is it when you're born
or when you decide to start living?

not a quite room
not a night in a country cabin
not an awkward silence
real silence you can feel
its like all the air got ****** out of the room
real silence has its own sound
and its scarier than anything I've ever heard

a cigarette rests between her lips
one hand resting against her hips
a true smile on her face
one the world can't take

why are the best poems always about death
Blake, Thoreau, Poe, Dickinson, Wilcox, Frye
maybe it's a comfort knowing what to expect  
I'll tell you what it was like for me to die
it is THE most:
terrifying
emotional
eye opening
and awful experience
I've ever lived through
you just sit there
there's nothing you can do
except try and fight it
but that never works
you feel yourself slip a bit
your eyes feel like they're about to burst
tears are now flying
you resign yourself to dying

my mom slumped over the stove lighting another cigarette
the gas burner clicks on
she leans in dangerously close to light her smoke
she tries to go to the couch
tries to stumble out of the kitchen
she only makes it to the fridge
using it as balance she says some slurred sentences
me and my sister ask what's wrong
more slurs
she finally wobbles to the couch
she passes out with the cigarette still lit

I'm not an idiot or anything
I just make stupid mistakes
its not something I can change
a symptom of the way I was made
I guess I just have to be this way

society isn't working out
we need to slow down
its like it's a big race
that nobody asked to join in the first place
we should just restart
try it all again
let all the rules come from the heart