Something particularly crazy happened
the other day and
I can't remember it already,
and all the old people
tell me I'll be
just like them

except,
I can't even begin to understand
because I can't listen to how many
opportunities I'm supposed to have
and everything is so great
and the kingdom is wide open
if you're young and willing.

Salivating, eager to get ******
for the idea of getting ahead.
We all ****** our way to the
bottom
&
the glass is small.
Not half full,
ain't half empty.

Idiots speak to me with
a flavor of prejudice
because I
don't care
how much money
they never made.

You're one to believe in god,
so tell me Grandfather;
You believe everything has a meaning
and war can be righteous
and war can be hell.
What does the rain mean?

It's not a metaphor for pushing life
into the festering corpse of a beat horse
in the late fall, early winter, is it?
Is it a drowning of that mistake?
A bed to sink your imperfections into?
What is this grey sky speaking to?

Was it WW2's tail gunners dead in the back
and pilots swarming like flies in vicious harmony?
bloodthirsty dogfights, and the folk guitarists
standing in awe,
jaws unhinged,
mouths open,
wondering,
"What the everloving **** just happened?"

You believe in God, so tell me;
They stuck your body in the dirt
over 2, or maybe it was 3 years ago.
You never told me anything about this.
You never told me anything
but empty threats.
God is a mass hysteria;
a mental disability,
a harmful fantasy.

But what does the rain mean?

Wrecked on the couch,
my victims asked me who I was
or who I thought I was
or who I was trying to be.

I resented them, like most people
who play into my empathy for
some luxury or to **** out a sucker.

I live on a seat of noise.
Everything is deafeningly loud.
Sinking in screams
like a stale mattress
full of bedbugs,
but you need a place to sleep
for at least another night.

I fly on a deranged bird
that knows one word,
and that word is made-up.
Fictional.
I fly by inches, crawl in the sky
crawl towards death with my
head tilted backwards.

I don't even bother asking
many questions anymore,
especially about people.
I'm not so upset that nobody
particularly cares.

People are either obscenely early,
or baffling late.
Yes, they tend to forget.
About you.

Bury your sorrows in debt.
Be alone, usually.
Your words spill out like
a pornographic goremance.
You are redder than blood,
and hotter than breath.

Smoking outside and in,
we crafted a shelter out of
bare bones and sad songs.
Sadly they couldn't cut
sharply or hardly enough
to get through every load
of *******.

Some days I don't have
fantasies about suicide.

I don't have a war in my mind,
I got a pack of wolves begging
for the next fix,
and sometimes it's
a mess of aspirin
and sometimes it's
a bowl of cereal.

**** yeah,
ain't that mediocre sublime?
Can't you feel where it burns,
but stays the same... just...
Warmer?

A bleeding hearts campaign;
Spend most nights
vacant.

Wishing you were a smoker,
a harder, speedier drinker;
an alcoholic like your father
&
a ****** like your mother was.

Wearing sunglasses,
staring at the ceiling.
Coast, and
you’re stone sober.

Spend most nights,
laughing it off,
*******,
and you’re already
in debt.

I had a nightmare I was murdering
clones of political prisoners
with a ****** rifle from afar,
in some modest white trash
suburban house.
One got away wounded.
I thought about how
****** up everything was
and realized I was in a dream,
and started walking around
confidently I was free,
but then paranoid.

I tried stopping a few cars to
ask if I was okay, but they
just passed me by.
I walked up to a woman
getting into a car and asked,
"Am I in a dream or just dizzy?"
She replied,
"You're just dizzy,
do you need me to get a doctor?"

"No, I'm gonna be just fine."

This mountain is tallest when someone is on top.
Tucked an olive branch in a fire,
threw my heart in a file and
I don't feel bad at all.

I keep aspiring to **** myself,
and I can only tell a handful of people.
I can only tell people who don't care.
I can only hope nobody minds.
I can only wish and wish.
I'm so sick of violent people,
and violet eyes and knuckles.

I don't feel bad at all.
I am a final boss and a bad guy,
and a villain and an entrepreneur
in the science of self-exploitation
for nobody but nobody I like.
I'm sick of hearing white girls sing,
and yell, and talk in high voices.

I'm sick of chains and strings and people.
I'm sick of songs that say nothing.
I need revenge, but mercy so selfish,
so counter intuitive.
Must feel like common sense.

...But you don't have a grave,
do you?
You own,
***** ****,
bugs in your clothes,
holes in your shoes.

[Crept in through a window;
He holds her close and says,
"You're everything I ever wanted."
She falls asleep, smiling.
He continues,
"But I'm also still looking."
Left through the back door.]

Left a note that said,
"Couldn't take the pressure."
Looked up the most painless way
to **** oneself on google.
Thirty minutes later,
added Medical Crisis Hotline
to my contacts.

You are a ghost, or
a spectral anomaly;
Appearing out of thin air,
while I am 2 hands and 7 minutes
into a video game. You are
a haunt, with no teeth,
no fear, no presence.
Not particularly interesting.
You absolved yourself from
conversation with,
"Have fun with your video game",
to which I replied, "you too",
mistakenly.

I don't hate my life <---[delete]
I.

[stare blankly]

I don't know how I got here.
I don't know many people who want
to be alive.
Why are we doing this?
Why do I keep doing this?
Where am I?

I was fired from [sandwich shop X] for
"insubordination" and "attitude".
******* cowards, the whole lot.
What hurts the most is that I tried,
because someone vouched for me,
but they still stepped all over me
and then threw me away.
**** jobs.

Checked my horoscope for *****;

"If it's true that you reap what you sow, Libra, you're in for a great harvest in the coming months. Your hard work and focus will start to pay off handsomely with promotions and raises just when you may have given up on being acknowledged for all you do. Hang on to your great energy, passion, and enthusiasm. Doors are about to open for you. Get ready to walk through them."


Found a stone in the graveyard with my name
and told it how much I wanted to **** myself
and how much I hate everything.
From here, hell looks reasonable;
like at least there'd be a reason for everyone
to be so ******* useless and miserable,
but heaven?
Heaven looks like a ******* insult.

But what the **** do you know?
I got no job, no home, a mother in a women's shelter,
failed applications for food stamps, college debt,
no old friends, what?
What the **** have I got?
Why the **** does everyone treat suicide
like it's so ******* morally reprehensible?
I never win.
NEVER.
Even my victories are
offshoot chances to lose more
than I had before.

I'm tired, and I hate all of you.

If you're still chewing on carcasses
you fished out of the graveyard,
dining out for the apocalypse,
taking ******* from strangers;
Snap and start walking with no direction,
sit in the shower and try to put the words
to **** you can't understand.

Press your foot on the gas and blast off into space
while waving fingers at aliens with phones
pressed into their stupid faces.
Engineer something ****** and useless.
Break something important and unnecessary .

Prince of stolen goods come to take over
the nation that spat in his face.
We are losing all our ground an marbles;
we are not going to be okay,
things will not be fine.

Mother is in a women's shelter,
losing weight and begging for money
weekly
from her deadbeat son
who is now broke.

King of hearts take away the sleeping sensation
oozing up from my toes to the center
of epicenter of thoughts that shake my body
like earthquakes of palsy or a stroke
made up of
every pond or puddle you pass up
couldn't hold all the tears I haven't cried.

Sister can you hear me now,
I'm not exactly trying anymore
I'm silent with syllables and
loud with my pauses.
I'm not going to make it,
and I can't turn around.
I'm fragile and delicate and
some would say I'm flat-out weak.

I want you to put flowers on my grave
instead of sleeping somewhere next
to me, six feet under, or sleeping in
wondering what went wrong.
This **** isn't your fault.

Put a sword or some sharp object
to **** away the idea that
I'm going to use to destroy whatever
is left of myself.
**** me, to **** me before I **** me.
Steal everything.
**** anything.

Lost a giblet of my thumb
to a meat slicer today,
and almost broke down
in an antique shop.
These things creep on us,
and who handles the pressure
even remotely well?

I'm not old enough,
and I'm not hopeful enough,
I'm just tired tired tired,
and most people I know
also want to be dead.
Express a strong desire
to disappear.

Moonlight traces the door frame;
a metaphor for an escape, except
everything is so fundamentally ****** up
the fear of the other side seems irrational
compared to the valid and rational
phobia of right now,
this side.

You disappear and I go
selfless and selfish into
any abyss dark enough
to hide me,
or devoid enough
to absorb me,
or ignorant enough
to forget I'm even there.

I wish terrible things upon everyone else
because I'm bitter and resentful.
I'm also still bleeding through the bandage
and the duct tape, and through the
metaphors and lack of meter.

I'm still bleeding.

I have nothing to say anymore,
and it makes me into an object
but it feels incredible
so I'm taking a break
and I don't miss you.

Spent a charity gig trying my hardest not
to say, "I'd rather die than be here."
I laugh brutally sincere at just the idea,
say **** it, *******, **** this
to someone reaching out for
empathy who deserves
none.
My humanity as devoid as humanity's humanity,
maybe people aren't so graceful and righteous
after all, and if "Honest Abe" lied his
hairy *** off for all those years,
and Ghandi was still a racist,
and Ohio has a monument
to genocide,
I can burn all these temples and churches
and not have it as sacrilegious as
any bible ******* conservative
wants their enemy to be.
I wouldn't stick a spear in Jesus,
but I wouldn't lending a hand.

Ex-Girlfriend calls me up on a friends phone,
says to meet her at quicken loans.
I get there and she tells me her and her friends
are "getting food", except they're not.
******* Caucasian zombies rotting away in
get rich doing nothing schemes,
"Peel and orange, beat a coconut"
tell me what class of poor sap you're trying
to pry from a months rent in the name of an
"investment".
I thought I would at least have a conversation
with an old friend, but instead I got forty minutes
of some ******* belly-aching
about being a teenage dirt-dad to
try and get me into "the Elite".

It was a waste of a ******* night.

Took the train home with some loud ******* white people,
and got lost in my own reflection.
The look, that look,
like an animal getting beat by it's owner,
the pain and confusion,
love and betrayal.
I don't want your money, or they're money,
or Donald Trumps money, or easy money.
God, I want to ******* die on a bus
reeking of **** and penniless.

What a ******* waste.

Of course it makes sense, now,
but it disappears; passes between your fingers
like sand, like water, like salt, like blood.
Stains and makes religious connotations,
although I'm a non-believer
and so are you
and so are they;
The ephemeral heroes.
Absent or cloudy minded?

The impossible riddle.
We went searching for gods, devils, angels,etc.,
and instead found an embarrassing truth;
the blunder in centuries of slaughter.

Q: "When is a door not a door?"
A: "Usually you'll hear sirens.
An unusual amount of broken glass,
or a crater, or a statue of a maniac,
or a portal to someplace in time, space,
maybe it was late November,
when you took cash from a woman coughing blood,
12 hours ago the man walking down the street,
screaming, "**** MY MIND. I'M SO ******* STUPID.",
ghosts aren't real, but people are, and we treat them
like they are invisible don't we?
Treat them like windows."

I'm not a great enough
or terrible enough person
to be a great writer,
and neither one
for lack of trying.

The days just
barely even
inhale
&
the stains begin
where the night
may
exhale.

Dismissive riots unsuppressed
and erratic rays of bumblebee sirens
cause flinching in the ocular muscles
and meaningless reality folds
it's cards and chips and dies.
Life is life is happening
and is still at the table.

Everyone seems to get off on hating nihilism,
but until they find a hint of truth
lets stick to what we know.
Thats a joke.
I make jokes sometimes too.

I'm not saying I'm self-serving,
but I'm only sorry if I have to be
and I hope that's good enough.

I cut down the bridge with my hands
bashing teeth and skull into mush.
I rushed everything for this.
I went ahead.

Distort shadows and repeat offenders,
every other day is a rust belt nightmare
and when it rains it washes all
the **** away, and out of sunlight
it all looks a little less desperate.
It all looks less desperate.

If you were a flower
I'd drown you in water,
burn you after you died,
and keep the ashes under
my mattress,
then craft a poem
out of your roots,
and toss your soil
into a lake.

I didn't know you could read lips,
so I laughed unreasonably hard when
people were telling you their *******
excuses for not being able to
donate money to you
and your family for Christmas.
The irony being I gave a stranger a
roll of quarters the other day
because they asked,
and I'm eager to lose all riches and go insane.

Yelled at my girlfriend for the first time yesterday;
she was frustrated that I wasn't frustrated that
she was upset, so
I banged my head against the wall and screamed
"What am I supposed to do?"
Still have the mark somewhere under this free haircut.
I don't get how we all push people away
and beg for them to chase us.
Never give me a word, but always
want me yearning. Not old yet,
but not from lack of trying.
Not wise, but it's not desired.
Fools make kinder people anyways.

Amen to "I'd rather get ****** and keep giving."
Guess you could say I make it rain on those in need,
but please don't. Don't ever say that to anyone.
Write it down somewhere unspecified and
lock it in a drawer, or light it on fire.
Put it through a shredder,
I'll tell you a little secret,
I'll try to tell you a secret;
Most of us are more selfless than Christ.

Merry Christmas in August.

Weary and maybe dusty,
maybe a million years old.
Disappearing.
Shouting hatespeech
and trying to make others
as bitter as myself.
Toxic and made of stone.

Crafted of some **** harder than diamond,
but cheaper than ****. Also, I'm so *******
sick of hearing about hope in the human soul.
I'm sick of souls.
Cynicism isn't right,
but being ****** isn't lying,
and maybe we all have a little bit
of love and something else.
Exploit whatever feels better.

Maybe I said that wrong,
but if you can exploit yourself
you're the only one who deserves
to ******* do it already.

Mass hysteria
and this is how we rumble
in black clothes with
cops two streets over
ready to assassinate
US presidents and dissidents.
Ready for air.

Ready for takeoff,
the embrace of the long
arm of the law is a chokehold
is a racist institution and
here we are;
junkies, gamblers, jokers, monsters.
Funny thing, we went hunting for
people dressed as monsters
led by monsters disguised as humans.

Yeah, our geniuses die young and brutal.
Ours is the land of stray dogs,
cold rains and streets of garbage
[people included];
The stereotype is today.
The cliche is right now.

Saw someone drop their phone
and laughed at them.
I'd like to watch the world drop
their stupid/smartphones
and have to look at each others
stupid goat like faces and gazes.

Remind me what heaven looks like,
all I remember is that I'm a scumbag
with moral insensitivity and
you are my nightmares off the page.
Simultaneously a classic,
also a contemporary gore piece.
A landmine seized by epidemic.

Walked away with an insincere
"I'll see you later",
and I responded with a sincere
"Whatever."
Maybe I'm destroying myself in
character slowly but it takes
so ******* long still.
I cheered an old man who crossed the street alone.
I'm getting too close to yelling at a manager,
and losing a job I need to much.
Too close to the edge, but
when I think about it I always am,
and when I think even harder
I hate everything so much.

Everyone wants to know what
you're doing these days.
No, they just want to know
if you're disappointing them.
You will. That's me.
I want nothing but to be free.
Strings attached to everything.

Saw a statue, a memorial for
Christopher Columbus.
Reminded me I despise people,
and the rampant white supremacy
that everyone ignores or chuckles at
while keeping in place in their
own small and insincere ways.
I despise most strangers.

Need to paint it red with blood,
tear it down, cut off the hands,
set it on fire.
Want to make it hurt.
Tired of most things.
Why do the days take so long?
I feel like I'm not doing this
nihilism thing correctly.

Can't gain steady foot space
and I'm already trying to dance.

Hold,
turn a blind eye
turn an old leaf and see
what grows beneath it.
Curiosity makes you ill,
makes your
stomach empty
when you're not
hungry

&

you can teach yourself to
hate who you are like the rest of us.
Sometimes we sparkle in the sunlight,
and other times we drown in
swamps we made from
crystal clear cynical nihilism
and the ashes of everyone before us.
We understand death,
and we cuddle with it like
a stuffed bear.

Swallow fear and
die in our sleep with
shoes fastened to our
feet.

I had to laugh when you mentioned it first;
told me to have a heart,
because love is real.
Well I believe in love
and humanity,
but all I had to respond with was,
"Where?",
and you said, "Everywhere".
That was so stupid I couldn't respond,
so I let it sit there for awhile.

I work now and have no creativity during the night.
I don't sleep well either.
I crash a lot during the day.
I slip into deep sleeps for
2 seconds at a time.
I'm mostly just
bored.

All the money probably won't get me
anywhere, anyways.

Shade is much less banal than shadows.
It says, "I want to be in the sun."
The shade of your sun is chalk full
of miserable creatures.

One;
Me.

Crashing on multiple couches and
all the cats are black,
and all the people
need you out soon. ****.
Breaking lines to fit more text in;
dumping your head out everywhere,

talking to yourself in public for extended periods of time.

Smile just because you're so *******
sick of being sad all the time.
Wait, that's me. *******;
Got to claim my labors,
but can't show the weight.

A deep resentment for everything.
It's like math for some people,
and it's an art for others.
It's like math sometimes,
and it's an art the other half.
It's like math, but it's art.
It's like art, but it's mathematical.

White lies, breaking apart while
gluing the cracks back together,
while holding the better portions
and trying to figure out
if you're allowed
to cry
or not.
****.

I remember when I told you that
being with you made me feel like
I was at the center of everything,
but when you're gone,
and when you don't talk,
and when I think
about it for too long;

I'm lost.

"My life is ruined, man",
he said, not having sipped his beer
or taken an anxious sip on his cigarette
in a hot second.
He was a stranger to me, breathed heavily,
overweight, but made of gold it seemed.
My friends were wasted and we were sitting on the roof
after a long night of them getting drunk.
"All our lives are ruined", I replied naively.
"But it's heroine man", he told me,
"Nine out of ten people addicted to heroine die from it."
He was right, at whatever right was.
"You're going to be that one, then.", my friend chimed in.
"I know, it just ***** everyone else is going to die", he continued.
I laughed.
"Don't laugh at that", I was reprimanded.

**** though, everyone else dies too.
I can't stand this place between dying
and being cripplingly apathetic about everything,
and most people I know live it. That edge.
I don't know a lot of people too excited about
waking up and going through the motions.
Most of us think about dying when we're happy;
not quietly into the night but quietly.
Just disappearing in a flash without light.
An instant, but quicker.

Lets not lie then;
you’re out there somewhere having a
fine & dandy time, a fish in shallow waters,
meanwhile I’m a shoe-in
for the biggest *******
this side of town and god and country.
And where the **** are you?
What the **** is your excuse?

I’m homeless without you and
I’m a degenerate when I’m with you,
and I’m ****** enough in this
sleepless state to see it’s not fair.
I can’t ******* swim out here…
You can fuss about me not being
next to you some nights, but
I don’t give a **** about
the *** we’re not having,
the touch you’re demanding,
so just shut down the charade.


And you don’t want to know
what’s * *wrong ** with me.


"I don’t give a ****.", yeah,
tattoo it on my lips and kiss them
till they bleed. Don’t care.
Maaaaaybe I’m too tired to think clearly,
but ******* right now I see so much
and it’s so petty and privileged and ******
and when you think you see the lines,
you can’t even see the light of day.
I’d know because it’s here right now.
I’d know because I lost the words to say,
but the lyric would be so ******* gritty.

Lalalala, lalalala, lalalala;

The weight is so **** heavy.

Lalalala, lalalala, lalala;

The escape is too passe.

Lalalalalalalala, and where
the **** are you?

Everyone else is drunk and I’m
a hallucinogenic and a landmine.

I think everyone knows that everything
is incredibly stressful and the pressure
is exceedingly painful, but
they refuse to recognize
it could be different.
So when my girlfriend
tells me, "I worked a job
and went to college full time",
I don't know how to say, "Great!
But I would crack under that pressure!"
I don't know why going to college
is supposed to be so important when
college is really a market of
diminishing returns in exchange
for crippling debt.
I just want a simple stupid life
in a simple stupid place
with a simple stupid routine.
Why's that so ******* hard to ask for?

Not sleeping.
Got a full day tomorrow,
whatever,
**** it.
Awake.
Everything is cold
and sore.
My head is a rocket
that explodes in the air,
but it's just sizzling and
sparks for now.

Sitting in a Starbucks sipping a needlessly costly dark roast,
wondering if I've solved life, or if I'll break apart soon enough.
A tightening sensation.
I could get a ****** cup of coffee at both ends
of this ****** workday, and it'd be lovely.
Just having a sense of time,
even if it's just to **** time away.
**** everything away.

Built a cage in a cage
as an olive branch for
those who wouldn't call her an animal,
but won't call her a person.
Built a metaphor to slay her sister,
like trying to walk while hammering
your own toes;
hobbled herself to the master's home,
and played with the master's playthings,
and ate the master's food,
and received the hard end
of the master's humor
with a smile.

We are misinformed creatures-
A bird with wings to fly, but no destination.
A wildcat that hunts only to ****.
A serpent poisoned by it's own venom.

She traded hands to beat herself to death;
died with wrists broken,
lacy finger bones strewn across her throat.
No melody on her tongue.
Nobody dying to meet her.
Nobody is dying to meet us.

"I think you're moving",
my sister told me over the phone
in the car with my girlfriend's parents.
"Why don't I know about this?",
I asked her, but the answer was
painfully obvious
so we just laughed obnoxiously,
bleeding from the mouth.

Everything happens behind a veil.

Can't remember much of what I wanted to say.
Cracked on the porch staring a stray kitten
in the eyes. It wouldn't approach me,
I didn't wanna go near it,
so we just stared.

To make this contract informal;
I'm sick of this planet.
****, it's hard to pity or feel sorry
for people who are just as weak
and pathetic as yourself.
It gets difficult to not just hate them
like you may glare at your reflection
with some type of spite.

They're all diseased and petty,
creatures too smart for their own bodies,
but trapped inside them, caged.
Arrogant, then desperate at their
squishy and feeble vessels,
trying to make meaning where there's vacancy.
Their own holes are full of tar
and dead things.
Their voids hold no "humanity".
Pure rot.

When I die I don't want to leave
a god ****** thing behind.
Not a smile, a foot print,
a handshake, or idea.
No fond memories.
I want this planet to
disassociate
with me as I have it.
The citizens of planet earth
can forget about me.
Should forget about me.

We can't just stare forever.

Everything is papers,
words and looks,
power for power.
Undermined by the system,
"We don't cater to you."
"Takes money to make money."
Takes time,
I have none;
nothing to give?
Someday you'll find me lost
in a paper bag, throwing immature
punches. Breaking nothing.
Aiming for a glass jaw.
Waiting for the dirt,
and everything else
is just...

there.

Daylight fades too quickly
and leaves you struggling like a dead fish
against a time limit you have no intention
of keeping or realizing, in even a small fashion.
The money runs out.
The money always runs out and
everyone is looking for a handout
no one wants to give.
Especially those who can afford it-
it's like a void;
a golden density not even light can escape.
Makes me wonder; "Is the money really power,
or is power just power,
and the hierarchy and patriarchy and system
just keep whatever stains in place, despite their incompetence?"
History seems to provide ample answers to the right questions;
Why does the day feel so short?
Why does retail labor feel like a pyramid scheme?
Why does work feel like prison?
Why are employers so scared of unions?
Whatever, right? Those ******* would give you an answer
after three separate commercial breaks and a survey.

Everyone views the person under their foot as less than human.
It's how we're able to procreate and sleep at night
[a night that comes quicker every day now].
A curtain over a birdcage; we're all just dozing off.
******* around.
Studying everyone else's face,
looking for a nervous twitch to decipher
whose bluffing,
believing we're doing swimmingly in our own *******.
The next generation built on our corpses, secrets and lies.
Corpses, secrets, and lies.
Let the world burn if we can make it past daylight.

Hallelujah for a zombie;
another plot in jazz and if
nothing makes sense,
I'm capable of virtue,
I'm capable of correct.

Capable of air.

Even between the two;
******* a redhead on the bathroom floor,
trying to fall in love with someone who just
feels ******* honest and sincere,
groveling at, practically, a stranger's feet.
Execution for a criminal
made in poor fortune.
I'm a deity and demon,
and a cannibal if you count the self,

or at least capable.

I'm a teacher and a taker,
a piece of *** and
a *******.
Reading american books
and looking uncrooked in
horn-rimmed black glasses.
I'm not unforgettable.
Gotta find a classier way to wear black;
teenagers killed it for the rest of us.

Made it hard to fit.
Impossible to be a champion,
can't take the weight of the crown
or the density of gold.
Bit the bullet and cried out,
"No."
The ghosts are us now.
Amen.

The internet has killed the value of everything,
and sometimes I wonder where we'd all be
if we were behind typewriters sending transcripts
to ****-head publishers who trash the mail,
or burn it in winter. Not quite kindling.

We'd be in the hole about five dollars more,
and still cashing **** paychecks, if we're
lucky enough to get jobs.

Maybe living out of boxes, suitcases,
the backseat of a stranger's car,
or squatting in a basement with
three different species of arachnid.
Romantic.

Anyone who envies the experience
of the oppressed is a ******* *****,
and deserves exactly what they
are so eagerly wishing for.
Everything else is just information.

Homeless. Crazy.
Everything is smooth.
No,
no one really knows enough.
No one cares enough, or gets it.
Close to charity,
all is oppressive.
Keys on treble, wishing
everything was ******* brilliant.
My planning is a bet that
it all comes part unevenly.
Yeah,
neon smokescreen,
lime green cigarettes,
and I'll leave you to carry
that sentiment on your
shoulders.
I hope you feel empathy like
a child that's ****** the bed;
warm and embarrassed,
take as a symbol of
habitual  weakness.
Take it like a pill with tap water
that sticks in the throat like a brick.

Next door to inhumanity.
Every day is slightly
darker
than the last.
****. forgot the punchline…
something about how daylight fades
and darkness falls.
If we could all be so clumsy and respected.
A "feared klutz."
Anyways.
All the geniuses are dead,
and I hate most writers;
Snarky, uppity, *******.
They're all dirt now.

I passed a man who spoke gibberish,
but ended his mush mouth with some
statement about getting food.
I told him, "I got nothing on me."
I lied. Of course I ******* lied,
I had almost $270 dollars in my wallet,
cash.
I don't even know
what  I'm supposed to do with the money.
Just **** it away, I guess.
Start looking for another handout myself.
I can see the lines-
washed out, skillfully ignorant or oblivious
&
whoever said I was a loser first,
won the grand prize.
Some truth in the
universe.

Satanists are lobbying harder for women's rights
than christians, catholics, *******... everyone else.
Satanists.
Jesus H tap-dancing Christ...
might be a beautiful day after all.

There is a scream in the back of my throat
for every human in the world to hear;
I'm sick of every system and every heartbeat
and I'm angry. Angry. Angry,
but too tired to throw something.
I'm angry that it feels like every human being
is on the other end of some joke and
I'm the god ****** punchline,
and you can call it paranoia or narcissism,
but I'm able to drink both and still
sit in the waste it makes, and see it makes no difference
what label I give any metaphor.
They all say the same thing.
They all say the same **** thing.

Almost drank a cigarette **** the other day.
N one is trying to find me anymore.
It's raining today.
My mother might be using again.
I'm running away.
I've run away for so long;
I'm tired of running away
and it's all I know how to do.
I've really put myself through it this time.
I don't know where to turn anymore.
Even my corners don't want me.
Sat in the closet screaming.
It's all that makes sense.
**** all means everything.
Anything.
Train with the lights flickering.
Dying, everything.
The point?
That's the incredible part;
We're all doing this for love,
then we're marching straight to death.

Nowhere to run,
hiding in plain sight.
Some of us live solitary
with people strewn about us
more like decorations of meat,
some of us crash into others
and stick on a molecular level.
We turn ourselves into monsters
of the bonds we craft;
mutants of desire.
Love without reason or understanding.
It's the only lesson I can't teach you;
the only freedom you may ever realize.
Hide in plain sight and love recklessly,
fall comes on it's own terms.

Saw the apathy that hurt her, the want of nothing;
a lust for sudden death, but staring it in the face
I saw the pain of death.
I was too caught up in dying.
It usually takes years to just ******* see.

I woke up to the sound of my name as a vulgarity.
I left abruptly, defeated, disjointed,
"If I stay here I will die."
I walked thirty minutes with no destination,
until I decided I would go to the beach.
Did not prepare for the beach.
Walked from downtown Cleveland, CSU,
to Edgewater park. Burned.
Gave a man my last couple dollars.
Had no idea how to get where I was going,
crossed a bridge, walked on the highway.
I got there, took off my socks and shoes,
my yellow and black plaid shirt,
and walked backwards into the water in my jeans.
Burned some more on the sand.
Got sand in my pockets still.
Decided I want to live.

I could see the city in it's entirety from the pier,
behind me; somehow conquered by distance.
Visually smaller. Tamed?
I walked some more until I hobbled and came to her.
Held her. Kissed her shoulders. Just melted.
I just melted.