Franzia oh Franzia!
You are my savior.
With just a box
You clean my slate.
I have no problems!
And no insecurities
I fill up on you
So I don't devour gallons of ice cream.

You save me
From the person I could be
And you raise me
Closer to who I want to become.

I dreamed last night.
Everything I used to aim for
And what I used to believe I could have,
I had.
It was an alternate reality
That made me so disappointed
When I woke and saw it was false.
It was my heaven
Where those hopes I have long put away
Came to fruition.

I
Was
So
Happy

You are the bad seed.
She killed them all.
It happened. What will you do?*

Why do you make me try to reinforce my possible schizophrenia
When you are only here to have fun?

Who cares.
Let's have some *****.

The stale stench of criticism and loathing hangs in the air.
My thoughts are replaced with the cacophonous crackling
Of plastic wrappings.
I think my soul left weeks ago.
My body is run-down and deprived of the necessary fuel to charge it.
The minuscule amount of hope still clinging desperately to life
Is the hope that maybe tonight,
I can get a few hours of blissful unconsciousness;
The hope that the smooth, cool hand of that sweet, sweet death
Will soon calm my aching essentia.

Her brain is hardwired
To think of only him
And of certain needs.
She has become obsessed
Dependant
Though I don't see how she's managed like that for so long.
She says she refuses to live without him.
That he is the only one for her.

I don't know how to help
She knows she's more than just
Half of a couple.
I've seen it.
But she says if she doesn't have him
Life's not worth living.

Apparently he disagrees.

Sweet, smooth, bright-green beauty,
Chunks of chocolate perfection
Generously swept through the soft swirls.
An ******* minty dessert.

Paycheck, oh paycheck!
How you are missed!
This MoneyNetwork card
Will soon eat my fist.

No proof of deposit
No numbers I can see.
It is all a plot
To cause my insanity.

I cannot prove
That I have been paid.
I can only hope
I can find a hearing aid.

Only verbal knowledge
I now possess.
I thought I got paid
But alas, I regress.

I yearn for my paycheck
That ink-splattered slip
To know I have money
To know I won't have to strip.

Broken down from the inside out
She tells me about him.
Emotionally cruel
Manipulative
Verbally abusive
She doesn't say in so many words
But the message gets across.

He has made her need him.
Rely on him for her validation
For her existence.
Now he is all she has.

A grown woman breaks down at work
In front of strangers, employees.
He is hurting her
On the inside.

She told me a lot more, too.
But what can I do?

Why would she tell me?

Bright red lips
Forming a perfect circle.
A fairytale hole
On a pale pale face.
Her eyes are rimmed
Black
With midnight mascara.
Hair a frustrated mess
Of dark curls
On top of her head.
The lace of her cami
Is flush to her *******
And minimal green cotton
Lays low on her hips.

She is Betty
She is Veronica
She is Snow and Cindy and Belle.

Everything becomes her
And through her archetypal appearance
She becomes everything.

The future is grimunexcitingdepressingunwanted.
Too late to change anything, though.

What a shame.

Your soft fur would make the most comfortable pillow
I'm sure your muscles taste divine.

Scratch me and both of these thoughts will come to fruition.

Girl waits anxiously,
Foot bouncing
Hands tapping
Mind in overdrive.

The woman in charge
Has her hair shaved on both sides
And tattoos covering her torso.
She takes two smoke breaks
And decides she might as well get paid.

Science? On your body? Whatever. Get in.

The girl holds out her foot
Pink and white and black
Ready and willing
To be punctured
Like the god's coloring book.
She talks to drown out the nerves.

Her friend follows
Awkwardly? Quietly?
Holds out fingers
To be used in case of emergency.
The first gets a vise grip on them
She starts singing pop-culture
From decades past to distract.
It just seems out-of-place.

The woman pays no attention.
bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
Refills her ink
As an artist must have supplies.
bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
She loves these needles
That penetrate and alter.
Allow the body to be a canvas
Both practical and beautiful.
bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

The girl's hand sweats
Death grips do that, I hear.
She has to wipe it off more than once.
Her friend is being little help.
She cringes!
Needle got close to bone
To nerves.
bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

She finishes
Puts away her needles
And her ink
Cleans her canvas
Though this was not her favorite artwork.
She sends them out.

She hobbles
Foot newly changed.
Human symbols now visible,
She is no longer just earth.
Her friend follows.

She now has the mark of humanity
Of science
Of society
Forever on her skin.
She now belongs to the world.

You words make me feel
Like I am an ethereal being
Both above and below
Made of nothing and all.

They fill me
Cover me
Take hold of my soul
And take it to beautiful places
Where words are the air
And verses are the trees.
And these trees are more beautiful
Than anyone can imagine.

Your writing takes hold of me
Softly alters my world
And makes me believe again.

My life is a strict routine
Of self-flagellation and control.
There are specific ways to handle
Every situation.
I manage to keep tight control
Over my own soul
By constantly reminding myself
That I'm not important.
It's not about me.
They won't remember me.

I think if I do it too harshly
Or too long without a break
It might accidentally break me.

I must keep this in mind.

I felt something today.

It wasn't positive
Or productive
And it was excessive.

But still.

I felt something.

It's just good to know that I haven't become permanently detached from humanity yet.

I'm sorry my temper flared,
Behind my eyes.
You weren't meant to know.

You are not the cause, my lady.
However, your actions speak louder
Than I could ever hope to express.
They are saying most inflammatory things.

Yes, anger may have me for now.
But soon it will leave
And you were never supposed to know.

I feel like the literary world
Is turning against me.
Words were my aloe
Comforted me
Let my bad aura out.
Instead, they infuriated me.
I went to that
Sacred house of books
The calming station.
I thought I was safe
It had me
Made me better.
Then it too failed me.
Tricked me into passivity
And caused me pain.
The pain of lost hope is greater than the pain of irrational anger.

I think words are forming an army against me
And I can't fight that.

Everything is far too
Temporary
To be important.

Jobs are passing.
School is passing.
People are passing.

The only reason anything is done
Is to help spend time
Until your time too passes.

Anger is weakness.
Temper is weakness.

I let it consume me for minutes
Reach the haven
For calmer thought.

Acceptance
Indifference
Strength returns to me.

What others do should not affect you.
They can do as they please.
Possessiveness got the better of me
But in reality
It doesn't matter

All is well.

I have to get out.
Havetohavetohaveto.

If I stay where I am
I will become a black hole
Absorbing negative energy just by being.

Havetohavetohaveto.



If only I had somewhere to go.

Betrayed
Belittled
Baking, burning between battles.
Blundering, blustering
Begging by bribing.
Bribing by begging.
Best?
Bottom.
Boastful, bragging baboon.

Bye.

It was mine.
MINE.
Mine
Like a toy belongs to a little girl
Who's always had to share.
Mine
Like a private journal
I accidentally left in the open.
Mine
Like the boy who has my heart
And doesn't know what to do with it.

It was mine.
I didn't want to share.

I am trying to get my mind off
The usual morbid thoughts.
The ones about
How everything is temporary
And how I won't remember any of these people
In ten years
And how nothing matters.
How the world doesn't care whether any of us exist
And if humanity slipped out of existence
Mother Earth would probably rejoice.
About how we are nothing more
Than placeholders in the cosmos
And our existence is unnecessary
And unimportant.

Because if I stay on that path
I will end up in an
Existentialist state of
Suspended indifference.
And that is not good for sales.

Sounds seem louder.
Skin feels drier.
People seem less important.

This is not ***.
This is the beginning
Of my final transformation
Into a zombie bat.

calm
d
o
w
n


not everything is about you
not everything is important
and those two aren't mutually inclusive

you are lovely
but your firehair
goes to the inside as well

She would hate to hear it, but they are a lot alike.

I will surely pay for this later.

I don't like talking.
Sharing is uncomfortable
Understanding is difficult.

I like to be
a l o n e

It's not meant in offense to anyone
Though I often end up offending when
They make me talk
Or I talk to myself.
I don't really think
Anything sentient is all that great
Including myself...
(Not that I think immobile things are fantastic. They are nothing.)

Socializing is pressure
When forced, I sometimes don't even feel like I'm really there
Being in the same room as others
Cause friction in my brain.
Synapses explode
The tiny unicorns that handle maintenance
Get distracted
Nothing good happens.

I like to be alone
But I hate small spaces.
Therefore, my life is a compromise.

She sits silently
Shellacked, superglued sans sound.
Cornered, Christine clenches
Claws covering cowardice
Comfort.
Taut tongue tangibly taciturn
Turns, transforms til truly torpid.
Silence caused transformation.
She is now an armchair.

Surrounded by noise
People who think
They're better than they are.
They don't stop.
Thisthisthis
Blahblahblah
Unending racket
Awkward sounds
Grating noises
Scraping away at the last of my sanity
And the last of my humanity.

Soon all my compassion will be deteriorated
By the force of your sound.
Then, the world will live in fear.

Chocolate custard
Forgotten high school friendships
They talk. I'm silent.

I never fit in
But they accepted my words
All groups need an ***.

We are different.
I, observer. They, observed.
One relationship.

But it is the past.
I barely remember it.
They consider it real.

Steakburgers and fries.
We pretend to remember
Friendships long-empty.

Oh come on.
Seriously?
You know perfectly well
There's little I wouldn't do
For a klondike bar.

My brain is filled with static


I feel like I'm not here

I feel no pain
I feel no pleasure

How can I tell if I exist...


All I can hear is white noise
runningthroughmyhead
softsoftfuzzfuzz

All I can see is blurs of color
greenandwhitesandbrowns
ohmy

All I can smell is nonexistant
airrushesthroughholes
nothinghappens

All I can feel is without reaction
dryhandscoldteeth
don'tcaredon'tcare

All I can taste is tasteless
coatofliquidonmytongue
pleasantunpleasantneutral




Ma­ybe this is what it's like to be. Or not be.

The pain is separate
From the person.
She acknowledges it
Accepts it
Enjoys it
But it is separate.
It barely even exists
Even though it is consuming a part of her brain.

The pain proves she still exists
Even if it's only a part of being.

Excess molars fill my swollen mouth
My jaw cannot take it
Saliva seps out of my guns
Hoping for some
Soothing salvation...
My teeth grow as I type
Expandingexploding
Until my tongue and gums are absorbed
And turn to fire to match
All that I'd left is
Far roo many
Massive molars

How could you?
I know we aren't full siblings
But I thought a half still meant something.
How could you not tell me?
And she's your mother.
How could you not tell her?
How could you not
Warn her
At least?
You know how she took it
When he went.
Or maybe you didn't
I guess you weren't there.
But still.

We are your family.
It may not mean much to you
But you mean a lot to us.

He's leaving, too.
One was bad enough.
Now two are going away?

It's his life.
It's his decision.
It's not my problem.

But he leaves in two months
Who knows where he'll go.
Another desert
Another bomb zone.

Another brother out in the world.

She's sad
Upset
For some reason.
She won't tell you
And there are too many possibilities to start guessing.
Is he okay?
Are they leaving?
Is she leaving?
You'll just ruin the night if you sit here and dwell.

Take a shot of whiskey
Get it out of your system.
Forget til the morning.

Who's that pale chick
Mumbling to herself about
Fictional schools of witchcraft and wizardry
And trolleys and snakes?

Oh that's just Christine
She's not that bad
If she tells you she's a
Reanimated corpse
Walking among the living by using brains as sustenance
Don't pay any attention.
She's probably just kidding.

My hips won't quit
But I've tried many times to fire them.
They continue to exist
In all their circular glory
Making me see my body
Through a fish-eye lens.

My feet won't stop
But I've tried to make them tire.
They grow longer and wider
Until I am convinced I am
The cousin of the Yeti.

My stomach won't end
But I've tried to find the bottom.
It keeps on truckin
Until I resemble a forty year old man
Who's drank several hundred too many bars.
Apparently there's always more room.

My body won't quit.
My brain won't stop.
My heart won't start.

Mortality means that you can **** my body
With unlimited weapons.
Nature. Technology. Man.
All would end me
In minutes
In seconds.
Living is dangerous;
I can die just trying to survive
Without even recognizing my struggle.

In a sense, I am the least powerful thing in existence.
I am slowly rotting away as I write...

Nothing can stop it
And that is the beauty
And the cost
Of being human.
That is the beauty and the cost of being free.

I am empty.
People can only prove they exist
By having relationships with others.
If no one knows who you are, then you aren't.
I called my lover.
We had nothing to say.
The phone felt fragile in my hands
But maybe it was just our words that made it feel so.
I called my mother
She rushed me off
Shallow words filling the scurried silence.

If my strongest relationship are this tenuous,
How can my existence not be?

You sicken me.
That wasn't even a real compliment.
She said you did a job well
That a monkey could do just as well.
You are pathetic.
Don't get that disgusting
Gleam
In your eye
Just because of a positive acknowledgement.
You are like a puppy
Whose master called it a good boy
For finding a stick in an empty yard.
You are reliant.
Desperate.
Pathetic.

You don't deserve anything.

He must have a sensor.
A sensor that can tell
When I'm low
And when I feel like nothing.
He has a magic light
That comes on in his ship
That shows him when I'm vulnerable.

This happens way too often to be coincidence.

A cliche group of young adults
Sit around a badly-furnished living room.
One by one they go around the room
And express their (completely valid)
Insecurities
Over the future.
Four people
All paying tens of thousands of dollars
For a piece of paper
That may or may not even be useful.
Journalism. English. Farming...
All hoping to join
Various dying industries.
All being fully aware
That the jobs they want
Likely won't exist in five years.

All not knowing what to do.
Follow your dream
(Which is likely dying)
Or switch majors.
Turn the last two years
And the last forty thousand thousand dollars
Into a waste.

I could shun my English degree
Repress my hopes
(Which are now, at the most, three-quarters hearted)
Of becoming an editor
And becoming someone to help the world
Become more focused on literature.

I could be a nurse
Do as my mother did.
It's hard
Much harder than sitting and reading
For hours on end
But I could do it.
I could help people
And always be guaranteed a job...
I could not be useless.

Dreams or realities?

My words have started leaking out like a virus.
They are meant for the page
Some just for my head
But they leak out
Sneak out
And pop up in conversation.
Strange phrases
And extravagant diction
Creep into my daily life.

Soon they'll send me to the nuthouse.

I imagine
Clumsy kisses
And sloppy makeouts
If you were here.
We'd stumble to the bed
A single mass of flesh and cloth
And fumble around
For minutes.
We'd soon pull together
Via a team effort
Allow two to join as one.
Our teeth would probably hit
My lips wild run down your face.
Your motions would make me queasy.
Soon enough you'd explode
Or ooze out
(I've yet to see what alcohol consumption
Does to ***** production )
And inch out
Clumsy smile on your face.
And we'd both pass out
In a heap of drunken comfort.

Todd and Johnny
Had quite a time.
They went along merrily
No guilt for their crimes.

They maintained their lifestyle
Their corpses and love.
Johnny's puppet theater
Was a gift from above.

They stuffed all the bodies
And made marionettes.
Todd the producer
John taking bets.

For at the end of their song
The corpses all fought.
A fight to the death,
But a fight just to rot.

They lived long and happy
Raking in cash.
They paid off the suits
Not to look through their trash.

Todd loves Johnny
And Johnny loves Todd.
They're in TRUE LOVE
And the world will applaud.

In space, no one can hear you scream.
However, they can't hear you make that
Weird snort when you laugh, either.
I guess you gotta choose your priorities.

"I am an open-minded
Gentleman.
If corpses are your favored ****** plaything,
Perhaps we can introduce them into  our life.
However
You would have to forgo your dreams
Of an undead puppet show."

"But
The Zombtastic Zhow is my dream!
The reason we visit so many
Pick ax conventions
In fine attire!
I could never give up all that we've worked for.

All I need is you, my friend."

The words are trapped inside my mouth.
The liquid muzzle
Put there by *** and uncomfortable situations
Locks my jaw
Shut
For hours.
I sit here
Always on the brink of words
But they never come out.

I hope one day they will.