Midnight
criminal metabolism of guilt forest
Rattlesnakes whistles castanets

Remove me from this hall of mirrors
This filthy glass

Are you her
Do you look like that
How could you be when
no one ever could
~~~

Poet of the call-girl storm

She left a note on the bedroom door.
“If I’m out, bring me to.”
~~~

I dropped by to see you
late last night
But you were out
like a light
Your head was on the floor
& rats played pool w/your eyes

Death is a good disguise
for late at night

Wrapping all games in its calm garden

But what happens
when the guests return
& all unmask
& you are asked
to leave
for want of a smile

I’ll still take you then
But I’m your friend

As a small child, the straps
that held me in my carseat
were the worst torture
imaginable. I remember straining
against them with all the might
in my tiny body, knowing
it was hopeless. Your silences
have become the car-seat-straps
of my life now. From the outside
they waited, beckoning in sheer
inevitability, and from the inside
I can see no way out
without ripping you in two.

Hey, remember
when you and I sat in a field
and I found an interesting rock
that may even have been pretty
and you smashed it
for fun?
Hey, remember
how you and I sat in a field
and I held that interesting rock that
was once pretty
and tried to put it together
until I gave up?
Hey, remember
that you and I sat in a field
and a rock was just a rock
and not foreshadowing
and not a metaphor
for us?

My poems, my thoughts
my pain on paper
they're all me.
Me me me me me.
I write these things for you
to find
And offer up my pain as
a selfish gift
an offering
a sacrifice.
Look at me.
Understand me.
Me me me
me me.
I give these things as barter.
I know you, your desire to feel
to see pain that isn't your own.
To think that
maybe
someone else has it harder than you
and secretly, happily
embrace the pity.
I understand and still I ask
Accept my offering.
And in return, give
Me me
Me me me
a feeling of understanding
like somebody cares.
More.
Give me
selfish me, twisted me
tired me hurting me addicted me
my drug.

The Tartars thought that a neat
clean hole in your head
would let in the gods
and you could hear their whispers.
A neat
clean hole
in your skull.
An honor for those worthy.
But what if
a hole
is to let things out?
To let out the pressure
to let out the whispers
to let out the shouting
and the voices of your inadequacy
ever-present.
When your thoughts are too expensive
to ever want to keep
could a neat
clean hole
let them go?
A hole in my head
and a hole in my heart
to let out the pain
to let out the love
to let out the heaviness
and the lack of hope.
But I cannot drill holes in my chest
or my head
So I punch holes in my skin
Until pain bleeds out like water
through the tiniest crack in the ****.

Take one step, and dance with me
the solid square or circular *****, we flew into,
a twisted and twirled beautiful night of romance.
I hand you a twisted red velvet pedaled pool of symbolism
you take my rose and return to me my criticism.
And cynicism. My mission: critical.

to every thought you whispered, and secretly hoped I'd hear.
To all the fear, and folds of insecurity to which you adhere.
To the ripping of the soul, when you get attached again, and pull away like a bandaid
to the sadder days on Saturday I feared I'd never endure; and never quite did.
to the she who so violently wraps me to her will, whenever she feels the need to want me again, but not really.
To the taste of sour beer, I forced myself to drink until her name drifted away.
to the goodbye stamped day when she packaged and shipped herself as far as she could get from me.

I say farewell.
I will not let what my heart wants be the leash by which she binds me.
I will not let her tie and untie me, use me and toss me aside.
I will learn to be outside myself, and outside my insignificant struggle.
I will live amongst the world and dwell in love of mud covered creatures too ***** for you to play with.
I will learn to stop saying I, because it is the least imporant word in my vocabulary.
I will be presented with the apple of the world, and wont feel guilty for taking a taste;
I hold it not a sin, due to my blatant loss of faith.
I will stop using future tense, because things only happen in the present.
And i will pray, metaphorically, that the last present she gives to me is her absence.

Therefore, my mission is to say farewell, to her and all she brings.
she attacked me with her smile, and that was the day she ruined me.

farewell to my misguided little dream,
I'll see you in hell, and oh yeah,
happy 19th birthday to me.