I write as my past self
most of the time, with small
intrusions from my present
I can't decide if its dishonest
to be a poet in the mind of
a depressed mess when I am
far beyond that point
I just don't have anything
to write about anymore...
But somehow I'm okay with that
Because nothing terrifies me more
than having a new tragic story
to share with you

i want to live in a city
          where street lights are a constant
     sound echos when people sleep
                   but for all the unfortunate souls
the insomniacs
            they're up and moving
     brains ticking over
                                           but it's not so bad
         there's the echo of the city
                 and the constant light
                                           maybe there are others
                    i'm not alone in
     insomniac city

                                            i am in the country
                       the crickets sleep
                                  clouds cover the moon
                                             it's too dark and quiet
                           my mind ticks over more
              i wish
              i lived in
              insomniac city

99 cent wars, rooftops, Gibraltar Screaming "god bless the fabulous" Christs;

In the eyes of years
Man is king only over that which breathes,
So let's throw hugs in the air,
sit on flowers and vanish to Cook stones on the hips of Cleopatra
with all of December's left footed children

For through the cried ***** tears of furry German banana caskets,
Eternity awaits
In the failures of our greatest triumphs,

So let's dance

After all, Psychological Wednesday societies
Are only good for curing Xbox manifestos and Tuesday sanities

And if we died one day,
it sure won't be yesterday.

We sat in a circle
chain smoking
between bowl packs
and bitter shots
We almost forgot
what it was like
when our lives
revolved
solely
around
crowd surfing
at cheap shows
We almost forgot
how it felt
to care so much
about
anarchy
and
atheism
We lost our hearts
somewhere
between
the
long shifts
and
hospital trips
We have so much
more
than we did back then
But we are so much
less
than we were back then
And he said
"I
would
overdose
tonight
if
I
had
the
*******
money.
I
would
end
it
all
tonight
if
I
didn't
sp­end
my
last
fifty
bucks
on
gas
just
to
get
here,
just
to
see
you
­*****,
just
to
remember
to
forget
what
real
happiness
tastes
like­
because
I'm
sure
it's
sweeter
than
*******
and
warmer
than
whisk­ey"
Well
"I GUESS THIS IS GROWING UP"
That empty laugh
That makes our ears ring
Because we know
just what it's
hiding