i want to break bad,
but i'm too lame.

i think i would rather
sleep
sleep
sleep
(if i could...)

hide and hibernate
cover myself in dirt and blend
in with the trees
and  birds and squirrels

i don't know how
to break bad
and do something new

so i fill my mind
with stories of
robots
monsters
and ordinary men
that do magic
ordinary women
that are fierce and bold

i scribble and write and cry.
and who needs that?

no one.

i don't know how much longer
i can keep this up
retreating into this empty space
...because now i feel
like i deserve it
like i should
be in this miserable place

i want to break bad,
become a ****-head
and a big ol' ****

i want to break bad
and be satisfied
with meaningless tasks

but i can't

and it's infuriating

because banging my head
against this wall
hurts

i don't know if i can get out of this.

i don't feel like i can survive this.

but every day i try not to
think any further
than the moment i'm in

or else i will be
s l a m m e d
with panic
and terror
and a sense of helplessness

i want to break bad.
i want to have clarity.
i don't want to be alone.

**i don't want to be alone.

why does
the world have
to look so
beautiful sometimes...
sunlight filters
through trees
kids fling water
up from the creek
to catch light in air
in my ear
smooth
spanish
groove
and it all
makes me
want to cry
because i can't appreciate
a moment
everything beautiful
is so f l e e t i n g
everything hard
and hateful
lingers
and sticks
you can't just
******* have something
good.
you can't.

during a melt
d
o
w
n

in college
i saw a counselor
that told me to face my fear of
the worst possible events happening
use my voice to project the probabilities out loud
would i lay down and die? doubtful. say what you would do.
it doesn't seem so bad when it's specific...
it's a cloud of random doom that seems unthinkable.
you realize it's all do-able
a little at a time
you will survive

but now                                            
that is where i live              
in the                              
subterranean gloom
with well thought through
foreknowledge of the worst
possible events
and my likely
miserable reactions

so i watch my life
c oll Aps e
and i want to
laugh hysterically

*******. *******. *******. and *******.                                              
what the **** am i supposed to do?                                                    

reinvention is jolly,
they say
Ha!

Bah - it was just a job
another will just POP up
any moment
HA!
                                                      ­  (someone seriously help me,
i'm laughing so hard i'm choking)

Gah!
who needs a mate?
not me!

solitary confinement
sure pumps out poetry
in extreme quantity,
this i will confess

solitude is good
i like quiet
  music  
movies    
writing
    reading
   wine

but pray tell,
do you realize
how many hours
there are
in
one
*******
day?
when your purpose is
torn from you?
and you are left to wander
the earth alone
to find a new life mission
or the least miserable substitute?

            have you felt the                          
    gut-wrenching longing
alone in bed
in
(utter silence)
night
after
night
after
night?
not for love past
but for love new
for lust
for touch
to not feel alone
in the world

at times
i feel like a
person made of
the thinnest glass
with some nasty creature
perched on my shoulder
laughing horribly
sharpest pin always touching me
hammer always raised in the air
ready to strike.

whatever.

you're going to tell me everything is going to be fine, right?

yeah.

i cried last night
and this night
i wrapped myself in misery
and sat alone
in the dark
feeling my despair
and alone-ness

take note,
not my usual
the universe is vast
i am in the void
loneliness
i can handle that
i am used to that

just a
i don't want to be alone tonight
alone-ness
a
what the hell is going on?
alone-ness

but
realist that i am
i knew no one was
coming for me
and
i would call
for no one else

the key to a semi-happy life
is simply
sufficient distraction
just the right
balance
of passion
and love
and energy
that's it.

so i distracted myself
shook off
my gravity pulling sadness
by turning on m u s i c
turning lights down
moving hips to sound
putting wine to mouth
(peanut m&m;'s don't hurt)
and neither does
other writer's
poetry

see?
i'm ok
distracted
by my distractions
in circles of vibrating
cycles of wants and
distractions

don't tell
but i'm keeping a
few secrets from you
i'm hiding some of
my words
i'm frustrated
by the way
my words fly out
or don't

hush.

it's exhausting
keeping myself
on the road
to happiness

ha.

i like the way
cats fight.*

slow,
methodic,
orchestrated,
precise.

a dance
entwined in
invisible
thread

magnetic,
graceful.

the utmost
dignity.