You can feel the pain of life
cutting deep inside of you,
When you are out there swimming
On the edge of who you are.

You can see a mystic glow
That captures your attention,
Just before you find yourself
Abandoned in the dark.

You can taste the bitterness
Of loosing to the the universe,
Meditating on the sad things
That have made you who you are.

You can hear the hollow breath
That comes from deep within
Your chest as it it heaving,
When you don't know where you are.

You can smell the pheromones
And want to enter paradise
Of the intoxicating lifeforce;
Libidinous and stark.

i want to dye
my hair and tattoo my skin
so that the changes
you’ve been noticing in me
look like they’re
on purpose.

I feel like,
By the time I'm finished preparing for my future
I'll be too old to remember
The things I enjoy.

The happiest man I see all day
cleans up after us depressed college kids
While we chase jobs that aren't our dreams
And drown ourselves in liquor so we don't feel a thing
While we smoke ciggerates to exhale all the pain
And it really makes me wonder what were doing here if the happiest man I see all I day is only just a janitor.

Take me into the closet again
beat me with your leather book of
fallacies, conflicting messages strewn across pages
of decades
by faulted scribes, spitting glossolalia
into young children

keep the food from me, I do not need it
as I am only a child of 8
a coldness clenched my hot little body
as I drew rusty nail across pale little arm
the first time, i thought myself to be a god
your Jesus took away my sinful love
for the girl at church.
I will take it away with this nail
i tear it away
as a cold rain runs over my fire
my insides scream as my emotions numb
flightless bird am I, trapped in the nest

all I wanted was anything.

I stand small in this moment
as you lie to the school nurses about my
bruise
       but in the next I am
Tallest for my struggle.
I recall every dark night
starved and worn
barred from the world, I found solace in
a rusty nail
the neighbour's dogs
the asymmetrical patterns in the carpet
the littlest flower
because that was all I could see
from my closet
window,
and that was only when I was tall enough to reach.

I can be an angry man.
Dead things that won't do as I wish
Tend to break.

Leaving behind a wake of
Fractured drywall and
Nervous cats,
Band-aided knuckles and
Bared bone,
I scare others. Hurt myself.

It's a family curse.
Our men are fiercely fuelled, have
Little patience for slow movers,
Rude tones, spite.
Grenades of muscle and noise
That explode in the faces of
Disrespect, then stand
Alone in craters
And regret.

Thank the gods we love with the same
Intensity.

Up Late but not Contemplating Poem
4/27/2014

1am to 3am
Refusal to endorse the typical behavior one might partake in at this time.
Still awake, but feeling trapped by sleep's scheme.
It's like we are forced to close our eyes each night and open come morning.
But what if I want to resist?

3am to 5am.
These are the best a 24 hour period can hold.
Magical things happen when you lose your will to sleep.
You realize you have been living with eyes wide open, constantly asleep.
That only when you deny your eyelids their longing kiss,
will you truly fall awake.

5am to 7am.
You have planned out most of your day tomorrow.
Eagerly awaiting a trip to your favorite early morning cafe or diner.
What a great feeling to be awake when you really shouldn't be.
It's a small taste of nostalgia from grabbing cookies out of the forbidden jar.
You get a sense of content as you let the remaining hours of the night drift.
Think about the most amazing fresh shower in a couple hours.

7am to 9am
Living in the moment with just yourself.
It is great to know the world exists not in your bedroom,
but for these few hours,
you were able to block it out.
You are up late but not contemplating.

"I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)"

People, you know, are like never-ending rainbows.
Nauseating colors and no pots of gold.

People, it seems, are like toxic streams.
Flowing endlessly with waters that you can't drink.

Like piles of so many strands of straw,
hiding golden pins underneath.
If I could find one I'd ***** my fingers and bleed
all over these troublesome docile stacks.
Light it on fire and turn them to ash.

People are like so many cigarettes in a pack -
always craving another even as your insides turn black.

And people, I swear,
they act like they care,
but when push comes to shove they all cower in fear.

So people, beware!
For I am not scared.
My strength comes from inside.
I'm self-aware!

And people (me too) know not what we do.
Spend our whole lives pursuing beliefs so untrue.

That's okay, people.
I forgive you.
And through your existential struggles,
I find you beautiful.

I am guilty of projecting. I will turn you into a goddess
in my mind to deal with the anxiety of
the fact that you might actually like me. I will like you back,
to an extreme; to the point where it's scary,
so that you'll stay away from me.
"Oh yea, watch out for that one. He's crazy."

Vain girls are attracted to it.
They like the way I paint them in my dreams.
As if fulfilling their own of becoming some sort of
Aphrodite. They build their confidence off of my idolatry.
I've seen it go to their heads.
It makes me kind of sick.

I will use you. The fantastical female;
my muse. You inspire my more neurotically infused
writings, and give fire to my self-abuse.

A few times, I've gotten the one I desired. Always through my words.
Forced to deal with discrepancies between fantasies and the truth, I fall apart.
Invariably, they were emotionally damaged;
prone to crying. I'd give them my shoulder and wrestle with the thoughts
that I'd fallen for a girl so much like my mother.
**** you, Freud.

Now I know better, but I can't fight my nature.
So I've embraced it. Taken it to new heights. Turned it into an art form.
Mentally magnified mistress, watch this:
I will take everything you've ever said (which I cannot forget)
and reflect it back at you through my poetic psychotic lens
Freaky, is it not?

But it's also kind of fun.
If you can appreciate the irony,
then I think you might be the one.

When I'm falling fast, and it gets real bad;
I go through my chopped up and blended days awaiting one thing:
For someone to come up,
put their hands on my shoulders,
and shake me vigorously.

I can hear them yelling (or screaming) at me.
They're saying:
"What the hell are you doing!
What the **** is your problem!?
Why are you doing this to yourself?
It's sad and pathetic. I'm sick of it.
It makes me angry.
Just stop it!
Stop it already!"

I'll attempt to explain, through the shakes, with a ******* answer,
but they won't have any of it.

"You're fine! Okay?
There's nothing wrong with you!
There is absolutely nothing wrong with you!
You're just ******* scared!
You hear me,
tough guy?
You're a ******* coward!
Grow up.
Man up.
Just stop it already.
Enough is enough.
Just stop."

And it's like somehow, if this were to happen, I'd suddenly be fixed.
As if in the shaking,
the ***** that had come loose would get knocked back into its groove.

Except, the thing is, that this does happen.
It's happening practically the whole time.
Only, not in the exact way that you pictured it.
So you shrug it off. Dismiss it.
Because the person shaking you wasn't the one you wanted to be shaken by.
You say,
"Who the **** are they?
Who do they think they are?
To tell me off like that;
look at you!
Why would I ever consider taking advice from you.
As if you know better,
you don't know ****!
*******!"

And it's sad really,
but ultimately true.
The only person capable of doing the shaking is you.

my inner world is a soup of words and sounds

images and places float into one-another

ideas **** eachother and give birth to new meaninglessness

i often repeat myself

and thoughts replay perpetually

how do you abstain from thinking?

i'm an idiot

and i feel to much

but i'm lucky i have you now



let's die *******