You are not as helpless to love as you think.

You watch him so closely, the alcohol on his breath can be smelled through his 2am text messages. You admire him anyways.

You are not as helpless to love as you feel.

You left me after weeks of not even trying. You made me feel disgusting. I get over it reminding myself that the *** was awful. You told me you failed me, and I believe you.

You are not as helpless to love as you want to be.

You will lose everyone if you keep choosing to be stapled to someone who feels no remorse over telling others to **** themselves. Stop acting like history is a precedent for dragging that sack of **** around. A lot of girls cut themselves, you just met one who deserves to.

You are not as helpless to love as it seems.

I can't believe my parents got along for long enough to have two kids. My father started texting her to say happy birthday, happy holidays, etc. "He must be lonely", I tell her, knowing fully well he's pushed everyone out of his life. He's insufferable to even his insufferable friends [which he now lacks].
I aspire that those who love me may recognize their lust and admiration, but leave me in a heartbeat for my shortcomings. I would pray that nobody lets me hurt them if they have the chance. I fear myself for them. It's only a little ****** up.

When you leave and you don't appear again? I've normalized the behavior. I imagine that death's ferry travels through this room and takes the lust from you. You leave with nothing but the mediocrity of reality. At least you leave.

Renewed faith in an empty system,
echoes on echoes.
There is nothing here.
The canvas itself has become
the most meaningful of arts.
Eaten by machines and purged
into a series of cross stitches,
screaming, "neon saints are real
and Jesus Christ is in the numbers".
God is in the question,
and both are a feature
of mankind's imagination.
We are alone here.
Information is nothing-
we have not created, no,
we have fathered a fiction.
We will abandon it shortly.

Cracks in immersion,

like broken bones in

the hands of the one holding

you underwater.

Do I stand a chance?

Could you catch this bullet?

Even if you could, would you

turn the tide or

dam this river?

Who would turn their back instead

and weep for themselves, and

who would mend the hand that’s broken?

You were surprised I
didn't *** in two seconds
and then stopped trying.

The next day? Silence.
You attempted suicide,
got in the psych ward.

You float like a cloud,
and disappear like they do:
All of a sudden.

Paying attention,
you'd still see nothing at all.
Just clouds and blue skies.

This tattoo is slowly becoming
an ironic advertisement.
I'm just here.
Writing.
For Christ's sake, if this is how
we make our art, we're all ******, huh?

Forgot about me;
People tell me I'm great then
make me feel like ****.

The world feels bigger,
and I feel two inches tall.
You look over me.

I am lonely and
sad and I want to die but
life has it's boots on.

[Remember that pic
of the soldier dragging a
child's lifeless body?]

I'd need to be worse
to cry just a pound of this
out of my system

and there are still tons
waiting to claw their way in
and eat their way out.

I’ve been here before,
But somehow I was wiser
Back then, and lost now.

Doors open loudly,
Mysteries pouring out like
A broken faucet.

Hands reaching to me,
Pulling me to mouths eager
To devour me whole.

They take me apart,
Curious like a child with
A shiny new toy.

Then they put me back
Pieces missing, out of place,
Or just plain broken.

Eager to taste me,
Touch me into pieces though
I’ve been here before.

When I was 20 I learned all
the music I liked was garbage.
When I was 21 I realized I

couldn't write a good song

and by 22 I remembered how.
When I was a child
I was more suicidal
than now,
and I'm still a kid,
practically.

I had a couple tapes when I was 17
and not again since then, but
I'm still a pretentious ******* *******.
I've had a couple students in guitar
over the year, but
nothing
serious.

I am a yawn and poor excuse for a human at most.
Ego is on point like maybe her crotch hairs are "fleek",
but who the **** is gonna say that to
the back of her head? Without shame to hide,
dignity to keep intact, or
a head on solid shoulders, ever, ******* ever,
never ever.

Fire for breathe. Kiss me till my lips bleed;
Speak my face in, or smash my consciousness.
**** me to death, till I die, make me dead.
I wish I was well fed and not scared of people.

Nice things come to people who work and practice.

I should "bulk up" on medication before winter hits,
except it's still going to happen.
Winter that is.
And I have no desire to be a
drug induced optimist or less than the
naturally "chemically imbalanced" piece
of garbage that I am.
No lust for the special snowflake zombie,
who staggers in a unique world; infinite
wonders.
I'm smiling as I write this;
but could someone please ask,
"Would you rather die than be happy?".

They say there’s beauty in symmetry

and we are equally ****** up.

I left this message in your voicemail,

but who listens to their voicemail anymore?

I can’t remember why I called,

or what I would’ve said if you answered;

I guess I’m too sad to talk and

too pathetic to put down the phone.

This’ll be a sad song soon

and not a convincing remedy.

I guess I just called to say hello.

Something in here's not right;
in my black box there's a fire.
If here's my home then here I'll burn;
here I'll choke, black mucus, dark thoughts,
dark matter, doesn't ******* matter,
suffocating all the time.
Captured. Figured out. Caught. Caged.
These fever dreams don't pity me,
nails cracked inwards, can't
scrape the hardwood floors blue.
Can't scrape my life together; shifting contents,
spilled out on the floor in anatomical design.
Footprints. Knee prints. Hand prints.
Face down.
I just want someone to hold me
and say, "everything is going to be okay",
every once in a while.
Okay.
GONE. Get crushed in the vice grip of
reality. Reality;
Doesn't even take place in color.
Stretches sense till it tears at the wrists
-I ***** in protest but-
Madness is my resolve! My fortitude.
I will not plead to sanity,
but why is there a light in here?
Somethings wrong.
Bitter to the touch, green/green
on both sides. What is real life?
-I want to tear you apart from the inside
deranged male power fantasy-
Running full speed at the end
of my sentence.
Bones that reverberate, echo,
rattle, then snap.
And
whats in my marrow
burns orange.
Cautionary.

Ever wonder how that guy in the papers wound up that way?
Do you think about why you may believe it's bad to **** people?
Ever fall down and lose the desire to get up?
Ever stare at a door because you don't want to be on the other side?
Have you stared into mirrors for far too long
in public bathrooms because you realized your mind
is somewhere in that carcass?
Did you say something you didn't mean to
absolute strangers just to get them to say
something interesting? Did it work?
Did it surprise you when it failed?
Do you feel emotions or just wear them?
Is your natural state humanism or sociopathy?
Do you think about suicide at least twice,
even on a good day?
Does your head scream at night so loud that
you can't believe others aren't deafened by the noise?
Do see others as putting toothpicks in the sand,
and failing to measure things that are ephemeral?
Are you alone?

Less than a question,
stuck playing all the old games;
a face carved from wood.

Stuck playing midnight,
quoting Castro on hunger;
Loss of appetite crucial

to understand
the feeling of having none,
but this is just greed.

I eviscerate
and consume nothing, woeful.
Flesh does not have me.

Ticking Casio,
breathing time into nonsense.
Digital. Solid.

I'm so happy you invited me,
I've been basking in netflix
and swimming in coffee
marinading in the bathwater
I was using to drown something
close and special to me.

Gave me a reason to open the drain,
take a shower and take off to the city.
I can gawk at your underage drinking
buddies and eat whats on the table.

They'll pass out on the balcony
or whilst ******* in the bathroom,
while I take the next train to
see a professional nothing
to fix my dreams
and the ones I have
while I'm awake

will be lost, but loved while they're alive.

I'm so glad I could catch the last
bus out of this train wreck,
and sleep sober under youtube's
angry celestial glow.
Listen to coconuts buzz acid low tones
and low-fi digital screams till I can't feel
a low tone or remember
a real scream.

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.

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.

Some win,
they'll declare a celebration in vocabulary.
Pat yourself on the god-**** back kid.
You went there and committed those
worst of evils.
I was alive in a time of great confusion
and mass hysteria, post WW2
for 60 years, and they still
haven't put out those fires.
Yeah, some success you have here,
that machine burns just to burn.
Perpetuates for perpetuation.
The purpose has become
redundant, in and of itself.

I am half the parasite to
drive you insane.
Hold your hand through
the park.
Smile at black comedy.
Smile as you cringe.
I am part of you in
someone else now.
Under your radar,
trying to get under your skin.
A monster that breathes new
life into your oldest of fears.

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?

Your words grow heavy
the sparser they become, and
slippery as well.

I'm wandering still,
looking for a pain that feels
closer to the "soul".

I'm desperate now,
I can taste his sweat on you
but I say nothing.

Everyone's alone,
but it's a human concept
to be so lonely.

Everyone's dying
without any dignity,
soulless and divine.

Everyone's silent
under the deafening sound
of thought in practice.

Everyone's losing,
and we've only learned how to
fetishize the pain.

Chaotic ***** lover,
skin made of cyanide
a princess made of man.

I get anxious at silence and wait.
How can you love someone you
give so little effort too.
Minimal.
Garbage.

I don't hear whats so beautiful anymore,
so I revel in the filth that I've become.
Shitlord.
Taking time to cough out
fragments of clockwork,
carrying cracked lips that
sway in a breeze
beat on a broken ankle.

Are you somewhere lost at sea?
Are you riding on a storm?
Do you feel lonely when you
turn over and there's another
cold spot in the bed?

I don't expect much anymore.
I want to sit in muttering silence and enjoy
the quiet in my head.
[where]
You aren't real to me.

I relish the chance to yell you into something small;
a field mouse or the belly of a great monster.

Love is tearing me into ribbons,
but with care, they become banners and streamers
for a parade held in honor for a martyr
who hasn't died yet.
The reality is smeared into the genes.

Downgrade in technology.
Lost in your own eyes.
Aggravated.
Always paranoid.

Sleep in for
a couple months.

I've ****** it up, I've tried
to rearrange the order,
or cut the syllables symmetrically.
I've only showed you the worst
I've got to offer.
Wanted to help,
but
when I was traveling
a syringe tainted
complex or sleeping
where the roof
caved in and
drip,
drip,
dripped next to
my head;
I've known it too.
Cut me out, it's my fault,
my feet hit the pavement
like a cliche. Everything's a cliche.
Complex sleeping.
Everything is elusive and dark,
and slippery and larger than
life. Some nights I almost cry.

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 *******.

I think most people are two dimensional,
and for the most part, exhausting.
There's a hole somewhere;
in my head? in my chest?
I can't, no matter how hard I try, fill it.
I can't stuff it full of god, or **** it away,
no accomplishment or achievement,
impulse purchase, fashionable consumption...
It's a void that not even light can escape.
It only ever goes away because you
might stop thinking about it sometimes,
but you'd feel it deeper than your bones,
on a cellular level. Boiling on the inside.
Everything is overshadowed by death
or futility. Everything is defeatable.
Easily defeatable.
I asked you if you feel it too.
You said nothing.

Your silhouette stains my memories;
the smell of alcohol and your breathe.

Your tacit acceptance doesn't illicit my
flaccid compliance, or silence.

I'm dying in front of you.
You weep.

Burn in the deep seat of your throat.
Ibuprofen in your sleep.
Naproxen sodium, whatever;
couldn't sleep so he daydreamed
all night.

A room with more than four walls.

Sprouted from the concrete
with resentment and defiance
in his DNA.
Double
Helix-
Hell is two more aspirin to
get through the rest of the shift
and realize it's not enough.

Sprouted from between the cracks
in the sidewalk, birthed into a fight;
sunlight as your first caretaker.
Screamed in his head,
because you think in one volume.
Never bit the hand that fed.

Sprouted from the sidewalk.
Crushed under hurrying heels.
A love story in two weeks.
Died in sunlight,
under white collared boots.
Rush.

Make everything around you like Jazz.
Some variation of jazz;
Cowboy Bebop, 3rd Strike,
Folk Music, Dress in Yellow,
Moon Knight or Doom [PhD]?,
Zero, Coffee or Water,
Late night chinese food for dinner.

Sleep on floral patterns.
Flannel.
Hang Christmas lights inside.
White T-shirts.
Hello Kitty.

Feminism + Nihilism,
Ethnicity? Are you half black,
or
half white
?

Make everything around you Jazz,
or some variation, write music,
write a poem, try to move on.
Stay autonomous.
Keep teaching yourself.

I don't know, I guess.
I was trying too hard to be brilliant,
however, **** it I'm a genius,
and brighter than a million suns,
and they might never look at me,
but at least I'd know why.

Stay autonomous. Teach yourself.
Make everything some variation of jazz.

It seemed like a good idea.

Maybe he pumped up on drugs,
but Cash never went to prison,
so what else is a lie when we
write songs that sound beautiful
and mean nothing?


Your loose clothing, strings
falling off your shoulders,
and dying plants.
Tight on the hips,
this room is full of garbage
&
I’m abandoning it in
a few weeks anyways.

I need someone to eat
all of my sins and make me
clean again, if only for
the weekend.

With a lack of coffee and muscles for dystrophy,
as a royal carcass on my own doorstep.
Go on and find another.
I'm tired of being ****** with by you,
find another "king" who sleeps
on floors and couches and worship him.
I didn't ask for it.
Find another pawn to suffocate
in a desire to fill the masculine
with violent tendencies and bulk.
Go on, get out of here and
build something else that
howls at midnight because it can't cry.
Put on your sunglasses and look for
another star; something that longs
to be bright.
**** on someone else with your love,
and don't let me owe you anything.
I've been in bed for a string of days
that haven't ended yet.
...
And still haven't seen the end.

I was in Buffalo for a week;
she gave me a hand-job in my best friend's
guest room, and I was naive and optimistic.
I was younger then, even
younger than I am now.
So I wanted her; but couldn't understand
she did not want me. I bought her ****
for Valentine's day, but failed the test.
So Instead I ate candy I bought
for a stranger
and watched "Hellraiser".
Partly cloudy;
Partly sunshine.

I was looking at your face,
fell in love with your smile.
I'm so ******* exhausted,
I can barely think straight,
so ******* tired,
who knows who wants who?
Lalalalalalala-
I'm like a janitor in your
spotless hallways, heart throbs,
heart beats, selfish insecurities.
I want to hold you close and
say it's gonna be okay.
Don't wanna hold you tight and lie.
Inherit my soul.
You're the first in line.
Inherit my darkness,
my shadows, inherit my mind.
I live without you, I live in a
constant state of half reaction.
Yet everything leaves bruises.
This chord is like the most
gorgeous sludge I've ever
lived in. Lalalalalalalalalala-
Who knows who wants who?
Maybe we don't want to.

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.

Depression is;

One day you wake up and decide you don't deserve to be happy.
One night you try sleeping and remember you don't deserve to live.

One day you cry in the bathroom.
One night you try to see how other people have successfully killed themselves.

One day you want to get better.
One night maybe you won't ever again.

I wanted a home
inside of this violence and
begging for fresh air.

You seek forgiveness
but without any effort;
You want religion.

Slept next to lions,
and only woke up alone.
Meat still on the bone.

Woke under covers,
my whole skin bleeding warnings.
I took ill in dreams.

My nightmares grew worse;
fortunes withered before me.
Food on the table.

I speak and make you cry,
and you tell me not to blame myself.
I can tear my own stomach out
with unparalleled willpower,
this is my life in stride.
Full stride.
The walls; black, and orange at the tips.
The carpet slowly creeps up to you,
and the paint curls as if breathing outward.
The fire makes the home come alive.
You know where to find me,
but you wouldn't know what
to look for. What to save.
Full stride.
You don't talk to me.
Full stride;
You can't fix me. We can't fix me.
That's not how this works.
If you truly thought love could
cure depression, then...
ugh...
You've been naive.
There's not a nice way to say it.
Full stride and I'm walking into
traffic with ******* pride!
I'm not involved in a massive conspiracy,
I'm a cog in a lukewarm nightmare.

2016 saw a year of structure and measure,
a year of coun-ting syl-a-bles.

Now is a return to form.
Shapeless but congealing.

I'm just like you;
trying to find the right words,
in the right places
&
at the right times

to make art worth the air I waste
and the space I steal.

This stick and stones ransack rebellion,

and now a broken appendage is just, well, that’s it.

It’s going to be that way now till I die.

Inside we’re all screaming, even when we scream outside.

Subtlety is not an act of human consciousness,

and truth be told, sometimes I forget why we try

to find the longest way around what we want to say.

Love would be easier if you’d all just *******.

I hate myself, but I’m content with that.

I’m not anyone’s biggest fan, but I’ll learn.

I hate religion.

I love curse words.

I ******* love curse words.

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.

She made me dinner,
****** me, made me laugh, and then
told me she loved me.

I once doubted this,
but where everyone turned black
my soul is yellow.

I live wide open,
and my consequences yield
to my momentum;

The speed of whispers,
I lead by debauchery
as an example.

Some worship the dead
and some sit next to the ghosts,
elbow to elbow.

The duality
of the swarm is that it's both
nameless and legend.

I wake up to you
and I am happy again.
I'm yellow again.

Alone.
Someone could stab me with their fingertips
and they wouldn't touch me.
I don't think I can get much colder,
but I'm certain I'll find out.
I'm tired but I can't sleep.
My stomach is empty but I can't eat.
I'm incidental.
My existence is hinged off of mistakes-
it's a web that hangs on a string.
I don't belong anywhere,
and it's heavy and sticks to my skin
and I can't wash it off.
I don't know how much longer anyone expects me to take this.
I don't know if I can take anything much longer.
I'm scared. I don't want to smile anymore.
I wish I could remember how to cry.
I'm alone now.
I'm alone.

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.

They laugh meat out from between
their bloodied teeth,
and leave us to ponder this cliche;
"Hell is on earth."

Every day I sit in an ivory tower,
and press my pen to decadence;
live a life of ease.
Few sufferings.

When the ones who deserve what I have
come back to take it,
I will not fight.
I will ponder
new cliches;

"Hell is trying to leave earth,
and we stand firmly in the way."

Home, don't tell anyone
I'm gone,
I got tired of hearing about
the slow recession of everything.
I got tired of being around.
Pockets full of change and
if I lost my wallet,
who would worry?
Home is where I want it to be,
anywhere, it's where I keep all my fears.
It's where I am when I need trouble
simply existing.

Home, don't come in my shelter in shelter,
I've got posters waiting to fall down;
Like my figures are disappointed,
my banners are crumbling.
I'm covered in a film from the heat.
I'm sleeping in my skin,
if I can make it in time.
Where I want it to be.
Where I keep all my fears.

I couldn't sleep last night,
but you could.
Every night I'm awake next
to you for two or three hours.

Lately I've turned to talking
to you in your sleep.
I'm not sure what I can talk to you about.
You treat my life with more care than I do.

I don't sleep,
and tonight is no exception.
I want to die at any moment,
or [especially] right now.

You're watching me die.

All I write is suicide notes.

I'm sorry.

Carry on soldiers, and we'll pretend we don't notice you; the hollow shell/carcass of a wasp rotten black inside the window. Forgotten.

I'm sick to my stomach thinking of the rotten disappointment I'll become.

I feel the ties that bind us tighten, and bound our hands together as we crash into each other, and my love is the anchor that held this ship, and now pulls it down, churning, groaning, and bending in the middle. My hands on you go from desired to expected to pushed away, like a child treats their steamed vegetables.

I empty out, becoming the shell of what is a full man.
I empty out, becoming the shell of what was a full man.

Either that or I don't think much, anymore.

Had a nightmare.
You invited me somewhere.
Left me behind.
I was screaming your name from the courtyard trying
to find you, and you didn't answer.
I destroyed some **** and finally ran into your room mate.
I asked her forcefully where you were,
then found you. You knew why I was ******.
Your friends said something,
so I smashed a glass pan against a wall
and asked them if I looked like I wanted to be ****** with.
I walked upstairs and a man put me in a grey straight jacket.
That feeling is still in me long after.
Nothing is resolved.

I wear my violet like royalty,
like a badge,
like I have so much "honor"
[-is a concept I don't believe in].
I've shot every enemy I've had
in the back, or stabbed them
with this sharp, silver tongue.
Oh, the humanity;
we're all pacifists till
we're in vehicles,
swimming in caffeine and
road rage, threatening to run
over pregnant women, slowly,
for jaywalking. Smiling and driveling
over empty plates or china full of ****,
Smiling over garbage sniveling,
"I'm so weird, I'm so crazy,
Oh, I'm insane".
I'm insane.
I'm insane.

Digging for hatchets.
You found me lost and hungry
for blood sacrifice.

Your tongue salts my wounds.
Your words slice through my stitches.
Your love chills my heart.

I live on my own,
selfish, absent of conscience.
A gentle rage. Blind.

We had no chance,
and it takes and it takes and it takes,
it takes pounds of flesh and leaves
polluted waste in it's context.

Permission slips into seizure
-please let it be a scream-
grind organs on permadeath
and instant failure
without an afterlife
or consolation.

Consolation prizes,
trophy in defeat;
Suspect yet accepted.
Gifts from your enemies,
presents from your past,
disorders from reprise.
Changeless.

Lipstick and teeth marks
on my **** remind me that
there are still good days.

The way you laugh as
I coax you into *******,
the sun hanging low.

Hell is above me,
I'm the **** at the bottom
of the universe.

Half heartwarming smile,
half blood curdling charm, and
lack of self control.