Hey Jolly Man
How are you?
Too much to drink
and hangover too.

Naughty list I see
I am very contrite
Not a good year
my life sort of bites

Coal again
in the stocking by the fire
Sitting alone
nothing to desire

The world is a mess
peace to all men
You failed me this year
Not one lasting pen

Holiday cheer
where did it go
I sought to repent
and go with the flow

But these times are hard
for every last soul
I looked to the sky
No St. Nick, see me crawl

Bury my head in the pillow
another Christmas Eve.
Nothing has changed
the world I must leave

Goodbye St. Nick
I want to believe
I sit here in lonely
Tears do not leave

Do you know how it feels like to have a stomach that can only survive on intimacy and nothing else?
To be prodded to love all the things that touch your skin whilst simultaneously not being
allowed or able to tell the difference between the things that love you and the things that want to leave you barren?
How it feels like to see the solemnity and grandeur of an omnipotence within all the sinless intentions of the skin cells that you'll never be allowed to hold?
Well...
It feels a lot like the romanticization of an eating disorder.

Sometimes you fall in love and then begin to forget how your organs are supposed to behave.
You look in the mirror and realize that you're still thinking about someone else when you're
Analyzing your own body.
You clutch at your own skin,
your arms,
your hair,
your throat,
and begin to try and disassemble a mind that does not want to be associated with the body that it is working in.
Before you know it,
Every time you cross the mirror you clutch more and more parts of yourself and wish that they would not feel better in somebody else's hands besides your own.
You're getting thinner everyday,
you're losing sleep
you're forgetting how to breathe,
And somewhere,
out there,
There is a boy in a place far away,
giving to someone else what you are about to be killed
without.

You realize that you turn your own bed into an ocean everytime you think about his face.
You feel the hydration of the salt water from everywhere around you,
tickling into your senses and diffusing into your nose,
but you do not taste it.
Only sense it.
You're grabbing the sheets desperately.
Holding them onto your chest, covering up your shaking body, and
almost certainly forgetting the difference between imagining the embrace of somebody who does not love you and drowning alone inside of your own bed.
You look for a lifeboat in the form of a thought that has no relation to love or association to the idea of affection.
You're hoping to find a distraction that will either save you from your peril or help you breathe in a way where you can still be conscious when there is water inside of your lungs.
You're beginning to see dark shapes and figures and all of them are sprouted by the idea
of just having a little taste of the very thing that's about to drown you.
All of the dark figures are in the shape of your face,
And nobody is here to save you.
You begin to sink,
And sink,
And sink,
and sink
and...

You are empty when you wake up.
Your chest is not an *****,
but you find it funny that when it feels empty,
your stomach also wishes to feel the same way.

So you make sure it does,
Whilst yearning for a meal that does not wish to be consumed by you.

That is the only meal,
that you will never stop craving for.

The cutter will cut in a cutters world,
the hurt won't stop in a life unfurled,
the blood will drip like drops of rain
eaten alive by sorrow and pain
you will feast on smiles and greed
but Ill just cut and watch it bleed

I'm scared of the silence
                                                 It speaks to me
Of dangers and demons
                                                 And monstrous things

It's haunting my nightmares
                                                 It sings me to sleep
Turning all of my fears
                                                 Into reality

There’s a devil in me trying to raise his face
there’s a god in me trying to put him in his place
a fight to fill the hole in my heart
but the battle is lost before they can start
soul electric, here to stay
pulls me apart need to make them pay
a million volts in a lightning kiss
re-align my core in symmetrical bliss.

I'm tired.
Tired of faking a smile,
Tired of pretending I'm happy,
Tired of being sad,
Tired of feeling alone,
Tired of the demons messing with my head,
Tired of the demons trying to control me.

Sitting in a pool of ****,
other peoples ****,
**** all over me,
I am nothing,
just an object,
a still life subject
art school joke,
I'm a mess,
a **** stain,
a fugitive on the run,
running away from life.

I Fell Into An Unknown Trap; Never Will I See Beyond The Wall In Front Of Me. I Had A Dream About Lights; They Filled The Darkness In My Heart..

There is no whiskey in his room tonight...

Instead,
There is a half-empty glass of-
Rock shandy, Pepsi-cola, Dr.Pepper,
Or something black.
Something minuscule,
even though he has not sipped from it.
He has not looked at it- his tongue
Was only dry for two minutes before he
Locked the door.
For the only presence that made it hard for him to swallow
Was in the form of something that he was still trying to release...
at 2AM.
Release at 2AM.
There is a typewriter in front of him and he is feeling as permeable as
The glass that is sitting next to it.
'as permeable if it had a closed lid made up out of carbon' he thinks.
'Closed lid', 'Carbon',
'Closed lid'
He does not know what to type.
As distance diminished it's existence throughout the years,
He began to realize that Letters were starting to transform themselves
Into Diary-Entries and vice-versa.
The art of belittling seclusion through the method of fictionalizing himself
Was turning more into a hobby than an art and
he did not know what to do except to accept it as a tragedy
That nobody else needed to know about.
"Tragedy:" he types.
"I don't know how to forget about you."
'And etcetera,' he thinks.
In his minds eye he sees a girl in a school far away.
She's holding a camera and a textbook and a picture of a boy
That isn't him.
She's walking into her new life and one day she will go a week without
Thinking about how it feels to know interest and feel it shared
from someone who thought it never existed.
One day she will go a week without thinking about the boy who stared at empty pages
And wrote letters about bitter meals that his tongue thought could never be tasted.
One day she will go a week with just the thought of how glamorous a life spent alone is...
Before she meets someone there...
Who will make her taste something that is less bitter than him himself.
'I hope that's where my story ends.' He thinks.
And then imagines himself embedded into
Dark bitter things.
(Tobacco, caffeine, dark chocolate.)
He sighs and stares at the words he has already typed.
He can imagine these bitter things spilling into his glass and changing its taste with each
little drop.
"You were dead to me before you even walked out of the door..." He decides,
And puts it onto the paper.
He lifts the glass and takes a sip and then puts it back down again.
'One day she will go a week without thinking about me..."  He thinks.
Release at 2AM.

Out of sight,
all alone,
when temptation
is my master.
I commit those
secret sins.
I am culprit.
I am witness.
I am Judge.
What a dilemma.
My Allah,
make the judge
strongest of
them all.

Bullet flies
Murdered victim
Blood splatters
Guilty verdict
Injected killer

Breathless transition
between life and death
Soul floating above
No, STOP!!
I am not done living
Point of no return
Seeing the light
Pulls you up
Cold chills
Not going
Soul returns
Alive again
In between