during my worst times
on the park benches
in the jails
or living with
******
I always had this certain
contentment-
I wouldn't call it
happiness-
it was more of an inner
balance
that settled for
whatever was occuring
and it helped in the
factories
and when relationships
went wrong
with the
girls.
it helped
through the
wars and the
hangovers
the backalley fights
the
hospitals.
to awaken in a cheap room
in a strange city and
pull up the shade-
this was the craziest kind of
contentment

and to walk across the floor
to an old dresser with a
cracked mirror-
see myself, ugly,
grinning at it all.
what matters most is
how well you
walk through the
fire.

What are we
Where do we stand
Is there a we?
Or is it just you, is it just me
Living symbiotically.

I don't light up to open my mind,
     But to temporarily silence the demons.
    And right now
   The monsters are climbing into
  My eyes
      Ears
  Mouth
Heart
  And ripping apart
     Every solid piece of myself
           I used to care about.

      They’re laughing,
     Dripping venom,
    Burning me over and
  Over and
OVER again.
Making me scream so silently
That no one else knows.  
  No one else can hear
   The fleshy sound of
    Wet skin
     Being torn
      From the outside, in.
 
They don’t see
   My hands bound
    To my own demented thoughts
   Making me do things
       I’d once refused.

      I see in flames now
     I see the world burning
    I see rubble,
   Wreckage and
  Ruins.
I see remnants of a
Person I used to love, used to know.

So lift me up higher than I’ve ever been before
To suppress the inner creatures
Controlling
A newfound stranger.

Funny how
I write poems on my phone in class
Inconspicuous enough
Ignored enough
To be passed off as texting
Camouflage
Blend into the line where cool meets socially acceptable
Cowardly fingers pause in thought
What metapho-
Er
Reply
To type out
He notices
Smiles
I am ashamed
Of either my actions
Or my cowardice
And I'm not sure which
And I'm not sure why