I hope you're doing well, but I also hope you're living in a veritable hell. And I really mean that.

I wish nothing but the best for you, I truly do, but I pray you're miserable; pray you're regretting.

You know that I'd **** for you, but without hesitation, I'd **** you too. I try not to play favorites.

I hope you sleep well at night, that you're warm and nestled tight. I want you to be stagnant and cold.

You know I hope you and him last forever, but also that his heart strings sever. While hiding ****** scissors behind my back.

I would go back for you, I know I should, but time has me by the throat like I knew it would. Strangle hold.

I wish I didn't mean these words, but one wish and they'd all come true. I want those past 5 years with you.

Your life is a border-line ***** film. Caught between bad angles, blurred shots, and this masked imagine of someone dying you just can’t get out of your head… but you keep watching anyways.

I heard a whisper in the night, so close it could have kissed my ear. But when I awoke to see who was calling, that echoed breath had disappeared.

I laid awake the better part of an hour, chasing the voice from my head. Because I knew that voice from years before, the voice of someone I thought long dead.

I rose from the nestled safety of my bed and walked over to the window pane. I knew if I were to open it for you, you just might leave me all the same.

I closed my eyes, still burning softly, and loosed a breath of mine. I felt it hang in the cold, night, air for a fraction of a moment's time.

A winter breeze came creeping in fetching chills to send through my core. And just when I thought that you had come and gone came the opening of my bedroom door.

It had slightly moved, arguably not at all, nudging urges of neurosis. But I still tasted you in mouth, a faint haunting of my psychosis.

Debating my sanity I queried out loud, "Are you back this time for good?" but nothing answered from the darkness of my room, just as nothing should.

So I closed my window, shook off the frost, and laid back down for sleep. But I couldn't help but feel a warmth already underneath my sheets.

Sixty-five percent of the time I just don't get it,
Thirty percent of the time I just don't care,
And the other five percent was never meant for me to know...
But the last five percent if he hardest for me to let go.

We tend to forget exactly where it was we came from.

Those people that died, those people that cried, they were real.

Move on, make more memories until you become one yourself, but never, ever, forget where you came from.

10 years later.
I'm still right here, but no cotton mouth this time. I'm driving a better car but miss the one I used to have. Parked in a patch of pavement meant for a pool, but now it's just an empty field. A city cop drives by, I duck my head low behind tinted windows...
A beam of light pierces through..
As he drives past I throw my beer bottle and run because I know he'll come back, even if he isn't County he can still get me for DUI..
Don't need another one of those..
I go to hide behind an old friends house, he has a daughter now.
She's 3.
He's back in school, I'm happy for you, Tyler...
The cop drives back by just like I knew he would, I watch from behind a fence. I feel 14 again, minus 3 friends. He slows to a stop then drives on. I get back in, put in a pinch and drive home. Glad I live right down the road.
Somethings never change. Maybe I should try and steal a stop sign...

It's time to cease chasing after ghosts... because there are no such thing.
It's time to stop peeking under the bed at night... Because monsters don't exist.
It's time to shut out the lights without running through the darkness...  Because there is nothing in the dark that isn't there in the light.
It's time to quit pulling the covers over my head... Because nothing is there to get me.
It's time to grow up... Because I've been acting like a child for far too long.
It's time for me to end this sleepover... Because when you're here, I'm miles away.
It's time to wake up... Because the dream is over. I'm now aware that I've spent most of this life asleep... My eyes are open.

Drilling through flesh to find something worth sparing. Yanking out veins, arteries I'm tearing.
A drastic change from who I used to be. In unsubtle ways this world has altered me.
I'm searching for something worth nailing to my cross. But my search turns up nothing, and my intestines are in knots.
Digging and sivving, through heavy, labored, breathing. Rending and bending, through tendons I'm teething.
Im dredging up the dead that lay in my mind. I'm trying to find the peace of a sweeter time.
But I only go so deep, because of what lies bellow. A skull full of dead rabbits where even Alice wouldn't go.
Tying sinew to their paws I make them dance and jest. I fear what I've become because I'm alone and have killed the rest.
And yet I'm still smiling through the blood, and the tears, and the pain. Because deep down in my past I've found that I am the one to blame.
I have scorched my skies, I have charred my earth. I was my own downfall, to You my Friend.
Signed.
For what's it's worth.

I remember us all sneaking across fences to grab the cooler full of beers she said were behind her dad's house. The back lights came on and we became swift as wind, running down alongside the river bank laughing and choking drunk all of us were. But we got our beers.

I remember leaving the house party, stumbling from one side of town to the other, smashing every pumpkin I saw along the way. When you found me, I was dazed. You said you just followed the guts along side the road and smiled.

I remember the bonfire at the moon towers, they drove off the flats in a fit of youth and invincibility. I half heartedly mocked, "they're gonna wreck. " Two hours later we picked them up from the side of a dirt, gravel, road as they walked away from the shattered glass and mangled trees. He still thanks me to this day for the ride home.

I remember walking down the street with you and that ******* my back, the street in front of your house. We all looked up for some reason and saw that ghostly flash of light pass across the front of the light pole. We froze, and then calmly walked back to your front porch, ours brains wracked with what it could have been. We still don't know.

I remember seeing you at her funeral, you were torn down and she was being laid to rest at an age much to young, only 15. You were with your new boyfriend but you still said you wished it was me by your side and for a moment life didn't seem so grey and hazy. I still never apologized for being who I was. I'm sorry.

I remember more about the sleepy little town we all grew in than I care to admit, holding all these moments close to my heart. It was the only place that felt like it accepted me. Even now that everyone is gone and our shades haunt that high school, I still feel a presence when I go back home to visit. Our little Donnie Darko town.

Here I am, drunk again.
So long friend.
I can't recall how many times I tried to reach you. Or how many time my student became the teacher, but I'm drunk again.
Remember all those bottles left unshared.
Got my brain in a snare.
Remember how I tried to care? But I'm drunk again.
Tip the top til it topples over, this stables staggering, are we sure it's sober?
No, no, November was waiting but we're still just debating. Am I drunk again?
Killed you with water, drownd you with tomorrow's sorrow.
But we're you listening?
This fires raging but still contained. I promised I'd stay sain, if only to show you.
If only to hold you.
If only I was sober.
If only you would stop smoking those sick clovers.
But I'm drunk again.
So long friend.

Yesterday is gone, she left early this morning, and all she left behind was a blood stain on the tile bathroom sink and some loose teeth in the trash. She didn't even have the courtesy to shut the front door on her way out... So much for Yesterday.

Waking up to strangers laughing at the situation I politely asked, "Who the **** are you?" Laughs turn to silence, smiles to still faces. They turn and walk out the same door as Yesterday... Doesn't anybody know how to shut a door?

Lying in bed I can't keep my mind about me. My mind is wide open, thoughts laid open, just like that door. So, I roll over closer to Today so that maybe I can put my hands around Tomorrow,  but either way I'm not satisfied with my lovers and still reminisce on Yesterday... Still, I can't close that door.

Dawn turns to Dusk and I'm just now dusting the stars off my bed. The Day leaves in deshevelment. I recall why I need new friends.

The blood stains the blue tile sink a permanent streak, someone forgot to clean up the glass and loose teeth. I remember my door left gaping... The door to my life.

I traverse the planet riddle carpet to the edge of the universe; my life; the four walls I know.  I manage to seal the door in blood and oaths... But I don't lock it... I leave the outside light on... Just incase Yesterday decides to come back, just so she can walk back in; my life... So much for Yesterday.

You never really know just how close you came to being swallowed by the sun, you just felt it's warmth and gentle glow.

The breeze that came from a hurricane you never saw.

You can't truly understand how delicious the air is until you realise that death is right in front of you, taking in every exhale, waiting to swatch the breath from your lungs.

The footprint you left as its being drowned by the tidal wave.

Words cannot convey how vivid every thought counts, not until you're faced with the vast, empty, void of silence.

The life you have, and the life that you truly deserve.

You never know just how you safe you are as you sleep in the center of the Hands of God, until He removes them.

Go in God's Hands.

Once again, 7 years later, Im faced with these Lights.
The music changed but the mood still the same.
I relax.
Head tilted up I watch these Street Lights whistle a tune by my memories. Strange  people, the car an anomaly from times known, but this feeling... Still so much the same.
No curve this time, no speed limit; like we cared then or now.
Instead of school tomorrow it's a job, instead of teachers it's higher ups. Regardless.
I ask myself the same question now as I did then, "Can we make it?"

"The first step is always the hardest."  I've recited this over and over in my consciousness.
"Grip the rail, tight. "
Pursed with dried paint to smooth over the lumps of people gone before you.
" You're never the first one to go. "
Eyes forward and chin up I gather myself.
" It's only stairs, " I say over and over.
" It's only stairs," they say.
Now, faced with only upward motion.
Now, faced with only moving forward.
I look out the window to see the moon waning, waxing strong with my ascent.
4x32 are tiles on the floor.
6x15x18 is the case.
Hold my hand.
Guide me.
Guard me through this night.
By morning I will have reach this light.
"It's only stairs." We say.

When you bleed out for so long you forget what it's like to have a pulse.The sensation of dust dries the bones, hollows out the eyes, and makes breathing a quantum equation you just can't bear to think about.

Thoughts become brittle, your heart beats over time, double-paced, trying to fight against the slipping sands in your viens while playing time keeper to the beat of a drum.

You become stripped, barron, naked before the Almighty God and beg for Him to just wet His finger so that He may cool your cracking lips.......... But there's a chasm between you two.  Between your higher functions, ***** and brain, between your salt and soul.

You remember what it's like to bleed deep red instead of grainy grits of sediment. You remember what it's like to be made of something lighter than desert. You remember what it's like to be cut, having yourself drip to the ground instead of blown away in the breeze.

It's the letting of blood that heals you. Blood letting that removes the black,  viscose, oil burning through your arteries.
It's blood letting that clears the thick smog of cigarette smoke from your lungs.
Blood letting... Gives you back a mind made of sanity, washed clean of the ashes of yesterday's burnt memories.
I'll tell you how to pick up and walk again... If only you'll let a little blood

Kneel before a throne in which a king never sat, yet you drink up all his wine. Throw it all up at his chair, but keep coming back time after time.

Kiss the ring around the hand, from a distance it looks so clean. But the closer you get to the ******, stained, porcelain it begins to lose it sheen.

Pour another drink for the servant, the one who could never rise. But now I see the reason why they keep us down, buckled with all their lies.

Continued, though, Ill drink my beer, smoke a smoke, and playing the "no more the wise", but secretly I'm just biding my time waiting for your destruction and demise.

These hands that have held you as a wild child in a dream are the same hands that throb to choke you and muffle your screams.
These hands which guided and guarded you down those stretches of hospital halls are now the hands that push you down to fall.
These hands once caressed the jagged, pink, scar where your heart used to lay become the hands that wish to tear it away.
These hand that made sure you fell asleep through all that pain now are the hands that would cut themselves to beat out your brain.
These hands that used to pray for you like a ***** ready to be ****** are clinched in two fist now ready to make the first throw.
These hands that ached for you, fed you,  and tried so ******* hard are just the hands of memories now deep tissue scars.
... These hands.. Would have killed anyone, in dirt and cold blood.. Are now the only hands holding back the rage of my flood.
.. These hands, they still work for you. Even if you're no longer here with me..... These hands, they're still here, waiting... One day.. You'll see.

A life based on "likes"
Click
Do you approve of my new trendy, hipster, selfie?
Click
Do you think this latte, tea, cup of ******* makes me look more sophisticated?
Click
Does this beer in my mouth and guts in my hand make me look like I'm fun?
Click
Can anyone tell Im starving for attention?
Click
Can someone give me self validation?
Click
Is anyone out there?
Click
All I can hear is the echo of click.
I like

Laying on a chair made of beans.  Head propped up somewhere in the cloud.  I wonder to my self.
Where to now?
How far away is Wonderland?
Tip toe down the road.  Loss the feeling in your legs. Fly to the moon.
I am the river. The star. I'm glue.

I could drop a full sheet of LSD and leave this world in a torrid of colors, with horrifying images of devils and angels swimming about my body; casting lots to see which of them will claim my soul.
Or, I can drown in a bottle of sleeping pills and whiskey.  With a subtle note of why this permanent dream is better than another day in the waking world.
... Or...  I could set these broken bones, patch this torn heart, smoke a cigarette, and start walking down this long, dirt, road... Picking up all of the shattered people along the way.

Sharpen my wits against a heart made of stone.
With a chisel and hammer in hand, I create a stone man from the beating, marble, monolith.
My thoughts pantomime a mythos ripping through the blood-brain barrier, causing hemorrhaging in the form of hands held towards the sky.
Barbarism takes the form of intellectualism, and as a consequence adorns sadism.
Waging war within, trying to conquer both the left and right hemispheres of my world.
But I'm simply made of stone; a monument to my own malicious, tyrannical, self.
Someone, please, come and tear down this statue.
Anyone, please, take this chisel. Drub down and crumble this creation.
For the those that can hear, please,  come and set me free.

I don't really exist; she doesn't want to exist.
I watched the ocean move the sand across the ceiling floor.
Stranded on an island made of blankets.
I'm eating hallucinations. I'm feeling color.
She doesn't want to exist because I don't want her to.
My mind can't fathom visuals so intense as a living person.
Adventuring down into a spiral void I was born with. I'm not scared. I'm not uneasy. I'm an Adventurer.
I started this journey with three others but now it's just me and her.
But I don't exist; she doesn't exist; this world doesn't exist.
I'm only here for a moment and then it's back to the **** of my mind. Back to shaking hands with reality.
But I don't exist.
I'm merely an Adventurer.
Never here, never gone.
Only a tracer of light .
Always vanishing but never truly dissipated.
I'm like space and time. Stuck in a black hole.
I don't exist.

Blood on my hands
A knife in your back
I hope you understand
My reason for attack

But you never looked away
You never made a sound
The words you would've said
Now they spill to the ground

Breath hanging in the air
Like cigarette smoke
I said, "those will be your death."
Now I see the irony of that joke.

So the deed was done
No returning to the past
Name etched in my chest
With a shard of glass

December's waxing strong
I remember why I'm cold
Make a fire from my flesh
To try and warm my soul

I realise that your gone
The knife still in your spine
I lay my self down
Maybe I'll sleep just fine

I'll see you in my dreams
Another life to start again
I'll ask you for a chance
For forgiveness for this sin

You can't escape the words spoken over you.

Forked tongues and twisted tones drive the nails which splinter the bones.

They've been telling you what you are for you're entire life.

Pronunciation brings forth desolation. They sound out who you are with articulation.

The A's, the E's,  their eye's, their ohhh's,  and then you're used... These words define you.

You tried to **** me once in the most cliché of ways. Tearing my heart out in the attempts of bleeding me dry.
Like this is the "new" Coup de Graš.
As if you thought of this one on your own.
... How sweet

I will admit, for a moment, you caught me coughing up blood and bits of bitterness. After all, you did try to write me out, and in the least creative way.
I should have seen this coming.
I could have narrated.
... How foolish.

So it must've been no surprise when you came back at me with those thighs, I meant eyes, that I premeditated a demise...
A rhyme...
For you...
... How clever.

I hollowed out my chest leaving nothing but a cadaver. You extended yourself to no end. Burrowing inside what you thought was alive.
Something you loved when I'd do.
Something you could chew on.
... How explicit.

Self-destruction was my final task, an easy one and I do owe that to you. You and me now built as one I came crumbling down on top of you.
Rubble carries heavy weight.
Sticks and stone.
....

Born again from pain and ash I left the pile of blood and debris known as you. I never meant break and bleed you, I only meant bury you alive.
I'm cold and hallow.
I'm ruined in this manner.
I'm a better person, now.
... Thank you.

Inside-outside, upside-down. Constant motion, spinning round.
Conscious split, two sides torn. Personalities are born.
Balanced, stabled, falling down. Spilling over onto the ground.
Thoughts amuck, frayed and tattered. Sanity beaten, bruised, and battered.
Sailing, drowning, waters of my mind. Washed upon its shores I might find.
Forgetting rhythm, losing time.  Blacking out, right here is fine.
I'll end this now, my own terms. I'll perplex them, their thoughts will burn.
Gathering together my person, my flock. I'll lay it's all down on the chopping block.  
Panting, sweating, head in hand. It's okay... Im normal again.

Forcing poetry is like forcing a ****... Something will come out, but probably not what you want.