Oh to hang (calm down)
from the neck (i said relax)
of you (see?)
but not like a necklace (how cliche')
but an albatross (as i do).

There's a Greyhound destination
stolen from the eerie
little pieces of falsetto voice carrying me
through the end of times like
Revelation could make you wet,
I'll make you ***,
split between what should be
and
what was done.

Because everyday I fall
a little bit
behind.

The first time I ever heard the term
"Manic-Depressive,"
I was seventeen.

I walked into Andy's house,
to see the oil of his father
splayed across the couch,
in a still pool of ink.

"That's my dad. He's
Manic-Depressive,
and just gets like that sometimes."

I painted that memory into the fire of my brain,
carrying with me the fever dreaming,
the terror,
the praying to never be
like Andy's dad.

did you ever fall
into the deep end?
he looked as though to fall
but in the end, he dove.

I've collected Fathers like trading cards.
My first is the very common, "Abandonment Dad."
I've also got the "Distant Stranger and Sometimes Estranged Dad."
Then, I've got doubles of "Dead Dad."
If you have the rare "Decent Dad,"
I'd gladly trade a double.

Weight presses
concludes everything,
decides what is nothing,
whips an errand boy to its whim.

Pressure,
withstood
at the promise
of jewels.