I don't even know what to say anymore
I've used the word word and words
too many times and I'm in
something of a rut
dominated by a state of nigh infinite flux
the problem is I'm aiming an empty gun
at yellow iron ducks, red horned devils
thinking the same few thoughts again, again,
again, stuck casting such dark spells
spinning the wheel, ever on the carousel
all i do is cast dark spells
all i do is tell true stories
as if they were tall tales
when i could scribe my life
as if it were fiction

Bored on the internet, so see what I find.
I'm taken back to that moment in the past
When I met the droop-eyed star and starlet.
Look what Twitter has. Their pale face framed
and recreated, pixel perfect, inundated.
Talking in circles.
Talking highly of
Your self --
Like you're above the tower seat of power,
In the clouds. You're a mental case. How
you gonna love yourself so much?

It started raining on the day you left. It's not stopped raining one day since. I like it, though. You know I love bad weather, and now I drown in it. You know I love you. Certain things won't and will never work. Now, with your name in lights, my life is even less lit. Can you even seen me in the furthest dark from your star? My bed may as well be chrome, my head a mini-ATX, I'm on autopilot. Toward destruction, I run open armed and face first. The wind and drag remind me of our excitement, of living with the fires lit. I'll die in it, and take all our artificial memories with me.

What if I just sat myself in the chair with open ears to silence?
In quiet, would the voices play over and over, even then?
What if I unplugged myself for a moment, no longer?
Would it be time enough to see the vitriol I become?
In quiet, would my love be renewed?

In quiet, would I realize the pain created by hating the hater?
More than disparate views, I hate anger. I hate violence.
The master's walls resist the master's tools, I read it.
Even she, she would despise my guise. "Oh, really?"
She'd maybe say, "Get lost. Be gone." I feel it.

What do I do when I'm part of the crew hated?
Do I spend my days hiding or out fighting?
What do I do when I'm part of the crew hated?
What if I want to change minds and hearts slowly?
What if sudden, forceful changes break us?
I think you know the answer -- we're primed to explode

And I don't
Believe a racist, transphobe will ever love me, or learn me.
And I don't
Believe a word, a turn of phrase, deserves a bullet in the brain.
And I don't
Believe for a second that I'm anything but truly naive.

And I don't
Believe that's bad.

Not thoughtless
   enough to  ****  all day long
Not thoughtful
   enough to  escape the hood
Not petty
   enough to  market my  ancient little lies
Not honest
   enough with my  self  to
   out  grow  these twisted  vines

   All along, I've been
friends, only with the pen
   The pen is kind to me
when  I've  blown  my
chances, myself
   Slice  a  Y  you'll find
   The  heart  is  pa - per
   The  blood  has taken ink

   All along, I've been
friends, only with the pen
   All along, I've not been my own  by
extension, not myself
   No way I ever was
   If you could only see me now  my
friends

Crazy is the medicine
as is what the body does
Blood let won't be of my own
Problems? Come find
my home, secluded precipice
Hold up your hand
still it of the trembles
willingly consign
worry at the cost of
all you own

Medicine, come fight me!
Split existence, split to wind.
I'm paper, aren't I?
The weaker of the two.
You're ink, aren't you?
You will do.

Within a sea of many troubles

My heart goes

Unwilling as the body, too

Last made my bed in sheets of fire

Eager, so faithful of the blue

Universal
You know the bandage pull
And how they say you should
Remove in one yank?
Oh, for comfort, true.
I've got the addiction
Just like you.
Meet me on the carpet crisscross
And we can slowly tug the
Adhesive for the pain we need
Over days. Better yet, stay.
We can hide ourselves for years.

Do you remember pooping while you were high?

No.

Pooping when you're high is like waving goodbye to your best friend in slow motion.

We need to do our taxes, that would help.

Don't we have another month?

For once I think I'll speak clearly. My hands are a megaphone.
I feel like my legs are buried in paper up to the iliopsoas.

                                                                           do you feel it?

I am improper syntax incarnate. My hands are up to my mouth.
I feel like I call to you and you won't visibly position yourself.

do you feel it?

What a tragic life to be terribly lonely so overtly by my own design.
Words I should easily speak disguise in the esoteric words I write.

                              i feel you.
               i do

in fact like an acid trip dusted over days i hang onto every letter

and in the subtle twisting of the pen your vibrations enter my eyes
and in the drumming of your zealous fingers against the keyboard
and in the tapping at the glass as you ignore your text messages

your affecting verse travels my arterials and fills my chest with life

     are we alike?

I can't help but ask it. I sit puffing cherry pie,
feeling quite abandoned. You know the story.

Do you feel absolutely sundered by your insides?
Can't stop the gnawing unless you actualize your leaden brain.

     well adjusted to deep addiction to discord.

and i join your audience in admiration of the grace absent in myself

Save my life
        It's nothing but wasted.
Pull aside
     the green, leaden curtain.
Of envy, it fills my
            every move with deadened motion.
          Come inside, won't you?
Save my life
From        a c c i d e n t a l        hurt
        From despair too
   Carelessly placed to
Be on       p u r p o s e.

What if it was?
Would you trust me?
Enough to relax,
eyes rolled back?
I don't promise much,
and I can't promise
a soft place where
and when I drop you.

              I'll d r o p you.

Do you know when to stop drinking?
Do you know how to smoke less ****?
Do you know where you're headed,
Do you know what you'll do when you get
To where you're going, why you go,
Or who you'll try to meet when you get there?

I don't know so, please, please would you stop asking?

So I'll turn it all around and ask you instead,
What is it you get from raking up my mistakes?
If you see them all in piles in the first place,
Why would you take me blind to it with
my display so prominent?

Most people want me dead
Or speak of me with regret
fit for stage and silver screen
tragedies -- but I'm not gone
as if I'd be much better off.

My family kept me close at heart
I'm a privileged *****, who
lives as well as possible --
I don't know what that means
but I seem better off.
I feel better off.

Paycheck to the next I do
a self sensual low light dance
as if my insides don't grind
in the race for cash at hand
We're better off. I'm not gone,
but better off dead. We're
better off dead.

This tributary
Happy accident
Shyness
Flagrance
Deeply inspected

This notorious
Dearth, designed my life
So why
Not write
Why not paint pictures?

The donor with the ink
The spread recipient
Left and stayed

The ink that he left fades
The fade that he left stains
She made the mistake of
Looking for love as an anchor

Two lovers' worth or lack alike
Fabricate their draft designs
I'm incomplete, a mess
Two lovers' worth or lack alike
Fabricate their draft designs
A complete mess

Best if I reverse design
and I publicize
notorious dearth as proper opulence

Pardon me, I've been thinking
My friend,
what if I could save myself?
Your intoxicating
scent on my neck
has seemed to have kept me
anticipating
my gasping last breath
but, pardon me, I've been thinking
what if I could reach in
through steam in
the mirror
and remove your ******* tongue
so you can't taste me anymore?
If these dreams I keep
really are so sweet, you'll
forgive me for
keeping
the sanctum away from nightmare

what are we, i ask myself
   i own
      no statement
only feeble questions

i see your blushing face asleep on trash
but i could never see my freezing heart
at ease at the fire's eager edge, only in it

now i offer life anew at your brick and mortar altar
where once i'd incinerate my own skin
maybe if i pray hard, i'll pray your apathy away
when words are all i have to give
it's the most fitting gift to receive

i suppose
      so

when i consign my primal urge to dead space
i consign in full view of destinies lost
grow dead to human touch

sniffing all the lacquer off your short nails
quick to bed, while high i await morning's rise
wakeful through the night, tooth to lip

   my wanting hand

      silently crawls

     my tender thigh

Painlessly, you squeeze my drying heart
To expunge words you put in me
I'm almost dry
This time
When I'm
A ******* desert I'll
Soak, **** syllables inside
If once more I pin your fragile arm to wall
This time
We'll know manipulation
is in my nature

My heart was mine in day til night
She came and stole my life
In cold, beneath streetlight
In her leather and jeans
Like she knew just what
She wanted, and she did
I'm glad the innocence
At first kept back the fiery truth
That you were so much like me
That I was much like you
Or else I'd not have stolen yours, too

Tastes like there's something in the water
No word from the wise yet, of recompense
Who put this zombie in me?
I trudge, judge, shamble, stumble
Who put this zombie in me?
I speak in numbers
I see in perfect white blank
Space that makes me thirsty