New years are depressing,
I don't want to go to the next one,
I don't want to grow older,
With life I am done,
Every year I grow weaker,
And more insecure,
Every new year,
Is a fear,
Of getting closer to death,
Of losing people,
Of being alone......,
Another year,
Another tear,
Happy new year.

~

in sympathy, in honor, in horror
with those whose heads are shaved
against their free will

and to uncover
my nakedness before you,
as prisoner, as victim, as poet,
nothing must come between us
even this:

and yet,
the prickly stubble head resprouts
soon enough,
spring floral efforts
an annual reminder,
that even undisguised and exposed,
my bald palate plate,
is just another nether hiding place

~

The trees sway
The leaves rustle
Far from life's
Busy bustle

The creek bubbles
The frogs croak
Far from everyone's
Fake hoax

It peaceful here
And serenely silent
Far from being
Crazy and violent

The woods are where
I like to go
Where other people
Will never know

P r e t t y   p e o p l e
W i t h   p r e t t y   w o r d s
B u t   t h e y   a r e   u g l y
T h e i r   s p e e c h   i s   s l u r r e d

They never show
Their real emotion
While people watch
Their every motion

Everything they have
Is fake
If they'd notice
They would break

They're living in
A fake reality
They need to wake up
To actuality

We always talk
Behind their backs
If they knew
They would crack

They think we love them
They think they're pretty
But they really don't
Deserve our pity

P r e t t y   p e o p l e
W i t h   p r e t t y   w o r d s
B u t   t h e y   a r e   u g l y
T h e i r   s p e e c h   i s   s l u r r e d

...

Do you even still love me?
I can't help but think that
maybe we are falling apart,
like the spine of a book.
One that we've read over
a thousand times and gotten bored of
because we know how each other ends
You know that I will smother you
And I know that you will run
And even though I know this
I track down your inky footprints
with my pillow in tow
in hopes that by suffocating you
I will take your breath away
like they do in the movies.
But we are not actors and we read no script
This bleak romantic comedy
seems nothing but a tragedy
for I have nothing romantic or funny to say
all I have is the truth in that
I feel like maybe we made a mistake
So while you place your shoes by the door,
I will sleep with my pillow  on the floor,
waiting for us to lather, rinse, and repeat
the same **** cycle
that never washes clean
Never knowing if you will run away
for good next time
Never knowing if we were fated for others
Is that why you run? To find someone else?
Is that why I push? To put you through hell?
I can't answer these questions
all I know is I'll always have
my pillow

...
maybe I should just smother myself


...