Each time it diminishes, I know it's not gone forever.
It will always return.
Anger pushes me deeper into my corrupted, compromised brain.

Painless agony that hides behind a veil of apathy
I physically hurt from emotional agony.
There is no tangible reason.

I'm fighting myself, and no matter who wins, I will always lose.

I am a zombie–
Neither dead nor alive, but merely walking around, bringing others down.

amaninthe minuteso
notthinksoftomorrownopause
bravesliketenfeettallbecause
­hewastoldfromthebeginninning
spaceshavenomeaning
placeyourselfinh­isrythym
fuckitallhistestosteroneandbourbonsays
fuckmesaythecops

“How come you always stay in your room so much?” a little girl once asked me.
“Because I have anxiety, darling”
“Where is your anxiety?”
I pointed to my head. She nodded.
But that wasn’t entirely true.

I should’ve pointed
to my hands,
full of earthquakes and after shakes;
my arm,
blade rakes and skin breaks;
my smile,
nothing short of fake;
my whole body,
just one big ache.

my mom told me i look homeless

i told her i was

i cant do it anymore..*

***.

it was suggested
that there be no nexus
between texas and your pal-
omino - tagging the alamo, **?

en el barrio, yo(u)-
and your gringa  homecoming
queen in tight-assed jeans
-running with ms-13?

-playing twister with your hipster
sisters misters smith & wesson
oiled up and and ready to go
- new mexico?

i found you in tres piedras
at a place called ortega's
eating huevos rancheros
- shooting jose cuervo?

-muthafucka mara salvatruchas
in a red camaro and two bruthas
on a burro with bow and arrows
-stole your palomino?

-they shoot horses
don't they?

riding the black el camino
-on the blue mesa.

r ~ 9/30/14

He forgot how to help himself.

He forgot how to love,accept,and respect himself.

He now loves feeling his pain,
and wishing things were still the same.
Exchanging brains,
for drugs with names,
that will land him under the ground,
or inside of a cage.

It’s a crime to wait,
for life to take,
the righter path,
with a mind that hates.
At night he’ll pace
his mind will race,
yet sit in place,
designed to waste.

Why does he do it?
So self destructive.
He claims he isn’t an addict,
but isn’t above it.
The future is bleek,
so no need to recover.
A bleeding heart bruises,
and is misleading in color.
At the moment before,
the moment he snaps,
and right before he’d lose it,
*his music *oozes from the loosest of nooses.

Yes*
I need to stop thinking about it.
About us.
About you.
But my desire keeps pulling it all back in,
forcing me to drown in the memory of you
and I just can't take it.
When you left you took the sanity from my mind, the air from my lungs, the light from my eyes, and the beat from my heart.
God, I can still feel your touch.
I can still taste your lips, your tongue.
I can still smell your cologne that used to stick to my clothes for days on end.
But it's all just memories.
A distant light of home that threw me away and left me to rot.
And I constantly wait for that home to return to me but you're not coming back.
You never will.



                                                                                                                    (w.n.)

death is
just

cold.

not the fading memories
leaching, lost, into the soil,
and warped as jaded speech
woven through the livings tales.
death is seclusion from the sun,
to stall, to stop, to lose ones way,
forever left at last breaths point,
as time continues on its way.
a coldness deep, to lock in place,
persona lost, caricature replaced.
unknowing darkness keeps
the new unknown,
as coldness claims
the final home.

(for Kiwi - 06/08/2009)

notes lie crumpled in your hands,
frown split lips spill forth your sobs,
as eyes - soft focus look beyond
the clouding veil of life.
slipping out, the blood red streams
(re) paint the bathroom floor.
thumping from the door makes up
missing beats from your chest:
faltering, looking backwards,
fogging mind grasps childhood wonder
sights and sounds and vivid flow
swimming through the decades past.
final breath amidst the splinters,
showering from the broken door,
distant echoes, growing colder,
time, it hangs, forever more.

Life is
fake,
life is
real,
life:
a concept,
thoughtless spiel.

Flesh bag, flesh sag,
stitched to fragile bone,
jelly eyes
**** the light,
as brain
devours the whole.

Gibbered lips,
cast to the air
the only tale they're told,
a truth, a truth,
that casts no light
beyond it's owners trail.

as curtain falls,
night takes its bow,
and words, they fade away.

a history, cast out of sight,
henceforth to be unknown.