i awoke choking on your t-shirt collar.
sand and confusion laid grainy
in the roots of my hair.

in the daylight i am headstrong and firm in my beliefs,
but when the moon is overhead
i awake with a guilty conscience.

i can never shampoo enough.

the    other       day
                 she     asked     me
         what           is                the               cure
                                       i            simply    smiled
                               and      turned    away
      because   i    didn't                  know    how                to    tel­l             her
    that
                                               i
                                               don't
                                               know

Suicide was her seventh grade kiss that didn't let go when she did.

Suicide was the brightest star in the sky. Every night she would pick it out among the rest.

Suicide was the white around her eyes. You saw it when you looked at her, but it never stood out to you

Until her iris turned black.

The day you left me
I lost my mind in a bottle of Svedka,
And found the old me
Hiding in a blade.

Leave me here
Up on my roof
Where the sun kisses my skin,
And the moon takes my heart,
And the lights of this town
Make up the stars of my own universe.

It all changed in an instant.
You realized the sparkle in
her eye is her tears,
Her carefree attitude actually
reflects how much she
really doesn't care.
About you,
or anything at all.

I looked at you
And I saw stars in your eyes.
The kind of stars
You see in a winter night
Hanging in front
Of a deep blue backdrop.
And every color of the galaxy
Was imprisoned in your irises.
The more I looked,
I found that your heart
Was more unique than your eyes.
It lacked four chambers
And arteries
And veins.
It was not like every other heart.
It took the shape
Of a crescent moon
That seemed to shine brighter
Than the sun.
And I was envious.
I was just another robot,
With a pulse
But no purpose.
But your captivating beauty
Was merely a test.
And seeing that my lips
Can no longer verbalize
Of anything other than your eyes,
I clearly have failed.

Your name might as well be the bullet
In the chamber of this gun
Held at my temple
With a steady pulse beating against my brain.
And if that is the case,
My hands might as well be the ones on the trigger.

My morning is simple; It always starts the same way.
Alarm, shower, brush teeth, eggs, repeat as many times more
as I need to repeat; 365, 24, 7, I can take it. Because at the end of the day,
I hit the sack, and then like clockwork; like a broken needle record on replay
Alarm, shower, brush teeth, eggs, and I'm out the door.

I work hard all day; when I'm not on the clock, I clock my punches at the gym.
I measure a punch-card for holes, or a punching bag for holds,
and I take pride in either; I forsake neither; I breathe in the aether
and breath out blood sweat and tears... but mostly sweat, truth be told.
My sweat is a constant, and I'll tell you; sometimes that gets old.

That's me though. I'm a fighter on the mat and in the cubicle. I write words so musical people say "That's beautiful," and it fills me with pride.
Words, fists, ink.
It doesn't matter; I give it my all every time and never stop to think
about the consequences it takes on my mind and my body; I don't blink
at the cracked knuckles bad punches provide.
at the cracked mirror that I look into after a bad review.
at the crack-*** asshats that talk down to me from their penthouse view.
at the minimum wage pockets full of pennies and dimes.

I don't blink; I don't think...
because if I did, I'd realize this is it. This is Hell.
But... I still wake up,
and put on my leather shell,
and then take it off when I hear the factory bell.
And I fall into bed with a smile on my lips;
Because one day life is going to be better than this.

The voice in the back; the one I don't listen to...
The cracks; the cynic's view, it screams "Life isn't fair! Life is just this!"
But I don't listen. I close my eyes and I make the American wish.
Life and liberty; with both I'm blessed.
But the second ones the one to bring a smile to these chapped lips.
Pursuit of happiness: Hell yes! I can get behind that wish...
So I'll Alarm, shower, brush teeth, eggs, as long as my clockwork heart ticks.
Because I trust in justice,
even if it's only injustice. **Even if life's only just this.

she used to be
a good girl
but now she's
smoking away
all her friendships

I am feeling very 3 AM.
Restless and lonely,
Craving a love,
Or a friend,
Or someone to fill the emptiness
And silence that consumes me,
As if the clock is stuck at 3 AM.
I'm used to 3 AM.
But one of these days,
I will feel 11 PM.
Invincible and alive,
In love with love,
And filled with joy.
Maybe one of these days,
I can feel 11 PM,
Even when the clock on the wall
Tells me it's time to feel 3 AM.

I thought you were too good for me
And then you reminded me
That my music was much louder,
And my eyes were a bit bluer,
And my hands were slightly gentler.
And that was when I knew I was ******.