment I saw you was the moment I knew I--
The words that elude me now will be said when you're mine.

I've found pity in the eyes of every person I've confided to
Which I can't stand because you've never been anything short of,
Never been anything wrong, the best thing I've been through.

There's a strain on my muscles from holding onto hope this way
My shoulders are ever-tense, my back bowed under the weight
And I'm vulnerable in this position, but come what may.

I'm not fool enough to pledge to emotions for you with a common phrase
But should you ever return everything I've yet to say, yet to accept
I would gladly accept a loss of commonsense, would gladly change my ways.

I hurt through the day, yet it is no matter, I hurt through the night too
But the pain may be worth it in a decade, or less, as I hope
For a day when I can without fear whisper, scream, say, "I-        ."

Until then, my knuckles may bleed red until I'm dry and dead.
Until then, my hands may harden to rock until they fall off.
Until then, my body may hurt and ache but I will wait for the day.

Love is seeing you in the bottom of my coffee,
It's feeling a cigarette burn into my skin,
It's hearing your voice cracking in the branches of my trees,
It's watching the moon turn red in April and not being able to focus on the stars anymore,
It's staring into my drawers, feeling my fingernails scratching the wood looking for change,
Its licking a lit match,
And finding a golden dollar in your backyard under the sandbox,
It's getting in a car crash at 60 mph on a congested highway and never being able to drive again without thinking about hitting a concrete wall,
It's holding your ******* hand and your cold skin and knowing it has nothing but warmth underneath,
And its wanting to die before I hit thirty.
It's burning, it's certain, and it's haunting.
I'll never be without that.

Let's be children for a day (for a year)
And forget where the hell we came from
.
.
.
Forget where we're going.
We'll run and play and smile
And leave our nihilistic thoughts coughing in the dust.

Then we'll grow up all over again in a second
And files taxes while staring at a blank TV screen
Until we realize there's nothing more to do besides cry
Besides scream
Besides laying down and waiting for death to visit.

We'll clean the house until it's ***** and
We'll invite over a party of the entire world
And together we'll dance in a vertigo of color and light...
Until the last soul has gone home.
And we'll grow up all over again for the first time in a second.

We'll remember fear and send that country home.
We'll remember hate and send those people home.
We'll remember society and dress those people like us.
We'll remember money and haggle with that nation before we head to work.
We'll remember anger and fight and take that country's home for ourselves.

Now that we've grown up, we'll sneer at that dropout on the streets.
And that family who can't afford another bill.
And that mother without a husband.
And that husband with a husband.
And that wife with a wife.
And that child who's pursuing art.

See, now that we've grown up, we can't be seen with them.
We've grown too heavy for the clouds our heads used to live in.
Our heads are too dense for us to look up at old dreams.
But our hands are still light enough to tie a tie
And button our dress shirts.
Light enough to pay the train fare
And hand in a daily report to the boss.

I don't need a rhyme scheme to describe humanity.
There's nothing beautiful about it.
There's nothing that incites a beat.
I don't need a rhyme scheme for this.
I don't need to write a song without music
For something that never knew how to sing.

Where's the beauty without the cracks?
What is color without black?
Where's the the love without the hurt?
What is success without work?

I like you better broken
You look prettier when you bleed
I like you better torn open
There's music in your screams.

Where's the happy without the sad?
What is lucid without knowing mad?
Where is life without death?
What is having if nothing left?

I like you better shattered
Sharp edges glitter in moonlight.
You look so beautiful hurting
In too much pain to sleep at night.

The pieces don't fit, who's going to fix it?
You can't stand, can't sit, who's going to fix you?
The bleeding won't quit, who's going to fix it?
Fight or flight, run or hit, who's going to fix you?

I like you better broken
There's nothing here to mend.
I like you better bleeding
With your heart in my hand.

With your heart in my hand.

Fireworks that spray paint
brain matter and bits of tongue
like obscenities in a bathroom stall.
Spray paint everything yellow.
Own everything. Burn everything.
**** everything. Invade it;
infect it, vivisect your name
as an iron-on patch into it's guts.
Stitch it in close to something necessary.
A little bit of everything dies.
Anything that can be possessed,
umbrella of oppressions.
Prancing.
You'd make me cry just to see if it's possible.
You'd push me off the edge to see how close I am.
You'd push me off the edge to see how fast I fall.
You'd step on my fingers to see if they bleed.
You'd stomp in my teeth to see if they crack.
You'd spit on the corpse to see if it hydrates.
Cartwheeling.
Anything abrasive, anything slightly toxic,
something disgusting to indulge in.
**** the gardens, **** the rivers and lakes;
Died in a boar's den,
died in the stomach of a volcano,
gave it three days and decided
death suits one just fine.
Pieces
of
dishes
stuck between your toes.
A rainbow in violent undertones,
the ROYGBIV of slashing motions.
Tax exempt.
Cartwheeling.
A little bit of everything dies.