The blanket my first love
gave me, still lays atop my bed
Not because I wish to have
back the days on couches
the pictures, family, comfort
but because it was made by a
best friend
and I never forget my friends.

money isn't worth much
not to me anyway
but words don't seem to hold weight
any more
sometimes it's a chore
to listen to people talk
their words a babble
just shh for a minute
and enjoy the silence

once I sat atop a mountain
for about eight seconds
it was completely quiet
for about eight seconds
I felt at peace

her voice is the ring of a hundred
silver bells,
rolling across the Irish Sea
passed Cork and the cliffs of Moher,
then on out over the ocean,
spanning the great divide,
till their shining reaches the East Coast,
flows over the Great Plains,
and on through the Mojave desert,
to dance around my ears,
banishing all fears.
A hundred silver bells
to ward against the whispers.

I crave
            simplicity.

A fall from the sky,
better than any angel,
and no need for wings,
to arrive in my waiting arms
filled with adrenaline love.
A gift to my eyes,
like rain pouring over
a dry savanna,
pooling into watering holes
for my parched soul.

Falling used to mean
plummeting, parachuteless,
toward an abrupt end.
Now it's more like floating,
knowing the return to Earth
will hold more,
that we will arrive safely,
gracefully,
and keep on lovin'.

Well, I finally stated the truth. "idk I'm just tired of it, this drunkness is false happiness." glares up at me as I look about my room. Broke my painting, my sunglasses, wrecked my arm, my liver. Shaking and quivering from too much to drink to the kitchen sink. I think it's time to stop.

I haven't been this relaxed
In longer
                than
                         I
                           can
r e m e m b e r

I don’t mind cruising in the slow lane,
despite this weather, hot and heavy
and not in a good way.
Seeing a torn ear,
blood smear, stitches,
the aftermath of a bad habit eruption,
and the rubble removal,
bit by bit.
A record player, clothing bags,
bits of sadness dusted from the blast.

So the slow lane will do,
the engine doesn’t need the stress,
unnecessary revving,
destination mute.
The trunk and this chest
on their way out
to a cooler place

I don't know about my connections.
They're transient, maybe?
Energy put in is pulled, not given,
and the eye contact,
the ******* eye contact.
My irises give away too much.
Holding my gaze is too deep,
almost like sharing
those secrets I keep.
Deserving?
Hardly.
Pretentious? I am, definitely,
hell, even I hate me sometimes.
Cut the lines,
sever the ties,
I never cared much for them anyway.

through the h a z e  
o f  t h e
s m o k e
                I could see
                your face
more clearly
than I had
                   since...
you died

The first
time I smoked
was with a
dead
friend.

I walked through Bath and Bodyworks
inhaling every possible scent
                straight up my
                                          nose.
                ­                                          Burning my sinuses with
                                                            Ging­erbread and Spice
                                                           ­       Cinnamon Clove
                                                           ­          Fresh Cupcake
                                                                       Winter Berry
                                                                             Calm
so that even the smallest remnants
                                       of your smell
I could not intake and kept myself
from once again
           falling asleep wearing that
                  sweater that I took
                             to pretend was
you.

sometimes
I
f
  a
     l                     y
       l                 l
sometimes I  f

I fell in love
with the way you picked yourself back up.
You didn't ask for help, you've got yourself and no one else, and that's o.k.
But it scares me to hell to think that
you don't need me.
What's to keep you from leaving?

'Cause you say you have big dreams
different countries
Changing lives, and switching personalities.
Big dreams, big dreams

There's this feeling I get at night
when I can't sleep it's like I'll never have to leave,
Can I be part of your

Big dreams, different countries
Changing lives, and switching personalities.
Big dreams, big dreams

someone once told me,
"you're not one for drinking"
but there's a beer in my hand
because I've gotten sick of thinking
rather wake up with a twist
in my stomach
Oh, how was I to know
that highschool holds heartbreak
how was I to know
that college does too
no one ever told me
that home is not a place
it's a feeling inside you
which sometimes gets erased
these words taste sour
let's face it
I'm
hurting

naps turn into days
weeks, years it seems
on a shell strewn beach
trying to escape
off in the distance
an island drifting
over hung with clouds
a terrible feeling that
I must get out
climb the shale
all the way down
freezing waters sting
my doubts
stroke, stroke, stroke
away from the shore
till I drown
and awaken
reborn

I can feel them
                        in my
                           s
                           p
                           i
                           n
                           e

Suddenly life seems long,
stretched out.
Scenes I'd forgotten
display on an internal screen.
Could these memories be mine?
Do they belong to another me?
They're intangible.
How can it be that I was that person
and ended up me?

People I haven't thought about in a millennia,
now dance across my vision
telling me their secrets, heartache and happiness.
Could I be so cruel
to dismiss their life in my actions, my passions,
to dismiss that they've produced the man
I see in the mirror

handrail, wall, ceiling, stair
tumbled down the whole flight
by mistaking the door
for the staircase as the door
for the bathroom
as doom loomed near
nothing had been more clear
I've been falling down stairs
my whole life
bruising, aquiring contusions,
bleeding, clotting, bones snapping,
regrowing,
I'll be okay, I'll be okay
if I can just manage to crawl
back up to the party
to the... party
to the...
to...


**blackout

Do you ever try and imagine
the entire universe?
it really makes my
head
           whirl...

home from work
(I guess it's home now)
everything is still with my music up
I can't hear the sirens or engines
revving and roaring ever on and on
feels strange to not move
to not have something to do
but think and think
deeper and deeper
prying until I find
just how little
I am

She is sleek , a little battered
scar across her back
but in her silver dress
whoa, never had a girl like that
long legs propel her fast
in any direction I turn her head
She lets me press her buttons
she lets me turn her on
just one flick and she'll be roaring
or one twist and she sits
motionless

When she breaks down
I pick her up, fix her up
god bless
She's hot in summer
frigid in winter and
always in that dress
She soothes me when I'm stressed
blares out my worries when
I've got them on my chest

She yells out songs at
the top of her gravelly voice
or she whispers lullabies
it's my choice
loud, quite, she doesn't care
I could be rich, or broke
she'd still take me anywhere

I've cried in her arms
I've loved in her lap
I even let her wear
my favorite baseball cap
and see my feet
Once she kept me warm
during my sleep
watched my eyes shifting
underneath my lids
If she lasts long enough
someday she could hold my,
my kids

Four pillars topped by bronze statues,
the stages of transformation
from tadpole to frog.
I've felt like the frog for so long,
at the peak form I can be,
suddenly an idea from my soul!
I haven't yet grown legs, I'm still a tadpole.

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."

Two ticks click
through my ears
fuego leapt from
steel grasp to burn
destroying as it
flares across the valley
Smoke billowed into
the clutches of
hard, purple plastic
pressing in from all sides
funneled into sacks
of tendrils. They cringe
grey swirls choking
off pipes and
blood lines
Veins bursting with
new chemicals
Spewed out over
the burnt plains
But the valley
is just a small
groove on a
burnt out, tired
brain

it all occurs way too quickly,
moments flicker with every
little death, every time I fall asleep,
between shifts is an eternal rift,
gobbling down searing green numbers
that stare from  the oven,
as if whispering, "your times 'a coming,"
when I  next wake up
will I be forty-five?
will I even be alive--

So I slow mo time flow by
getting my mind blown,
each second feeling vital,
their veins pulsing with a solution,
an intangible answer,
I have only to ask
the right question...

I'm coffee and you are cigarettes
I keep you going
while you **** my slowly

The storm makes rivers of the streets.
They rage and tumble, pouring down hills,
through towns, filling them all with water.

Soaked, drenched, gloriously drenched.