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 May 2015 aurora
Joshua Haines
I asked her why she cut herself,
and she said,
"Because death has an edge
and life is pointless."
She asked that I not
write a poem
romanticizing suicide,
just a poem about
how hard it can be
to celebrate life.
 Apr 2015 aurora
Joshua Haines
It was four o'clock in the morning. Robert wondered why his name was Robert. He decided to get rid of the "Bert" because it was the name of a Sesame Street character or the name of a ******* in Tempe, Arizona. Then again, he thought, "Hey, just Rob makes me sound like I change tires for a living or that I work out at a gym that discriminates fat people and blacks." Rob or Robert took a second to evaluate his last thought and if thinking "and blacks" made him a racist person.

Robert sat on a bench and wondered if the woman beside him was expecting Forest Gump-esque wisdom.

Robert thought of a friend he had in grade eight, named Alexander. He thought of how Alexander had a glass eye. Robert wondered how Alexander had a glass eye but could not remember or did not know why Alexander had a glass eye. Robert, then, concluded that sometimes he will not know something and how that is okay because most people don't know anything--it's a collection of approximates that stay in our heads, he thought. Robert asked himself if his last thought made him intelligent or dumb and pretentious. Robert decided that he did not know. How meta, he thought. Robert, then, decided to stop using the word "meta" so much, because it made him feel like a professor with bitterness and something to prove.

Robert watched his sister struggle with an eating disorder. She was in a hospital bed, with an IV in her arm. Robert did not know if he would struggle with anything as hard as his sister struggled with anorexia. Robert, then, had intense but fleeting anger at every person that bragged about being anorexic or made it seem cool.

Robert sat on his toilet and wondered what his true identity was and what his true nature was. He wondered what was inherent and what was synthetic. Robert, then, wondered if a synthetic personality was inherent. Robert asked himself if he was a good person. He wasn't sure if sitting on the toilet, in his grandmother's house, and ******* to interracial ebony teen ****, on his iPhone, made him a good person or not. His concerns soon past, though, as soon as Lauren started to **** the pizza guy's white ****.

Robert walked down the street and was contemplating some of the issues that plagued his ****-infested mind, while he was on the toilet. Robert saw a girl running from a guy. Robert asked himself if he was a hero or inherently good. Robert, then, concluded that he was inherently a coward, since he did nothing and hoped that somebody else would save her.

Robert didn't meet a girl and knew that no one would write prose about his meeting a girl and their mutual love for one another. Robert was eating a steak sub, while thinking this.

Robert returned to the hospital, to pick up his sister. On the way home, his sister talked about how attractive her nurse was. Robert asked, "What did he look like?" His sister, then, said, "It wasn't a he. My nurse was a girl." Robert was okay with his sister being attracted to girls, but hoped that she didn't get more than him or more attractive girls than him, because, for some reason, that would make him feel insecure. Robert decided to stop eating so many steak subs and to work out. Robert asked his sister if she wanted to get steak subs. She said, "sure".

Robert was working out in his basement. He heard the sound of retching, upstairs. Robert followed the sound of the vomiting and opened a bathroom door. He saw his sister stick her finger down her throat. He said to his sister, "That isn't anorexia." His sister said, "I know. There's a lot you don't know about me." Robert said, "I'm sorry."
Another day, another beating
Into himself, he was retreating
His parents did not call a meeting
It couldn't happen to our son

Every day he came home bloodied
His clothes all torn his face all muddied
The family name was being sullied
It couldn't happen to our son

Remember Chicken Little
The Sky is Falling Down
This surely couldn't happen
Not here in our small town
Chicken Little told a tale
But, they only saw the sun
Chicken Little told his story
Now, Chicken Little's got a gun

Every afternoon they'd wait
Four of them out by the gate
They left early, best not be late
It couldn't happen to our son

Our son would not ever fight
To say he does, would not be right
But, sometimes he comes home a sight
It can't be what you're thinking

Remember Chicken Little
The Sky is Falling Down
This surely couldn't happen
Not here in our small town
Chicken Little told a tale
But, they only saw the sun
Chicken Little told his story
Now, Chicken Little's got a gun

Finally he'd had enough
Even though he was not tough
He was made of sterner stuff
And he showed it on the news

Chicken Little took a gun
He was showing everyone
Now, was time to have some fun
He took out twenty two


Remember Chicken Little
The Sky is Falling Down
This surely couldn't happen
Not here in our small town
Chicken Little told a tale
But, they only saw the sun
Chicken Little told his story
Now, Chicken Little's got a gun
 Apr 2015 aurora
NV
Untitled
 Apr 2015 aurora
NV
daddy's little disappointment.
 Apr 2015 aurora
NV
cloud suicide.
 Apr 2015 aurora
NV
i'm telling you.
the clouds were meant for the ground.
but they hung themselves.
The mind commits suicide long before the body does
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