There's nothing left
of all that could've been
except my empty shudder
inside this chest,
begging to rot
from the outside in
where lust equals death
where death equals trust
where nothing,
(nothing at all)
keeps me alive
for the nothing that's left.

...my puppet on a string
mistaken feelings
a mixed drink of
clutched-breathed *******
and red-road nail marks?

Your hand,
(fingers spread)
palm pushed knuckle-white to the wall, shakes.

I am behind you...

My free hand:

pulls your hair like a leash...
breaking against your ***...
held firmly over your wet, open mouth...
wrapping around to *******,
polishing your pearl,
collar of fingers...

Scold this abrasion
in weakling poses
dance with me,
Memory.

Awaken me
in the hold of your breath,
stilted in the lapse.

Our lights are bending
beneath the weight
of your gravity...

let it go before they break.

I'm swallowing pieces of paper,
dissolving the fragments of
your holy ghost on the
moist surface of my tongue,
the one that still means
all the lies it told.

So I am shaving my eyebrows off,
over this white porcelain sink
(it was never as pure as you),
sanding my fingers down to nubs,
and licking razors until
the tongue is gone,
and only the truth of silence remains.

Love has an empty story to tell,
and I am sick of listening.

Warmth rises
so smoothly my fingertips
trace geoglyphs,
markings for the gods to see,
from whence you descend upon
mi vida y yo estoy Feliz,
permanence permeates
as our droplets of sweat glide
from my white flesh
onto your coffee-with-creamer
skin of mocha.

Oh, to get my hands upon your frame,
to mold you,
to hold you,
to *******.
To watch your eyes gloss and fade,
as your identity fades into

a glazed expression of
all the gains,
all the lost hopes,
all the joy,
all your dreams,
as all your existence collapses
into a single few moments of freedom
from yourself.

Spun out of control,
consummated consumption wrought us together,
but now you need space

but there's no air for me to
breathe in space, where I am
left.
The well of your gravity keeps me close,
insides vacuuming out as I stare
helpless
at your blue white corona holding the one thing that would save me,

(drowning in an inch of water,
oxygen so near but impossibly far...)

if only it would pull me
back in again.

The stars comfort you,
but there are none here visible,
as my eyes shed their blood vessels
to the nothing that coldly cradles me.

I'm dying out here,
baby,
and I don't want to get
lost
in
this
space.

Put me in your pocket,
keep me safe
like the paper fragment
I wrote this on
and never gave to you.

If today were my last day,
taken away by my disease,
I want you to know
that love has never been
so pure,
easily because of you.
I would want you to
smile,
love,
live,
even if I couldn't any longer.

I'd want you to keep her safe
because I couldn't,
if today were my last day.

Shudder the alarms,
I won't burden you with this weight
so fly
free
and come
back to
me.

I deleted your photos
from my ******* facebook
cover album today.

I went to change it and your face,
beautiful,
took me by surprise.

You left is such a hurry,
in such a dark plastic wrap gesture
that I've already started to
forget what you look like.

Inside my chest.
Inside my mind.
From all the dreams I've left behind.

So much flesh,
crushed beneath
a metal press

and like my mercurial mind,
it flows from solid wax
to running oil

The smell of
the tropics,
and ***.

I've got a ring
I don't wear it.

Even though it's on my finger,
you see,
it wears me.

I have this gold wrapped
around my finger -

For when you aren't near
For when I can't lay in your arms
For when I need to be held,
your ring holds me.

If only I could cleanse you,
sponge your body away and out into clarity,
find some emptiness to replace you with
the exit you took took the taken moments
further than I'd have liked them to go.

You bled,
I bleed,
help me staunch the bleeding,

and I don't know how to deal with your loneliness.
It's the one thing
you have left behind
with me.

I've been looking up
to the stars every day

knowing

that though I can't see you
you are still here.

Just a drop
on your tongue.

An act of
charity.

This morning I  smelled the sunshine,
and thought of you.

Immediately.
Suddenly.
Instantly.

And like
the storming ache within my heart,
the longing of you
left me
vacant.

There's a clear stretch of land ahead
of that broken dessert landscape
shattered in atrophy and assumptions,
wrong.

The things I took for little,
weren't.

That stretch is ahead,
though our heels are leaning back on the precipice
behind.

Ahead may seem empty,
but it's not.

I'm filling it with a road lined with dates,
trees a girl draws in journals, hope and want.
And just like those tree sketches,
skulls growing into cartoons that are non-threatening,
in black and white
like your face concentrating into that mirror
on March 5th,
the road will lead to wherever
we need to go.

I'm not asking for much...just a
sliver of something to
hold onto.

I only want someone to love me
when we are old,
for the things they loved me for,
when we were young.

The days fall together
like books falling
from a shelf.

The walls have faces
where the clocks
lost hands.

And it is,
so it is,
and shall be
in a cascade of
goose-flesh
and
happiness.

It must be nice
to be surrounded by green
to be in a safe place
to seek the therapy you need
to break away
to wrap yourself in yourself until yourself emerges again.

It must be nice
to not be left behind.

My scars
are etched
by tears
like canyons
along my cheeks.

I can't see anything else, I've become blind
from staring into your eyes, like stars.

I see your silhouettes standing like
empty ghosts

everywhere I look around this city,
on the static sidewalks,

and like the stars etched into your shoulder blades,
I paint inside your lines
with the colours
of my heart.

I hate suicide
I wish it would **** itself

RIP
Jim
Woody
Arkheem
Tim

Oh,
what a sweet rapture
it must be
to never feel
the sting
of love.

If I write it in words
here on the screen
how much remains
between what seems, and what's real?

Just like in the movies,
I'm running to her,
just like I had dreamed.

She opens herself once again,
like the light playing through the blinds
yellow fingertips creating shadows,
I enter you.

This reunion...
happily ever after all the things
we have been through,
and I am here again in your body,
the only place I ever felt I honestly
belonged...

But this isn't the movies.
There is no reunion.
There is only a pale black noose
and my life is
on the
edge.

Wrapped like candy in your skull
the skin crawling off the bone,  
exposing your white lie life.

"You'll end up the same as him, you know."

His cigarette burnt the faded complications of my life.

"Yeah. I know."

It's so much easier
letting go,

Tossing away the life we both wore
like a sleeping bad for two,
and finding your own,
made for one.

It's so much easier
than laying alone
with too much room left over,
your only new companion
the anxious embrace
of insomnia.

When you are tired, feeling alone
please know that I am waiting for you
in our home.

When shadows run marathons to catch
and hold you down,
blocking out the bright night sky
making the stars seem so far away
you only need to come to me
rest your face in my palm

Where the starlight of your eyes
reflects in and back out of mine
and pushes back the shadows
and you no longer feel alone
in our home.

It was a blurred mirror
on that Sunday morning,
the wall, black
stretching above there is nothing
but shattering little words
that fell
into his sleep.

I want to hold my breath
like I thought I'd hold you - forever

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.

Fly, little bird
find your peace
know you were loved
fighting against growing up
for years
together.

From "we love Satan"
to "Franken-Mamma"
to late night rides
and jumping medians at 2AM
facing head-on collisions
with life.

So fly, little bird
the time is now,
fly.

I have never meant a thing
(laying in my blood...seeping)
like the title I've given you.

But how far have we come?
The miles we've traversed are benevolent ice:
we fly,
frictionless,
into each other.

Love destroys.
That is only to say,
"Love makes room."

I used to
burn for you,
now I
burn away.

I purge sans binge
I ***** scars onto everyone around me.
My guilt: a summation.
Now, if I could only figure out why
I keep sticking fingers down my throat.

The ocean surface
spills into a sinking vessel
and
     I
        am
       d r   i   f      t       i           n                g

I'm still
just a little
boy
wondering,
"What happened?"

She only has so much weakness to bleed,
so much effort to save,
so much anxiety to drain.

I've painted enough words.
You get the point,
but there is less a period.

I've often wondered if, why, when, and how much
it weighs.

It weighs exactly as much as the leaves
you wear upon your hair.

There is no greater clarity,
No greater freedom,
than a pistol barrel
in your mouth.

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

Pressure,
withstood
at the promise
of jewels.

Beads of water
cling to the glass edge
I glide along.

A halo
of blonde blacklight
Skin, stretching
A canvas
Luminous
The shadows
are wet

"How do you carry
the weight
of memories?"
I asked.

She looked at me,
tears filling her eyes.

I don't write for you.
I don't write for even myself.
I write for simply no reason
and so very much less.