The err isn't that I
Bear while they imbibe
Maybe entitled defines
Me and this sovereignty
The err isn't that I
Most often decline
The offer
The wine
It's such a shame that I
Only sleep open eyed
Erroneously minimize you
Passively underrate

All caution
Is gone
Pumped in blood through your heart
Drained from cuts and bruises
To the skin
Patchwork bandages
Divert hurt away from the surface
Back in, too deep, try one more time
Countless times to bleed but it won't leave
Breathe
Let the toxin escape instead on the exhale
Look over your shoulder
Breathe
While I can breathe out briefly what of all the years?
Look over your shoulder
Divert or divulge,
No change ever comes to speak

Broke, sitting with half plate
Pasta, butter, spice
Shuffle through my old clothes
I used to look nice

What is nice, but smaller?
Smaller, smaller, still
String bean and potatoes
Go fine together

The grocer tries to tell me,
"Divide, conquer, divide."
"What is nice, but smaller?"

I guess the grocer's right

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.

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?

Rejected. Cast down.
Whose boots to lick
for readmittance?
Wing clipped. Horns ground.
Whose feet to kiss
for readmittance?
Coffers emptied.
Nothing to sell
for recompense
Aim high. Take down.
Plummet from sky
face searing aflame.
Kids are just kids.
Kids will be kids.
Let them learn on their own
Sick ******* joke

Felonious bologna spread
sweet meaning lips to air
through air to ear.
Good kids grew up framed
Bad kids grew up changed
Zip burnt bone butts
Sweep the back patio
Procure snap lights
Glow sticks in darkness
Vibration received
One hand on the other's trail
White-blue red-pink
Write names with innate
Shapes in muscle memory

When the lights stop spinning --
Will the lights stop spinning?
This is the crash,
This is the fall,
I'm the water coming back down
Return from orbit and
Breaking old ******* bones
How's that for home?
When the lights stop spinning --
And they will stop spinning.
Gift of immortality in abstract.
No God, no blessing to grant.
Touchdown from orbit,
******* asteroid.
I am the master/pilot,
My body to destroy

Objection

Bankrupt blood pulses
and always has through my veins

Objection

Gender-fukt oblivion
alone rises into view

I'll never be the dollar's friend
Paper will not be mine

Objection

Bad upraising
I'll raise up worse

When I'm scared
And could not feel more fear
This is where I run to
My home is a rats' nest,
That I share with you
My home is a rats' nest
Parity. Ambivalence.
Stolen at once -- mistake
Our better days pass far behind
Is a lie my heart betrays
My home is a rats' nest
That I share with you I
Invite your adverse conditions,
Your brittle healing hands
We stole parity
by mistake
Stole ambivalence
by mistake
We have detritus decor for days.
by mistake?
On the shores of her lunacy,
the lake before the sea
hidden well
before the ugly human ocean.
We own a rats' nest.
Rats' nest.

When all the water has left
the dry Earth will sing to Sky
Return, please, return!
Both the stone pulling
and the void pulling
like to kiss in the middle
of war. Scorched turns to damp
in the end, providing our
diligence and duty to life.
It's shameful the water goes
now when such destruction
hangs in the near distance.
Diligence may no more undo
the damage, for the time
has gone as well.

Believe in me
As I you
Find as our youth
Detaches further
It hurts

I go hard in the club
Double whiskey, that's my drink
I'll meet you in the bathroom
Wash my mouth in a ***** sink
Bus home, charging Love's busted energies
Where the days old dishes drip
with sludge and collect a days old stink
Wrap my head for the pain to come
Sleep ******* thumb, dreading
The numbers will repeat
And replete with melancholy
Accept the pattern will repeat

Believe in me
As I you
Find as our youth
Detaches further
It hurts

That feel when
re-burn fills bowl
Queen/King
out of gold
No clean smoke
No hairy rip
I scavenge
for oasis in glass
ash trays
Expect the soft
kiss and faint
*** sweat of old dreams
but the smoke
blows out and once
more the world shifts
For free

What's the problem?
Root out psychic weakness for clarity.
Get a clue. Find fear with his pants pulled down.
Grease him up. Marvel at the grasp you have
When it is your grasp is cast. Take control.
Write it out. Of a pen, venom dipped, or on LCD.
Create targets. Release your load. Watch what
You thought killed you explode. Say your prayer.
Kiss dementia on the cheek. Find your tools
To craft relief, send your sinking self to sea
Sit on the water, in twilight above and far gone.
Wait for that bony fingered knock again,
That **** is infinitely recurrent.

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

To answer your question from earlier with a newfound clarity, we're over. I've been ready to let go, but unable to budge an answer from the woman of such few words. Well, tonight she dropped me, and it's official. She punched my sheet and gave it back for the last time, passing me back into the world without a hurtful word like I'd been her best employee.

What's it going to be like now, as the human slingshot? All the emotions long left to the side return to the hole the skeleton of our dull relationship dug from the dense pulp of my longing body. I'll be a bullet, the smallest pebble, toward a target picked at random.

That's what's called a faulty firing pattern. For all I've tried, the SSRI won't fix my inability to grasp the practice of foresight, so for once I'll have to really think about putting my foot in the door. A road like that leads to nothing but the worst I have to offer, and the worst the world finds it can give in return.

I want to love, but I don't want to date. What is dating? I feel too old, and if you tell me I'm not old by any standard, then I feel like I missed something. I want to love, but I want to do. As I do, I want to meet. And if I never, then that's fine. But I'd rather meet and make the silent hard sell in a moment of the truest definition of fiery, urgent complacency, than pick through peers and lovers like I'm at a thrift store bin.

What I want, is to do what I want, and do what I know I shouldn't do, while sometimes pretending it's this great disaster that I report in writing, type into boxes on screens that lead directly to the people most likely to benefit from hearing about repeated and semi-purposeful crash and burns.

My perpetual hope is that I'll catch lust's throbbing hand so well wrapped around my throat that I'll simply die. That I'll choke and choke until you, whoever you are, break the bones away and choke my lungs with blood. I hope for the spastic gasps that you'll confuse for last breaths, when I'm actually having an ******.

Define normal
Within deviations
Sound limited, what could I say
To truly reach you?
Defended, I pray only
To breach through

The water burns my toes cold
It wasn't worth the wait or the waste for this day
I feel like the love I gave you
I really gave to myself because I saw me in you
Now that we're both gone
Would it be so absurd to truly love ourselves?
Spying through wires in space
You look rough, almost like you never learned
If you saw me would you say I'm better?
If you looked would you take me for someone else?

If I met you again, I'd put the past behind
In the end, the most difficult truth is,
we were looking and lost, fundamentally flawed
nothing more

What if we could make a place ours?
Fire for heat, flat for wheel, safe.
Free from the warning orange.

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

Hit too hot hit too hot
Now my throat burns
Watching Workaholics
I'd say Blake is my favorite
His hair is cute I like his face
Wild red hair creating umbrella space
Flick the engraved Zippo the gift from wifey
Blunt in the bowl smoking
Spent ten on a three
My other lover might sit with us soon
Three in a room sharing hands
Possibly kisses, massive attack
Playing mezzanine we'll either touch
Each others' skin or carry conversation
As it turns out I've found peace with
Either outcome or any other potentiality
While it's pleasing to be receiving I'll be
Lying if I tell you I don't appreciate the fine
Details in simply spoken word between us

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.