Unfortunately
words evade me
unless depression drags me
into the mud
or despair threatens to swallow me up
so take my silence as a good sign
see my blank page as a message
that I am doing
just fine

how many times have I quit smoking
just to burn my insides out again
revert to a bad habit that cages me
in a pen
it feels like being loved
it feels like loving
deep breaths and a spinning head
it feeds a hunger
that has been long left unfed

I'm a wreck
it feels so real
in a facade
It's like breathing underwater

All my favorite writers
are vacant from this space
there is no trace
their heart felt out pours
crushed under a wave
of generic love poems
of fast writen mud
I scroll past
empty rhyme after empty rhyme
where are you?
where did my poetic friends go?
We broke like the last splash
on the shore of a dried up lake
These new words feel fake
to those whose souls I loved
I hope you are still penning
somewhere
I hope your ink still stains pages
and that someday
I'll read your names in a book
or I'll find you on a journey
and once again hear your words
that sent my heart
into a flurry

useless

In an hour and quarter
I'll be officially older than you

It hangs from my shoulders,
not torturous, but not forgiving,
my camping chair groans
under our combined weight
in the evening,
quite the opposite of merriment
it is never fleeting
a constant cloak
partially soaked with choked words,
a strikingly dissonant chord
accompanied by a melody
"It's high time to hit the road again
it's high time you leave."

It's been four days
**** free
only had one respectable beer
for the flavor
already feeling upbeat
new melodies
pour from my finger tips
instead of alcohol
into a cup to forget existence
I must have been such a fool
for so long
good riddance

It's a terrible struggle
between
knowing what is just
and fighting for it
or
knowing what is just
and giving up

One last thought from a withered mind
I have to stop this chemical grind,
the *****, the ****, the cigarettes
made me a fiend for substances,
I ran out of my last tobacco pack,
today I caught myself digging
through my trash
for a **** to light up
that's when I decided
enough is enough

Sometimes I just get high
and drift away
for a couple of hours
like the coward that I am.
Then I bake a cake in my birthday suit
got out for a smoke and I'm zooted
feelings totally muted,
it's gettin' late and
I can't find a way out of this
game that I'm losing,
so,
sometimes I just get high
and drift away
for a couple of hours
like the coward that I am.

Maybe if all soldiers
had to look their enemy in the eye
before they killed them
they wouldn't

I miss all my old friends

having the natural dyed,
echoing the color of my eyes,
has added blue blood to
the clear waters while I shower
the hours, days, and ever on
fade away
like the sky from my hair
I think I want to go back
greet the blonde with a welcome
look and old grin
I want the outside to reflect
what is in

i just want to write
pour out this feeling in my gut
I can't keep it stomached
but a good line
I can't seem to make up

foggy images invade my sleep
I groggily creep into a new day
then fade, transparent, shade
flirting from bed to bus
bus to desk and back again
am I like the crew seen
by the Mariner in his Rime?
Has the flow of sublime powers
slipped like a frog to water
left me feeling, further and
further?

A wicked wind carries a witch's spell
it's chill belying
the magma of hell
brought forth by incantations
drawing deep
from a dark magic well
The willow's sigh combines with the whisper
beckoning  me tither
to an alter made from black iron
crowned by scepters
on which two crows perch
the earth around me seizes and spurts
with dead hands erupting from
the earth

Rest easy weary hearted traveler,
you can lay your dusty shoes
at my door, hang up that beaten coat.
I'll put some water on the stove,
tea or coffee if you'd like,
I'll sleep on the couch
so you can have my bed tonight.
In the morning it's eggs, bacon,
red bell pepper and toast.
The shower will warm up quick
to rid the grit betwixt your toes.
Any who are in need of a pit stop
can call my place
a home on the road

I am an intelligent being
made from star dust
my insides don't hold to
male, female
straight, gay
or any orientation
there is no combinations that defines
not human, not white
which is why I feel most at peace
while gazing at the night sky
longing to throw off this curse
of being neither here nor there,
to go back home
into the universe

mumbled words induce a trance
a sullen glance at annoyance
then decide on smoky existence

Something is missing

Tomorrow I present a story to class
about a man who cremates himself
they will
ask if he is a reflection of myself
I'll have to nod my head slowly
taking in my fill
of "why's he so grim" and
"his mind is so ugly"
but I describe death
better than anything
I'm sorry for the horror story
that is
me

chairs don't get enough credit
nor do beds, who witness
ever accumulating sleep debt
we've let flying with the clouds
go from fantasy to unnoticed
head bent constantly because of phones
speaking in hushed tones to
the person on the other line
while we decline away from the public
a distructive inability to communicate
face to face
or hold conversations
completely connected, yet disconnected
is what this world has become

got back to my apartment
got ****** up as hell
to remind myself
of all the things that are me
stars and mountains,
an idividual gravity
sang sad songs
filled with Eddie, breathing
and seasalt
to bring forth my occult
the little witchcraft in my skin
I washed it down with a cigarette
to remind myself
*don't give in

Grandpa left me his keyboard
I left it in the corner for years
when late this very night
my spine grew chill with fright
for the keys clacked
of their own accord
as if wanting to be heard
then my spine did thaw and a smile bloom
for this phantom wasn't bringing doom
It was just a reminder from 'ol Grandpa
to let music fill the room

Seething in me
troubles aggravate
so irate
******* A
now I want nothing more
than to be no where at all
ditch this town
give the finger to Long Beach
be a ******* ***
under an over pass
the last stop on a bus
going abso-*******-lootly
no where

I've stayed at my mom's
an extra week and a half
because my car's transmission crashed
anxious to get back
but laying late in my old bedroom
which nibbles at me
filled to the brim with
eighteen years of my life
I start to cry, to pray
that the mechanic calls
and tells me it'll take him
a few more days

My parents might say
I've grown up since I left the Bay
that Long Beach has seen me mature
sure I'm older, more composed
but if you ask me,
I just feel detached
and lonely.

wake up with a hangover charm
not grumpy but maybe five yards from
being up beat
lazy strums on my old guitar
didn't bother with pants or
socks on my feet
only had the nerve to
brush the left half of my teeth
I make breakfast in my boxers
at a quarter past five
finally a touch of feeling alive
by still too wounded to go for a drive
stay inside sounds more like the ticket
stay awake too late with all of the crickets
take my pick, lick it and stick it
won't do the body no harm
have a goodnight beer
to give me another morning
of my hangover charm

my fingers don't move
quite fast enough to melt faces
my voice doesn't go
quite high enough to send shivers
through folks
my words only capture
the gist
it feels like I'm always
not quite
good enough

I sit on the hill
seeing Martinez light up
as the sun passes behind the cusp
of Mt. Diablo
this dirt witnessed me turn old,
has stories to tell,
a well of sorrows spent and sorrows kept
it's seen the laughter
along with emptiness
my souls settles like dust
after a gust of unrest, turbulence
while the Great Plains call
my name rustling through the grass
my heritage, past lives pushing
pulling
controlling, unbeknownst to me
sitting silent with the
Bay Area
trees

it slipped my mind
that January
always feels like a cemetary

greetings Darkness
you always sink into the ground
when Light isn't around
only pesky Moon
tries to ward you away
soon Moon won't shine
for just one night
and Light will fail its
daily battle
you'll rattle with inky conquest
rejoice in the hours
at your disposal
all yours
all Dark
I'll envy you then
more than I've ever envied
that pesky Moon
or too bright Light
I want to topple your throne
and be the ruler of quiet
Night

I just want to cry
Christmas Eve came accompanied
by a trip to the ER
dad in the back of my car
his breath
uncovering his secret
"I have prostate cancer..."

I think I've been looking at this
all wrong
she doesn't miss me
and she didn't know
what it meant when she kissed me
and I shouldn't expect her to
because I never spoke my mind
completely
oh god
I'm a fraud
I can only be mad at myself
me
myself
the blame is on my hands
my hands
Oh ****
Oh ****
Oh ******* ****
I've done it again
misconstrued everything
time to
reevaluate
I'll see you later
when my head is on
straight

Tonight I hope to dream
of riding fog
out to the sea
where the waves will
greet me
swell up
accept me to the deep

Kyle talked of suicide
how he wanted a way out
a release
but he never tried
I looked him in the eyes
and spoke
"In highschool
I poured a handful of Vicadin
down my throat
as soon as my palm was empty
I choked
as much as I wanted escape
I did not want to die
so I forced myself to puke
before it was too late."
I hope he understood

I'm not sure where I stand,
or if I'm even in the same room,
as him
to her
I might be on the curb
burning my fingers
with cigarettes smoked to the ****
waiting on a new face
to pick me up
and take me for a spin
teach me how to hold hands again
peel away the lamenent
call me human and
drive
drive
drive
far from all the hurt
till it doesn't matter
where I stand
with
her

Little frog shot glass
sits staring through me
brought her book
and plans to return it
with a little love from the past
alas, I'm a dreg
hedging in old organic emotions
with sharp edges
whiskey, cigarettes
panic over a manic thought
so instead I'll put the book
in a box
send it to her through the mail
keep my hands to myself
write a little note, place inside
where it may fall from the shelf
with pencil scrapes spelling out
"Sorry I was greedy
and you thought you needed me
but I'm like the dead bodies
in these pages, cover me up
close my eyes, drape a blanket
over me and leave me
faceless."

I've finally made
a piece of music that
breaks my heart
to play.

Two days will see
my blue hair clashing
with a red and green glow
back in San Luis Obispo
a holiday bash raging inside
she'll long for me
while sipping a mix drink
watching as I blow smoke
into the night
I'll hold back a wink
keep my tongue in my throat
remembering when I hadn't been
a heart
breaker

I can feel it in my hands
simmering deep in my stomach
I'll be 26 and have just lost
the 5th "love of my life"
so I'll grab a knife,
then decide a shot to the head
instead
or I'll be 32
with a newborn
and a happy home
but something in me won't work
so I'll take a whole bottle of Vicadin
determined to leave but
not make a mess
or I'll be 55
looking back on a life
an exwife, a long road of
forgotten dreams
then put a noose 'round my neck
and jump
hung from a second story porch beam
I don't want to **** myself
but I feel it in my hands
simmering in my stomach
clawing at my ribs
a self wrought end
to a laughing kid
who I think died
a long, long time
ago

It's unjust of me
to expect people in my life
to match how I write them down
in poetry

everyone is the same person
just different incarnations
so really I am just you
trying to love
yourself

I try my hardest to stray away
from machine rolled cigarettes
which take away the test
of perfection
of creating the best
I know each one
leads me toward the dead
at least I can say
I died at my own,
supremely rolled, hand

It seems that human beings
are full of hate
It breaks my heart
every single day and
makes me want to run away
to a cave in the mountains

two burns decorate my shoulder
due to drunken recklessness
one on my forearm
by a stubborn game of pain
but the second in the same spot
was not in ruckus or fury
it was born from being
terribly, terribly
empty

the grass is green
where ever you give it water
I feed the pastures
ever further from my farm
so all around me
turns dusty and dry
then wonder why
my crops have withered
and I starve
tethered to an idea
what I wish was
when I should be
living with what is

some nights
I still really want to be dead
all stress leaking away
slowly dissipating
like heat from my feet
to my head
till the cold prevails
saving me from lifely ails
just
dead
just
dead
just


dead

How can I tell him
it's not all his fault
he doesn't believe it
all alone
empty apartment
no dog, no son, no wife
Does he cry at night?
Does he hug his knees tight?
Does he cry just like me?
(at the same time?)
Is he gone at the bottom
of a bottle
of a bottle
I feel so weak
I'm just one sad boy
but so is he
a boy in a man's body
his real smile lost to me

Does he cry? (just like me?)