Two months left sits in my chest pressing against my vital organs. Days play out like recordings on fast forward while I struggle to press pause. It may be best to cease this hiatus, yet part of me will miss this.
The watch on my wrist ticks ever on counting down the hours till I'm
gone...

It's 2:00 AM
Smoke halos ring
my head
a split second of death
till they break with my breath.
Sleepless, dreams retreat
at the sight of me
flit in and out of the light
whispering,
"You're going to have
another one of those
nights."

sober up
dust off
the dirt won't bury you
yet

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

None of this seems quite
                                    right.
I heard it starts around this age
I might just have lost it.

You can be happy
if you want
to.

This one's for you pops
because I know you'd love it
eh em.
I seen the galaxy fall in on itself
painted on a shelf, when I was twelve
Now I hear kids crying and think of myself
maybe I missed a thing or two
just blanked it out
you and mom, late nights, wines, shouts
hoping I don't follow your stream like trouts
do their whole **** lives.
I remember the drives though, where you
wouldn't come back, wait, wait, still not back
heart attack, run away and grab the sleeping bag
but I wish I couldn't remember that,
left me a little broken, dad.
Don't worry though, I'm fixing
on the mend, erm, but about that college
yeah I'm not really in....
That thousand bills you spilled for my birthday,
spent it on flight lessons and sorbet.
It's up to you if you want to support meh,
cause I'm getting along fine without it anyway.
That won't all make sense to you
but hell,
I guess this was really just another one
for myself.

I've been riding my bike with the seat stolen for months. I've cut down the time that nicotine washes over
my gums to two times a day.
I'm on my way out to a four year
university for the second time
and reduced my drunkenness
to three days a week
it might be tongue in cheek to believe
I'm healed and ready to venture on
but I'm at least going strong despite
everything I've done and seen. My phone screen gleams with a fresh text
"Just for the record, there is nothing I
don't like about you." screen shotted,
only a hands reach away from my pocket, that text might as well be
in a locket

Buttoned up
with no where to go

I don't like to mention them much
give reminiscenice to the sight
of the sharpness and leaky cuts
that decorated my thigh
a place where no eyes
could uncover the marks
no lover to question the fresh lines
while exploring in the dark
but tonight while changing
underwear
bare
I could see the fossils
the raised white skin
tear ducts perspired
realizing I'm just as tired as when
I began to make them,
those little rips in my
happiness

this last week
has me toasted and beat
sweatpants, same **** sweat shirt,
untied shoes on my feet
I dreaded every time I had go out
and cried with joy
each time I was back
in my
sheets

Holiday jingles jangle faintly
behind the soup of conversation.
Occasional laughs, clacking dishes,
the sizzle of eggs hitting the heated grill.
It's as if a cosmic wind
swirls in, group after group,
toward the front counter, passed the coffee,
to settle them each at a table,
then a little later, up and on to their respective places,
school, work, the air port, to some other destination.
Meanwhile, the wind passes me by,
forgets to tug me toward destiny,
forgets I want to fly.
Instead, I pick myself up
and walk myself outside.

being human is strange,
out of everything
I could have manifested as,
a sand grain, a water drop, a rock,
who would have guessed
I'd be projected into this brain,
which sometimes lets me fly,
but usually gets me stuck...

I fall in love everyday
it's staying in love
I haven't figured out yet
.
.
.

I prefer to smoke alone
blow away the jabbering,
the drone of the fan
mixing together, making
my knees jump.
outside by myself
with no need to say
inconsequential things or
retell a story once over.
the quiet hugs on like a sweater
or a hand knit blanket
the stars' vacant stares
speak of car crashes
of heads and windows
of hospital elevators
the wind brings along with it
an office bedroom
and 400 miles from home
if that is what I can call
what's left of my life there
then the smoke stays in my hair
to repel anyone trying to get
close

Four nights
swallowed up
four days

Thirty three stones
stacked and painted
neon green, purple, grey.
The sun's blaze shimmering heat waves
back toward the flat landscape.
The magic pillars attract disciples
to their path,
bring color on a desolate drive.