I turned the radio on
again for the first time
in months.
terrible thing,
to turn on the radio;
not the news,
not the music,
none of it
is any good.
I hate the radio.
And I hate that
I turned it on even
more but I was bored
in that silent car
with that silent person
and my thinking was
that it might
do some good
but I was wrong,
very wrong.
The host
was a bore
and the news
was dull
and the music
was repetitive
and dumb
and the callers
were worst,
stupid like their radios.
It's been minutes
since we left the car
and that torture instrument,
thank the gods.

The key was lost
among the books
and
crumpled papers.

The phone rang loud
through the empty
house
but no answer.

The fan above
would spin and spin
like
a dark whirlpool.

The bottle slept on
the wooden floor
boards
spilling slowly.

Somewhere in that
mess, pills scattered
on
the bathroom sink.

A fly explored
the planet that
kept
it prisoner.

And
quietly
the
breathing
stopped.

Soy milk and cereal in our underwear.
What a morning!

you and me,
let's make sure
to drive far
and so fast
and when we
reach that line
at the end
the engine
will smoke, burn
and we will
stare at each
other and
shout "Wow what
a crazy
ride we had!"

drive like a
maniac and
just enjoy
that long road,
don't miss a
chance to speed
up on what
waits ahead.

Dilemmas take over
Phone ringing wrong caller
The truth packed in boxes
That all are sly foxes
Sparkling drink
Have you on the brink
Rotting wood
Of guitar should
Tell you about our blues
Detectives lie about clues
There was nothing but sand
And a diamond ring on her hand
Little boy
Buried his toy
In the beach of despair
Washed by waves
A state beyond repair
We know what he craves
So please don’t cry
Or you’ll fall from this heavenly sky

Alone*
          **I watched the midnight fires
                   consume the madmen and liars.

nearly every
day
stalking us,
what business have you,
Cat?

I think about packing my clothes in a guitar case,
drinking enough cans of some energy drink to not **** me ,
                               and catching the first bird outta here.

"Fly me into the open mouth of the horizon
And let it swallow me whole until I become nothing,
                               Maybe then i'll be smiling".

What a **** joke.

If you were going to **** yourself,
how would you go about it?
Lately I've been analyzing it
more than what I usually did,
I thought those thoughts were dead,
but they aren't, they simply left
for a bit of time, call it vacation,
and are back ready to mess around.
So many of the writers I admire
went through with it, suicide,
perhaps we share the same nature.
Someone once told me that suicide
was for cowards, I shook my head
and told him: No.
Do you hold the courage to end
your own life? On the contrary,
suicide is bravery to an extreme.
I'm not brave enough yet,
it's not death I fear,
it's the unknown
of what's to come
after the act's been done.
When you think about things
you notice our
insignificance.
Forgive me for saying so
but I'll probably go out with a bang.

Life is a slasher flick
           And time is the killer.

some nights there's this overwhelming feeling
of wanting to climb to the roof of a house looking over a city
and getting drunk and screaming The Smiths songs so loudly
that the windows threaten to shatter
and last night was one of those nights,
all i wanted was you there by my side
yelling at the top of your lungs the lyrics to all those songs
we memorized by heart when we were 15
while going through that phase
because i know you are hurting and i'm hurting too
and such a thing, well, such a thing would be a privilege,
and i'm so very sure that we'd be the happiest people
on the planet after it! we'd pass out in our room,
those moments however long or short they may be,
would last, would feel like eternity,
and an eternity of joy is all we strive for.

Thank you Hemingway
for putting the fun
back into my reading.
It been so long since
I had read for enjoyment
and not to study
some style,
some writer,
some time,
some setting.
The book was yellowing,
The Sun Also Rises,
bullfights, Spain, wine,
women, even writers,
all those things and more.
Last time it
was checked out
of that school library,
10 years ago,
**** long time.
I took it,
read it,
devoured it.
Brilliant!
Rough and honest.
That thing deserved
to be read and I'm glad
that it was by me.
Sometimes books just capture you,
make you wanna be in the middle
of the action with the characters,
live the story with them,
and I guess we do.
So in summary
and once again,
Thank you Mr H.

I left the window open:
      All monsters are hereby
            welcome.

There's a million surprises
hidden in a magician's hat.

Million and one:
we hid her body inside.

A dot of red
like earth springs
naturally
releasing
from beneath
those holy
waters that
haunt and run
our bodies
pricking thumb
let off all
the worries
rivers and
oasis clear
the sick realm
that plagues me.

She hung herself
from the ceiling fan
I think,
The reasons are
unknown to me still,
The why,
but she did it,
We never spoke
that much
so this sadness
is a mystery
to me,
Maybe I saw
something in her
and it
resembled me,
something familiar,
goodbye
Mirror.

there's a shadow
in the coffee shop,
at the back of
the coffee shop,
on the wobbly
chair, table,
resting on
peach walls
taking slow seeps
from a large cup.

there's someone
attached to
said shadow but
it holds no
emotion,
it holds no
expression,
it's not
alive,
it's not
willing,
it's trapped.

poor thing,
it is
nothing
more than
a shadow
on a coffee shop
wall.

You're made
You're born
You learn to walk
You learn to talk
You go to school
You slowly grow
You cry teenage years away
You graduate
You go to college
You get a degree
You get a job you hate
You meet someone
You get married
You slowly begin to hate her
You have kids
They grow
You grow older
You lose your hair
You hate her even more
You work that job
Your kids leave
Becoming a part of the cycle
You retire
You become angrier
More bitter
Sadder
Your kids are disappointments
You get grandkids
You become frailer
You die
Where did the time go?
What happened to dreams?
What a crazy show!
Get me off this ride!
I don't want to be a part of it!
This vicious cycle of life!

i tried doing sonnets
and failed. look what came of it.
a haiku instead.

the moment I met you I ripped a hole through my chest 
looking for a beating heart to hand but the cavity was empty.

the wound didn’t seal and turned ghoulish with time,
rotting, spreading, like an obsidian cancer.

she was there the first time I tried hanging myself
from the ceiling fan in the comfort of my own room,
looking down at the red faced mess that wept on
the floor, daddy's leather belt tied around his neck,
a choking silence, a quiet wheezing, frustrating tears,
anger at another failure, head pounding, head screaming:
"You're not good enough! You're not good enough...!"
over and over again like a scratched record, needle on,
a ghostly hand, tattooed poems from pale shoulder to pale fingers,
reaching out at a limp hand, a gentle squeeze by winter's touch,
a crooked toothed understanding smile, paper eyes into tv static eyes,
rivers cascading down a rocky pimpled face, this was a surrender,
she knew, she'd so long ago surrendered herself, raised a white flag
on her own fortress of solitude, the life cooked out in a gas oven,
I was always a sinner though in no gods I've believed, and hell
I don't fear because hell is manmade, hell is here, hell is smirks,
hell is being mocked, hell is disappointing grades, hell is ripping the hairs
from my head in an attempt to replace pain, hell is grand, I felt it, she felt it,
and there is nothing after death and nothing is better than this nothingness,
seconds away from experiencing the soothing blandness of infinite zero
the belt collapsed on my weight and here I was and here she was, peering,
and though becoming a corpse didn't worry me, the following days did,
she comprehended, but for whatever reason she comforted me,
until dissipating back into her own tiny place on the bookshelf,
to live her lifelessness between the leafs of a book, leaving the broken me
to see another night, another sunrise, hiding the belt in father's dresser.

You get a card
some girl
some guy
we've gone to school
for what
7 years
they are nice and
they've shared
the school
it's their birthday
"you there
should come"
picking it up
the card
reading
I don't want it
don't want
to go
it mean talking
with them
people
that's something to
dislike
so much
not hate, not that,
but yes,
dislike
never been good
at it
having
fun with others
I feel
awkward
I feel anxious
what's wrong
with me
in the garbage
it goes
their card

sister:
you smile too much
and i
hope that doesn't change
because
if there's one thing
i'll tell
you is that life
is a
game with so few
winners.
so smile, don't stop
for me
or anyone,
smile and
win it for us,
'cause hon',
big bro has gone
and lost.

the ocean isn't majestic,
it's just a huge salty toilet!

it's raining and thundering
hard
and
the sun is hiding
somewhere.
the roommate that's full of lard
is in slumber
and
there's no one to disturb me.
it is but me
and the rain and thunder,
with a pen and piece of paper.
it is a good day,
this, now, today.

I've lost
the touch
and writing
has become
a damnation.

Laying down
on the ground
thought not found
invisible crown
on that head
killer cold
"oh man, we're old"
soon be dead
not learned
yet
a needle earned
gone fast like a jet
they leave
they leave
they got a ticket
from the street guy
a new trinket
and they'll leave
great goodbye

Born in a furnace
in the center of the Earth
wordsmith like fresh swords.

To coffee
For all the work
It has done
For you all those
Mornings when
You had to get
Up and drive
To that job you
Know you hate
And it kept you
Awake and
Not dead so you
Should tell it
"Coffee, Thank you."

later i will            write.
                              for
now, tv rot my     brain.