If this life is all we get,
What's the point of living?
If this life will go on forever,
Why can't I **** myself,
and be happy somewhere else?

Who has the power to define beauty?

Who decides what makes our hearts sing?

Because lately the things we say are beautiful are fake-


For heavens sake-

We're telling young girls to throw up who they are like having it makes them a fraction less- so they starve.

We're transforming and twisting the painting of our faces and little by little erasing other races.

We're tearing down trees to make room for skyscrapers who promote outward perfection in tiny magazine papers.

We're making plastic dolls with no sense of identity instead of building real humans without vain nor vanity.


But their idea of beauty is not mine,
The essence  of real beauty cannot ever be defined.

Our fragile lips never touch.
Forbidden fruit.
Poisonous pain.
As you go up
              I must come
                        Down.
I gaze at your perfect reflection.
I try to linger for you.
Do not weep dear we have a job to do.
My opposite obsession.
A contrary coincidence.

My unfortunate state leaves me watching lovers-
Who could be us.  
I’m left with unresolved dreams at twilight.
You may seem dreaded by most but
I count down the stars disappearing in my presence.
I’ve never seen your rays.
Your flaming passion holding our world together
As I fall apart.
You take pieces of me with you.
Have them.
Keepsakes of our nonexistent love exchanges.

For how funny a fairytale for our children.
When the moon fell-
In love with the sun.

Fear and Loathing in Ocean City

Everyday that goes by
Our bond becomes little more than a time of day,
Dust on a window sill,
A lightning bug in a mason jar

I know that nothing can be permanent
Change cannot scare a man that has no constant
But recently the thought occurred to me that you keep going about your business
When the clock strikes that hour,
That you brush the thought of me aside as if cleaning me out,
That you are glad that light in the jar has gone dim

So I find myself waiting on you like a train that will never come
And I ask about you now and again
How are you? Are you happy? Do you have a new light?
At this point I've realized I could say anything and you'd pay me no mind
People tell me that perhaps you can't deal with the thought of me emotionally
That I hurt you
Cut you and whenever I open my mouth I'm pouring salt into to a cavernous wound

The other day a close friend told me something different
She doesn't respond to you because she doesn't care about you. Move on

You've gone from crutch
to love
to desire
to memory

She doesn't care. Move on

That's a change that would put fear into even the most roving of nomads

I        people easily.
  lose

I couldn't tell you why
This man is here
Or his purpose -

I couldn't tell you why
I am here
Or my purpose -

But March is cold & unforgiving
and mean
and map-less
and my world has Tommy gun fists
and I'm it's ******* son
I felt tied down & freakish

I wanted to get away so badly

and he had this fast car.