you look at your life,
and all that you see,
is brokenness
and hopelessness
as if there's nothing
standing in your place.
you look at death,
and death looks back at you.

that moment when
they tell you
that you're
cheap and disposable
like the piece of trash
that you are

how many times have
you heard that before?

they throw punches
like they throw words
little do they know
words are like scars
they leave marks
on your life
like no other

it's like no one knows
no one feels
the pain
the suffering
the weakness

they call you
a coward
they call you
weak
they laugh at you
and belittle you
they push you down
and kick you
and like all
the other beatings before,
you take it.

they tell you
I'm sorry
but they don't mean it
they only say it
because they have to.

they tell you that they'll
be there for you
be by your side
every step of the way
but they're wrong
they lied to your face
just to make themselves
feel better
only to tell you that
they're busy
you don't feel better,
heck, you just feel
alone.

they say that
they know what
you're going through
they say it's going to
get better
but it --
--
--
--
doesn't.

they ask if you're okay
but they don't mean it
they don't give a ****
about how you feel
you want them to ask
if you're happy...  

but deep down,
your mind is shredded
your body is beaten to bits
and you feel like ****.
you want to slit your wrists
hold a gun to your head
and count to three...

One.
Two.
You don't even make it
to three.
You pulled the trigger
and your mind goes
blank.
You face death
and death stares back.

You.

You'd think a grown giant wouldn't be intimidated by someone like you but its true. It's you.

All it takes is one glance at you and the kingdom I've built comes crashing down.

You have the power to rock me to my core and bring me to my knees.

And you'd think after knowing that,
I'd leave my greatest weakness-
But no.

For I need my weakness to find my strength.

It’s an internal feeling just like any other.
Both hard and soft at the same time
and always unforgiving.

You write like you mean something to someone.
Like someone is going to read your words and agree
or understand
or try to get it
but it slips past them every time.

You write like you have something to say.
Like someone cares and wants to hear.
To understand.
To agree.
To disagree.
To spill respect either way.

You write like he’ll read,
like he’ll care
and he’ll hear you once and for all.
He’ll really hear you
and won’t tell you you’re wrong
even though you’re always wrong.

You’ll write like he loves  you.
Unconditionally.
Not conditionally.
Only when you’re perfect,
perfectly quiet
not writing at all.

You write like you’re right.
Like you know.
You know what’s best.
What’s best for you
and he can’t tell you what to do.
Though he can
and he will

You write like you’ve overcome it
once and for all.
Or just once.
One time would be enough.
For now.
To start.

You write like he’ll listen.
Listen to a word you’ll say.
Or write.
Or think.
Or try to spit out
even when your tongue is as tied as a shoelace

You’ll write anyway.
When he doesn’t read.
When he doesn’t care.
When he tells you you can’t write.
When he tells you you’re wrong.
You’ve misunderstood.
You’re too sensitive.

You’ll write
and breath
and cry
and speak.

And it’ll mean something,
to someone
somewhere.
Even if it means **** to him
Because he said it was wrong.

Every time someone
Tells me that they
Know what it feels like
It frustrates me
It feels like
No one gets it
No one really listens.

You're not like me
You have no idea what
I'm going through.

Those times
Hours, minutes
That you put in;
All that effort and energy
Wasted for nothing.

Maybe it's because
I don't see it
I don't see the pay-off.
The results seem to
Be diminished.
Finished.

It just seems useless
Worthless
Like there's no point
In telling you more.
My mind and my pride
They just shatter
Like there's no one
Holding me up
No one beside me.
My trust just vanishes.

i shook hands with my priest and he told me god would listen to me
after years of talking to myself, i gave up
if this is the result of a benevolent lord, i want no part in such cruelty
every day spent suffering in this godless existence is another flirtation with the devil's temptations;
he hands me independence and assurance that this universe has no explanations
and in exchange i lose the love i might've had for myself
for a god or for life or for anyone

it's not that i need a god to explain it or to comfort me
it's that they lied when they told me a ghost was worth devoting my life to

Our love is not normal
**** all that nonsense
This is a tapestry of our real, filthy stories
This is our beautiful love

Love by the sweat of our brows and breaking on our backs

This is not innocent, sweet, romantic love
This is love with swear words, dirt, and bruises
Scabbed over wounds
And interwoven scars

Love is an Armageddon

Let’s fight my demons together
I hold the sword
You hold the faith
I’ll take the blows and you’ll feel them
You make me believe in what I’m doing

We are clad in the defective armor of past lovers
Who were not strong enough
Not brave enough
Not up to our challenge

It’s not the cliché: you and Me against the world
It’s us against and within the multiverses I (we) create, survive, live in
Some maniac deity randomly switching channels absent mindedly

There are no white flags
Just a constant (technicolor) marching crimson war banner
Beating  the aortic drums of passion
Against the stretched ribcage bars of a super nova nuclear reactor
Barely contained
Always on the verge of meltdown
Cooled only with your tender touch

Our romance is played on my fingertips
Like a jagged out of tune guitar
Angels wince and monsters dance along
To the throbbing carnal symphony

Like a rabid jackal screaming into the night
Like a mismoshed dubstep cacophony
You don’t know why it works
Never sure it will
But you can’t turn away
You like it too much

I want it painful and messy
Like rainbow mud: *****, sticky love
So I will remember to feel it
When we ask “Why the hell are we with each other?”
I want the answer to be so obviously
The only one left
“We love each other”

I promise you nothing less than the infinite multiverses of my manic imagination
You are the idol my every creation worships
This is the Phoenix burned to cinder
Rising from the ashes of our jumbled, mixed, scattered pieces
Spawns our golden child


And then she says, “Was that just a marriage proposal?”
“Honey, every word I say to you is.”