So many awful things happen
to people who don't deserve it,
and they try to
destroy themselves
for it.

I wish I could just burn this **** stain
world to ashes and **** in them.

This hole is full of angels
and humanity *******
shreds them into ribbons
and wears them
like rags.

Why are you so bitter old man?
So nihilistic, so feeble and empty...


Was it the strangers? Friends?
The way everyone seems to disappoint you
without hesitation or fail?
You hate strangers.
You hate people you've
never talked to
and afterwards hate them with deeper insights.
You hate the things you see in them, in yourself,
and it disgusts you in the way only you can disgust
yourself, in the way only humanity can disgust you.

How'd you get so mean?
You'd rather people died than left you,
and sometimes they can do both
and you really don't care.
Empathy from you for these ******* strangers,
is like trying to pull a rabbit out of a hat.

Believing in nothing.
Nothing is a belief.
Nothing as a belief.
Belief of nothing.

The way it drags on a vowel
like Nicholas Cage screams.
You're accustomed to failure, loss,
defeat and fear.
You cling to what you have left
desperately
like a dying man
clings to his bedsheets.

For mercy.

I'm just really anxious right now, I guess.

It was 2:47pm;
text: "If they could just look between the cracks,
they'd see I'm really ******* trying."

Trying to sleep,
couldn't.
Wanted to be
strong for everyone.

Then it was 2:58pm;
"I'm just so tired of trying to
prove myself to everyone."
Walking to my old job,

but it was 10:46am;
"I just found out I'm one of 3
being interviewed for the position."
Inner panic and smothering
all the voices in your head
with

"received 11:44am;
Fingers crossed"

Wrapped around an
overdeveloped
finger.
Possesed, yet
wholly worthless.

Next to me, you are nothing.

Sin as something
gorgeous to death.
Crafted from curses,
lizard tongues and
snakeskin.

Soft as satin.

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.

Getting ready to play a video game
in a nice, not-actually-dusty-but-
has-the-comfort-of-dustiness-like
Booksto­re.
Maybe.
"Townhall free wifi."
That's just great. I mostly
just cry and complain and wonder
why dolphins are so optimistic as
to not just off themselves,
since they can consciously do so.
Free wifi though.
I mean, that's just cool.

Hearing someone you thought was a friend of yours say,
"Women can totally look to get *****".
Then you scratch one friend off the list.

Got money for *** and gambling,
but you're leaving your bills
on someone else's tab.
People are telling me to jump ship.
It's getting harder not to oblige.
I live in multiple states
of anxiety and depression,
ain't it grand?
No "God" here, no "God's will",
quit chittering your religion like
it's a ******* verb; wallowing
in filth, and next is misery.
I'm steadfast on sinking
in this **** already.
I'm still here.

Pretend to me, like a clown/actor, to be strong and violent. You fight like mothers ease their children into sleep, begging and praying. The fight in you is a cartoon predator selling candy to stoners. I never considered myself someone to contemplate the legitimacy of strangers, but I don't know you or your motives.

I don't know you.

I love like a hawk tears into a sparrow.
Viscerally, yet naturally.
Savagely.

******* white people;
hide their racism behind
vapid "opinion".

******* white folks will
argue you can't argue with
results and numbers

because white people
can strip race from the issue
and swear it's "equal".

White people without
culture or identity,
strip it from others.

Call you naked as
they strut in stolen clothing.
Full of silicone.

**** with white people,
find out they know the struggle
by the article.

They can sweat big stuff,
but their racism is in
the cracks and seeping.

Disappointingly,
you can't trust white people for
****, not even me.

Not Bush, not Clinton,
Donald Trump, Bernie Sanders,
******* Macklemore,

Not Bill O'Reilly,
and not Jon Stewart, and not
viral feminists/

white feminism,
Taylor Swift's white sisterhood,
their artists, music,

writers, poetry,
actors, authors, painters and
sculptors and bloggers,
their politicians,
obviously, but also
their lawyers, doctors,
their engineers and
scientists and businesses,
economists or
pastors, preachers, religion,
programmers, products,
video games and novels;
They will let you down.

The rich or the poor,
it really doesn't matter.
They will let you down.

A car alarm stopped going off.
It's like being in a dream/nightmare,
seeing all these stupid faces,
seeing only faces you hate,
and after a while all
those faces look
alike.
Pressing palms against my head
and screaming till blood
shoots out of my nose;
I remembered a cold morning,
early enough to be night,
but late enough to be morning,
or maybe it was
early enough to be morning,
and late enough to be night?
I was staring at a grocery cart,
peacefully coexisting
with the parking lot
while I waited for the bus
with not a soul up and out
except myself.
I walked across the street
and kicked it over, and
kicked it a few more times.
I returned to my side of the
street unscathed [victorious].
I may have been late to work,
but I certainly didn't give a ****.
Some lady
coughed up blood
while I rang her out and
I think about suicide
out of habit now.
I'm a ghost that haunts itself,
except which tense is more real,
or did I mean,
who is more valid?

I grow tired of you hurting yourself with me.
You learn to hate me.
We don’t talk anymore.

My nightmares become fatal.

I stop responding because I don’t know how to answer, and I spend Christmas alone passing out wine-drunk to Naruto. I’m not sorry. My mother calls and I don’t know what to say, and neither does she. Then New Years Eve approaches like a dark cloud to water our crop, and wash away our debts,

but

my acquaintances want to have a fistfight, and I’m asked to be a witness in the police report [but I clearly remember nothing happening, through shades of alcohol].

I clearly remember at the beginning of the night I told you I don’t **** with cops.

Yet, now you’re surprised it makes me uncomfortable.

My daydreams grow immersive. My gameplay grows sloppy.
My reactions grow dull. My body grows weak.
This stranger tastes like cigarettes.
I don’t clearly remember the rest.

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.

"You are killing me."
"Only in self defense", I
banter back at her.

A massive *******
but it's in my gene pool and
therefore my nature

****** choking,
pulling her hair and pushing
her throat in my hand.

Tell your boyfriend that
you want to **** someone else
but you still love him.

Branded with bite marks.
I let her tear me apart,
inside and/or out.

Listening to her
short breaths between my tight palms.
just like an angel.

I'm of the angels;
horrific, unnatural.
Gorgeous, but rarely.

Nothing in this ****
mistake of an existence
is flinching at me.

-She believes in some
value system that merits
her 'good" behavior.

-She has a conscience.
The notion seems so naive
looking back I guess.

I have great secrets;
I get away with ******
(Metaphorical).

Typical *******
with a heart made of copper
but so close to gold.

The dream herein then is to die before they catch you.
To pass in your sleep, fading in new seas
of physical complications and credit debt;
to die before someone breaks you.
To get hit by something so large,
you'll have to call it "God".
For some, before their liver punches out,
and their bodies turn shades unintended.
Epilogue, and the bank takes back the house.
Your day job doesn't skip a beat.
Your art goes unnoticed.
Your clothes go to charity.
Your mattress goes to the curb.
Not a single cloud to sit in
and observe, how bodies rot,
but lives dissolve.
More like salt than alka-seltzer,
unless you have more enemies
than I.

Got that sinking feeling,
like a man taking off in an elevator.
Going up but somehow left behind.
I got that, "your time is up" aura
drowning me from all around,
inside and out.
Like being eaten by ants.
The hand that twitches
at high noon.
The ex-fastest.
The wick at it's end.
Wax running off the table.
Dying in a fever dream,
cold towel on my head.
Obsolete technology in a dump
next to banana peels and
soggy pornographic materials.
Yesterday's news being shredded
into todays toilet paper.
From a greasy grumpy retail worker
all the way
to a corpse in a crash test simulation.
Being fed your own organs,
genitals first.
Standing in a hail of glass
without an umbrella.
Standing at the edge of the world
with an Antagonist behind you
in steel toe boots. Glaring.
Possibly upset.
That just flunked bronze sensation.
A sinking feeling.

I never got a
scar from something dangerous,
only accidents.

I'm not an angel,
I'm the ******* you warn your
friends about *******.

I'm the guy you look
over your shoulder at while
walking home at night.

I'm the person you
wish you could come home to, but
processed by traumas.

the phenomenon
of life is over rated,
and here is the end.

I'm standing in the jaws of this monster.
It may seem like fiction to most people,
but I've spent some twenty odd years
in the belly of a goliath.
It came and ate the planet,
but did it slowly, over centuries and centuries,
so as no one would panic.
No, instead
they killed each other, and
lost money on the stock exchange,
and went gambling on thursday nights.
All the while, we were slowly being eaten,
and not even one person wanted to admit
that everyone was a ******* lunatic
for not screaming till their heads popped.
I guess secretly we understood.
We don't even matter;
we're just bacteria down here.
It digested our **** planet,
but we lived, yeah,
we survived down here.
Amongst it's **** and it's
appetite and it's stomach acids
and it's growls. Deafening.
A few of us decided to try to escape,
and we were considered insane.
Collectively hysteric.
We found the jaws of this leviathan,
I can see the outside but
I can't tell which way is home.

Stories on the tips of their tongues,
drool off like dobermans
slobbering over fresh meat.
Eyes like vultures for all the obvious reasons.
I tore my liver out and threw it on the table,
just to test the waters. Went swimmingly.
Better hang in there kid.
Better luck next time.

Johnny told you that
he didn't trust you as I
was saying, "leave him."

He wants you obsessed
with him while he's looking for
a new hole to fill.

I tried to tell you
this was going to happen,
and I'm still sorry.

I expect the worst
and prepare a bit further;
hope is alien.

You're full of the stuff,
and I don't know how to speak
to someone like that.

My heart is warm, yet
rock ******* the inside and
colder than oceans.

Hate me for something I did.
Hate me for something I said.
Hate me because I wished something
ill upon you or your loved ones.
Hate me because I'm a vile man,
with a toxic personality.
Hate me for the hell of it.
Hate me because it's the weekend.
Hate me for trying to tear down
your religion or ideology.
Hate me for wearing pajamas to the beach.
Hate me for trying to wear jeans to a funeral.
Hate me for speaking ill of your favorite writer.
Hate because you spent seven dollars for a digital
copy of one of my **** CD's.
Hate me because I think your children are *******,
and I want to feed your pets to larger animals.
Hate me because I curse like a sailor.
Hate me because I don't cuss as much as I used to.
Hate me for being naive.
Hate me for being unsuccessful.
Hate me for breaking something important.
Hate me because I went limp during a ****,
and laughed in your face.
Hate me because I have no ambition.
Hate me because all I do is think all day.
Hate me because I'm a hypocrite.
Hate me because I half *** everything.
Hate me because I wander around town
wearing all black at midnight.
Hate me because I made you a promise
I had zero intention of keeping.
Hate me because I'm not giving you a choice.
It's either
hate me,
or

This story is headed downwards.
Down a spiral, down a staircase.
Backwards.
Trying to walk while hammering
your own toes, aren't you?
Slowly strangling the narrative?
We can see your fingers in the picture.
So you're convinced it was supposed
to be this way? You're ******* it up kid.
Just be honest for a second or lie, lie, lie.
Lie about where you are.
Lie about what you're doing.
Lie about how you feel.
You wish you could just **** it yourself,
but instead you lie and it lives another day.
Where are your new tricks kid?
Where are you taking us next?
Where is the end?

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.

I grew up in the furnace, halfway towards homeless
with scars on my feet to show where running took place,
and feeble lies were told to strangers for
a laugh back when people used to
use people for comedy instead of
text and image and text...

Maybe I'm still lying.

Everyone knew that black and yellow
means "danger"; from
caution tape to wasps.
Smiley faces.
etc.

Held their teeth to the curb,
and their hands outstretched
far above their heads;
Never prayed for anything.
We were taught to stop wanting
what we couldn't get.
We learned.

Whatever was whatever
and was the war chant for
Afghanistan,
and when Bush Sr. decided
he could name wars as he saw fit
[As a friend calls it,
"Operation Desert Storm™"].

Devalued friendship
in case we had to run away.
Adapted, really.
Ran away.

Prayed for death.
Fell in love constantly.
Desperately tried to have a home.
Wanted a home.
Wanted something quiet.

Out of the furnace.

Pink noise in place of somber thought.
White noise in place of shelter.
Noise instead of feeling.
Noise,
and heat.

I awoke to the absence of life I'm fond of;
Whose conditions merit my apathy towards suicide.
Found a cup of coffee in the ***
waiting, begging, to get poured out.
The feeling of a railroad spike driven into my skull
has worked it's way from the
back right section of the dome
to my left eyeball.
Lovely.
I am at one with all the bullets,
the dead hamsters, bent silverware,
tacky ties, and broken fingers,
the world over.
Floating between the gravitational pull
of two great monuments.
A mutilated Zen.
My personal handiwork.
I want to stand in the ruins of one success.
Instead I'm vacantly taking aspirin,
finally okay with giving up.
Quitting.
I don't want to be an artist anymore.
That spirit stapled to the spine,
entwined to the softer parts of the brain,
pretending to be a dream.
Give up.
Giving up is the scalpel for
Quitting; self lobotomy.
I don't have a surgeon's hands,
but I'll settle for a surgeon's success.
In dark sunglasses. The distance.
A nameless faceless paycheck.
Sipping on a bottle of ghosts
to maintain a mere apathy.
I don't sleep well.

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 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.

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.

Dive kicked off the aspirin,
overdosed on vitamin D.
Up all night, celebrating,
properly sober;
properly hydrated,
properly fed.

Stomach ache from experimenting foods,
sriracha on salad and chocolate and eggs
threw it all over everything like "HADOUKEN!",
there's information floating on the wind everywhere
and most of it is ***** and cats,
people saying, "hey" and "yo" and "whats up?"

And I'm addicted to Tom Waits,
and probably ***, and probably the internet,
and probably video games and thinking,
but thinking about offing myself.
Genesis does what nintendon't
and lately every modern gaming console
simply just www.WillNot.
I guess we're all fantasizing till we stop.

Also, punk and jazz will not mix well,
my grandfather wrote me from the grave
just to say so.
He says the rent isn't so bad,
but the landlord is the ******* devil,
although there's a room for me to move in.
I just might if I don't get medicated,
for right now I'm whimsical
and singing up and off key.

All these zombies are feeling my vibe
with their teeth and fingernails,
and affection never felt so good
from such a friendly crowd.
I don't get out much anymore,
I'm slipping into old habits
more often because I'm lonely
and melancholic and bored.

It's all right or whatever.

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.

We only connect when you cry it seems.
So many different stains on this bed,
and I wish you were here when I was
happy, but not smiling;
Any of the moments that would be
cheaper for sharing,
but stained if you were there, now.
Here, now.

I wonder, (now, and not often)
if those sheets hold more
tears, or *** fluids, or sweat.
I don't dream anymore, however.

I've never had a beautiful dream
about us, and when I did we were
awake
and a long time ago
we shared that common dream.
You don't even feign interest
in me anymore.

You watch me starve and carve myself into
morsels, easily digestible fragments,
and then turn over and, maybe praying,
though we swear we don't believe in god,
that I'll die mad and half naked in your sleep.

Some trees bear flowers and you'd swear
they die in winter and may never blossom again.
They freeze and turn into wonderful spidery things;
fingerbones strewn haphazardly on some streetlight.
Petals that were pink like new flesh,
rotten out of mind and existence.
I wonder what the blossoms become
when the tree sleeps.

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'm in dark sunglasses
outside of Dunkin Donuts again
taking more wifi by the throat
and tearing it into this machine.
No money,
probably $50 in debt by now.
I'm tired of today already.
Trying to hide my face,
or something about me.
I don't ******* know,
I don't particularly care either.
Let's talk about something else;
My generation.
How long are we going to cough blood
until we get our **** together?
Are we slowly losing rights
or slowly gaining consciousness?
How many days are we going to to hide
our red stains away from strangers?
Is it a push towards more
"politically conscious" neo-liberals
or
pants-shittingly insane radical conservatives?
How many more mornings will we spit blood
into our bathroom sinks?
Is it nationalism, mutually assured destruction of the self,
or culture, identity, the return of humanity?
Humanity, you know, does exist.
There's just a marginally greater infliction of dehumanization
stemming from the systems we've built.
They're grinding us down.
From flesh to meat.
How much longer till we're closer
to being dinner than eating it?

My reflection can't bear to look me in the eye.
Dirt bag.
They called me **** bag because they
couldn't see a sack of ****.
Thoughtlessly counter-intuitive.
Rhyming is worse than mediocre,
and beyond being forced into the sublime.
Blind folded and arms tied,
with salvation on it's lips;
Maniacally insane.
A campaign for liars, killers,
and something divine.
I never had a beautiful dream, or
a nightmare that wasn't in color.
I'm unprepared for everything,
especially whatever comes next.

Did the effort ever hurt you?
Your fight for me;
it's like a second winter.
You only **** me with soft things.
You only **** me when you laugh and smile.
I hope all the flowers
that find your hands
may die. I hope to be
where the angels are.
God is dead,
and take me with you.
Like second winter.
Like being dead already.
Like the beginning of the end.
You only **** me
with soft things.

It is winter inside my home.
I lay under a black cloud, starved,
naked, half-cocked to explode,
basking in the white rays of
computer light,
alone.

I am an islander.

I try to reach you.
All I want is you.
You whisper my desperate wrists
away from yourself and escape me.
I am a necromancer; My corpse is
Alive
among the living;
I am a ghost. I am seven dollars spent
on B-vitamins, and a well-pitied man.

I cut deep into my own mind with
words that sink blue, like the stem of
thyme sings through my gums and
stays until the next morning,
I am crying in the bathroom at work,
I am listening to my mother go insane,
I am crying all day,
all day in bed,
running

back and forth, back and forth,
heart beats like;
doki-doki-doki-dokidokd...
I am a comedian laughing till his own demise,
trying to finish the punchline but

I am an islander.

You don't get back to me.
You don't make time for me.
You're not here for me,
I ask you to just tell me why you love me,
and you
tell me annoyed,
it's time for sleep.

It's always time fo

I am an Islander.

I cry so much these days. I cry cry cry,
and I promise I'll get better, I'll be happy,
I promise, just get back to me, okay?
I'm so sick of crying. I promise.
I can smile see?
The sun is out, but
it's ******* winter,

it's always ******* winter,
and I can't
I don't

I am an islander.
I am an islander.
I am an islander.
I am an islander.

I'm alone.

Recurring nightmare;
I bleed from the mouth and you
slowly disappear.

Love manipulates
as formless desperation
seeking an answer.
I say, “I love you.”
Healing the old scars to pave
way for the new ones.

I say, “I’m leaving.”
Opening the new wound to
breathe finality.

A suicide king,
too heartless for sadism
but once was human.

I once was thoughtful,
I believe in two heavens
that burn like candles.

Slowly, dull, gently.
I believe in two heavens,
laying down awake.

Their wars are small, petty, and grey.
I was subjected to a dialogue;
a war story.
Side A walked to Side B's kingdom
to fight them. Side B formed a plan.
Side B sent one person to confront Side A.
She maced them.
In their faces. In. Their. Faces.
Her offense was successful.
I heard this story from Side A.
All I wanted to ask was,
"Why fight them in the first place?".
Why should I feel empathy; that they wanted to
initiate violence instead of dialogue,
and ended up getting outsmarted.
What was the alternative?
A fistfight, and now injuries that can't be fixed?
Who ever learns from the mistakes of violence?
Someone calls my love,
"A stupid white ***** who
needs to learn to keep her mouth shut",
and I can't tell her not to carry a knife.
In all my need for logic, even as a pacifist...
Now, I take what little money I have
and I buy her a canister of
mace.
Men are afraid women will undercut their power
or make a fool of them.
Women are afraid men will ****** them.

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.

I commit a crime.
Deviate.
I sin;
I don't believe in.

I shoot myself in the foot
to learn how to walk
differently.

I do something evil.
I bleed.

Boats rarely moving,
just gently bobbing in place.
Shifting on a plane.

I'm waiting for you;
to show me heartbreak or love,
to reveal your hand.

I wonder if you
get trashed and think of me or
forget til morning.

I try not to think.
Sometimes I just ramble, rant,
and laugh for too long.

I could imagine,
me, reaching out, but is it
inappropriate?

I'd make art that wasn't the equivalent of processed
microwave food, without the "gourmet" label.
Then again equal validity in creation is only debatable
if you're an ******* who believes any of this has meaning.
If you're taking yourself seriously,
you're going to get ****** up by
the **** end of this joke; Art is more than these
observable qualities of reality. It is beyond us.
However, everything we are is made of the stuff.
We are art. Life is art. Life is meaningless
Art is meaningless.
We are meaningless. You.
You are meaningless as well.
Roll on snare... None of this holds real validity.
Abuse of cymbal.
In this lifetime I want so many things that simply
will not happen. She says my "dreams" are floaty
although I know I won't live to see them.
Life flies by so fast it's a wonder we don't get
tickets. I want light that moves at 40mph
and scorches on impact. Explodes like fireworks.
It should glow; green or blue.
I'd use it to cook these dinners,
burn these notebooks,
**** these mother
******* guitars.

-Light up a cliche under a streetlight
while singing "the Star Spangled Banner"
and receiving oral from a trans-woman.
-**** in the drive-thru of an Arby's.
-Fist fight a bear that people
find much uglier than myself.
Made a bucket list of ****
I think might be legitimately worth doing;
haven't run it by my girlfriend yet.
Speaking of which,
she deserves a round of applause
for dealing with my melodramatic *******.
-Strike a police officer,
after robbing a bank with a water pistol.
I wanted to call her to let her know
I'd chased a bird till it crossed the street
and tweeted at me in anger or excitement.
Flipping the bird "the bird", I shouted,
"******* BIRD!"
and continued home.
-Throw a rock at a train.
-Toss a Molotov Cocktail at a moving car,
and cook a hot dog in the flames.
She deserves a million dollars
and a god-**** Nobel peace prize.
-Call one of those panhandling
money worshiping televangelists
a **** bird, and offer them to ****
themselves [the ugliest people I can think of].
-Wear a habit over a burka.
I don't believe in souls, soul mates,
anything supernatural or special,
but I love that woman,
and that's why I believe in love.
-Not die alone.

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 .

4am and my eyes are killing me,
and I'm dull and sore and ****.
****. ****. ****. ****.

Leaning against an arcade booth
of Street Fighter 2 watching them
dance in green lazer lights.
We decided to go back to her friend's place.

Her friend got wine,
he got beer.
He ****** in the bushes.
Admitted he was drunk.

On the roof of her friend's apartment,
I ****** down a cold coffee,
and we played acoustic music.
We climbed higher on the roof.
They smoked and drank,
and just generally shot the ****.

Something bad happened between him and her;
she ran off crying, he's calling her a child, a baby.
He's pretending he's not mad,
pretending he's in control of his emotions
while lashing out.
Throws a beer bottle,
decides to leave. She
practically begs him for a ride home.
Me and her friend want so badly for her
to stay. Stay.
She leaves with him.
Drunk and ******, to drive her home.
I start walking home soon after.

I get lost on a street.
It's 2am and I'm jumping up and down
waving my hands, trying to get someone
to just tell me where I am.
A man across the street must be taking out garbage,
I walk across the street and say, "Excuse me sir?"
He shouts, "No! Go back across the street! NO!"
like I'm a ******* wild animal.
I ask him, "Can you just tell me where Bluestone is?"
He tells me to go north.
His input is useless.
I hope he dies of pancreatic cancer.

I kick a can and yell, "**** all of you, collectively!"
to the suburban nightmare I'm trapped in.
"I hope they nuke this ******* **** stain neighborhood!"
Kick an empty Arizona can in contempt and disgust.

I have a small monologue with myself
and almost break down on the sidewalk.

Walk back to practically where I came from,
and take the long way home.
On my way I pass a stranger who asks, "Dig?"
No ******* idea what they meant.
I dodge the skunks and grab a hubcap.
Wanted a trinket.
I think I'm gonna have a ******* aneurism.

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 think we were in high school, a little more than children when you said you love me.

We're almost real men here, we're "sentimental boys."

I promised I wouldn't let myself be the victim, but when your eyes sparkle in Christmas lights, and you don't eat for days, and you live recklessly in a cruel world, you will experience pity

a little more than sorrow.

Someone said you were sincere and I didn't argue,
because even though you lied to them, you were real to me,
and if I poison that now it kills the nostalgia
for a time I was looked after and not for.
Cared and not sought.

Slightly more than children.

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.

Low voltage and the battery
is glowing like some hippie on drugs,
man **** the hippies but they are
radiant.
I can't respect people anymore,
I step on toes and curtsy sarcastically
and if I'm being kind it's somehow ironic
and everyone is fair game and an easy target,
I see in targets and blink like a ******
and bat my eyes like dragons breathe fire.

Be anything you want to be except a doormat
a pet, an iron chest, a superstar, a sucker or lollipop,
a lawyer or boy in blue soaked in red.

Run for your ******* life,
and die in the process.
Stop trying to make treaties with the modern world,
boring idiots with their noses buried in their ******* phones
and I'm not even close to old fashioned, just spiteful.
Spiteful because I'm lazy.

When the bass kicks the speakers out
my head is always between them,
so you know I don't always
listen to music
to listen to music.