I've got this sinking
feeling in my chest
I hate to say I've got
to go
when we just
met

But I hope
you know
That if I
controlled the clocks
I'd set them back
so I could
spend the time
I wish I had
with you.

A disturbing lack of interest
has risen to the surface
struggling for purpose while
school work seems worthless
unimpressed by the standards set
or perhaps just pensive
wondering where the road leads next
the feeling that textbooks
only hold answers for paper tests
not physical, substantial assessment
That ****** diploma a chain
keeping my brain and body locked
to this spot, this location
when my very essence yerns for motion
for some cosmic lotion to apply
to this burned romantic
helpless, maybe, but awakened
none the less
even if I can't be bothered to
laze over homework
two weeks and it'll be no work
to fall from the sky
back into my old house
and maybe
her
eyes

Here I am again watching swirls in my cup o' noodles
figuring out ways to dip and skip through some loop holes
Cause I'm tired of jumping though hoops
to prove to people what I am or am not willing
to do
Roommate's in the kitchen making fish minus the bone
and I'm ******, wasting time, putzing on my phone
waiting to hear from someone
anyone to get me out of this funk
it's been awhile but I know this place
the first hint of it was in the twice packed bowl that stunk
of the first step to giving up
To sleeping in past important positions of clock hands
like employers will understand, yeah right
feeling like I'm the man
but I'm the man of nothing
but an empty can and that
lousy mouse that clicks
flicks its way through millions of pics
of girls and tattoos and more girls
It's been awhile now, quite long enough
cause I just took that first step back to
giving....well you know.....up

my eyes beg to be shut but my mind
has stapled them open. Poison oak
from two months ago now, burns
as my nails rip into it, soothe it.
The fan rumbles ever on, my feet down
from the mountain, my bruises
remarking subtly of my struggle.
I'd **** for a sleep spell, but I'm just
a ***** muggle. Huddled up with pillows as my cuddle buddy. For ****'s
sake, let me sleep, let me sleep, let me
sleep.........love me?

My nights have gotten longer, my body no stronger. A foul air soils my apartment, stale cigarettes, my beer breath. Sleep doesn't bless me unless my brain is tricked, altered. Faltering footsteps due to shin splints, a spot of blood on the white wall by my bed from my arm. I gave up ****** harm long ago, or so I thought. It's just different now, I don't cut or burn, but I get drunk and fall, let people put out stoges on my back, fist fight for fun. Jeff said I'm a *******, and **** maybe I am one. I'd say I'm a mess even though I'm on track, pay my bills, work hard at my job. Hell, to the rest of the world I'm on my way up to the top, but to me...to me I'm a hazard, a ***** mop, a wreck. All I can think is that my own hands are getting tighter and tighter around my neck

She’s a dark elf supermodel,
kills werewolves for fun
with daggers, arrows, kicks to the throat.

She’s a dark elf supermodel!
She makes monsters run,
Strikes, poised to run down a foe.

She’s slaying it nightly,                                
She’s badass, she’s art,
My mind is seduced.
She is the only                                          
dark elf of my heart.

We flipped them all over
so they were all lucky.
It'd been a bad week
inhale them all, make it smokey
puffs of gold broke air
killing us slow like we wanted
giving plain 'ol death flare
as he shriveled around haunted
grounds seen by us
throw another body on the pile
we can handle it now, tough.
mouths filling with bile
so we spit it out to the porch
disrespectful, perhaps,
but no more than many outside of church
then we sit back and relapse
hoping this next gasp
might be our last, too bad
these cigarettes **** us
s        l          o           w         l       y

Mouth open wide, ripped, stitched up the side
Telling me to stop running, their tired
Tired of dirt, mud, ****, things that transpired
from a ground level view
Screaming at me

"Imagine if it were you!
Imagine you saw yourself running
and each step smashed your brain in!
We are tired!
Just let us die, get some new
cronies, pick on some new guys."

Beat to death, then beaten again
SLO, Santa Cruz, beaches, streets,
parties, fight circles, thrown on the roof
Hoping they'll die soon and be reborn
as some brand new shoes

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

It feels like
kissing shadows now
not quite tangible
more ethereal
as if I've stuffed grief
in a dark corner
Death and I
we dance
he mocks my moves
I groove on
no tears for his poisons
but he has stolen the Sand Man
who no longer visits
till too late at night
my eyes dry but heavy
tossing and turning
while Death breathes
standing in the doorway
rapping his knuckles on the frame
whispering
"why can't you sleep, hm?
why can't you dream?
is it because of me?
is it because of
me?"

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..."

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 want a denim vest,
ripped at the sleeves,
grim patches and buttons.
So I searched through the thrift shops.
Everything was too large, or too tight,
or cut in a style thatt was not quite right.
In the isles were old ladies
who probably bought the clothes
donated by dead friends.
In a corner, marked off for books,
stood Ginsberg, bespectacled and urging,
"You are not a locomotive!"

But I chugged on by,
all steam and whistles,
neck a bristle with eerie misease
that Ginsberg is dead,
like the old ladies' friends,
and I can only find denim
with sleeves.

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

March single file, up, up, up.
Take the stairs two at a time,
sweat beads run lines down your face.
Get to the tunnel carved in rock,
push past the crowds to break out,
then up, up, up
till you peak at the top,
the trail's end.
Survey the crater, lush, serene,
barricaded against the city
which spills between hills and mountains.
Forget it all,
turn to face the sea.

Today I feel worthless. No ideas are flowing; my attempts are sporadic and trivial, just some drivel I've eked out. Poetry...barely breathing , a few gasps every week or two, beyond that it's suffocation. I'm boring, mundane, my creativity drained away, and I'm not even sure when I pulled the plug. Maybe I should take a bath, plunge myself underwater, look up at the surface, search for a purpose. I want to cry, I won't, I can't. Slip into a self-loathing depression. Hit my head against the wall till one or the other breaks, at least then I might have something to fill the pages, those ******* pages.

I don't relate to
any of this anymore.
Buildings rip the sky
blocking out the light
of stellar smiles.
If I look out I can only
see for a few feet
not miles and miles.
I've worn out the soles
of my shoes
walking the streets
that sandpaper my soul.
I don't connect to
any of it anymore.
The lights on all night
pretending to be extra-
terrestrial
or the stacks of ads
that blockade my mail
But there aren't
any letters for me anyway
cause I don't relate to this
anymore.

I
  ran
        out
               of
                   words
or
     maybe
                  just
                          heart.

Finally the door
has opened just a crack
my toes are almost in
and I'm already ready
to not look back
while I fall into another life.

Waking moments are malleable
mostly under my control,
if a thought or longing
I wish to be rid of pops up
a quick shake of the head
sheds them from my mind
but sleep is a troubling time
because the power to steer dreams
is beyond me
The woman I need to leave
as just a good memory
keeps showing up
she hugs me and kisses me
tells me she misses me
laughs and smiles
then I wake up
and realize she is
thousands of miles
out of my reach
before drifting back to sleep
where I can be hers
and rest my tired head
at her feet

Serotonin
Dopamine
Acetylcholine
             Religion failed
but drugs have
        saved
           me

when melodies I hashed up
in the past pass by my lips
sudden images surface
hips, finger tips
who I was, who I've become
since you made me your biggest
someone
then used your mouth like a gun
breath as bullets
for your Colt .45 breakup
I think my fingers were
on the trigger
I was the one who pulled it
so I lay down my guitar
with a sigh beggining deep inside
then rub my eyes
shove aside thoughts that make me die
hydrate my hate for change
by hitting play on songs
you listened to
it's true, though I'm blue
and still haven't a clue
wether I ever really
loved
you

For all the tensions,
the connections and hastened breath,
I don't think it's you who I'll
end up with.