The apples he left
on the granite counter
tasted like stone,
like rock,
and you swallowed them
as such
because they tasted

like earth and pain,
and you wouldn't have
to see them,
deep red,
cupped in the palms
of your hands.

market youself;
wear the clothes you want them
to see you in,

pierce the right places
for the right look,

say the things that
you want them to hear
hair.face.makeup.expression.
let them know what to expect,
yaknow, make sure they see 'you'
while you dont let them see you,
and struggle to be yourself
while you **** yourself
and you market yourself
and you sell off yourself

what a world i live in;
it's highschool
but ****'s the same all the way through
nobody cares about the right things
they're too busy
buying and selling;
the human stock market

i've got friends, not customers
so i guess i'm broke,
i might just
have to go through the right pains
for the right reasons
cause i'm not killing myself that way
i;m pain free in a society that trades
with beauty as currency

integrity and all the rest
come as a sort of afterthought

what happened to our teachers?
they are locked in our schools
they tell us maths, they sleep in bed
at 9 o'clock at night
while we crack open
our bottles
behind closed doors
and cheer

i was awake
at the wrong time last night.
i saw your body walking in the rain
a thousand shadows dragged behind
on a chain of lust.
there were teeth behind your lips
and you bared them at me, soundlessly
fury on your tongue like a poison
you were aching to spit
but hadn't words to describe.

two tylenol and a vitamin d
the next morning i woke to find
you had killed me without any great regret.
what a sickness. last week we sat on the couch
and you got up to make popcorn,
asked me about trivial things
like butter and salt
and the weather tomorrow

i guess you thought that you loved me
but i can't see how.
you blamed me for what, for everything?
there was nothing wrong with your life
if you wanted snow my dear,
all you had to do was wait

The word "abortion"
dropped off her tongue
like a pin
into the rustle of papers and trivialities
so important
that they were shouted to one another
from across the classroom.

There was nothing to say.
There was nothing to say.
We sat in the corner,
solemn white paper cut-outs
with too much to think about,
taking notes
on embryo's
(of all things).

**** Biology class,
we talked about the line
where, when crossed
became ******.
I remembered last year,
when her voice stripped down
the layers between life
and death,
tattooed "******"
in red ink
to any form of escape,
and knew in her mind

there was no line.

She was
O.K, she said.
The worst was psychology,
when he told them
that a fetus
dreams.

i want to wish for revenge
but i can't
because i want to be everything
you are not

so i cannot be vengeful
and i cannot be driven by hatefulness
or the intent
to cause others misery, because i hate you
and that's what you'd do
and that's what you've done
and that's what fueled this disease
to begin with

i want you to hurt
i want you to bleed the same way as i
with blood that's thin
with skepticism at the pain that refuses
to see itself physically

i want you to wake up one day
and see how alone you are
i want you to wake up
and see how miserable you are
i want you to wake up
and see your paper castle
disappear

you began to speak impatiently.
it was my fault, listening without answering
anyone would be tired of my silence

but lately there haven't
been words for these moments
and when i hear your voice
i cant think what to say.
it's all these conflicting emotions,
i've been twisted up inside.

when the sound of your voice stops
the silence takes long strides towards us.
it settles in
casually, as if it belongs here
and i let it,
sit it down, and offer it tea

the look in your eyes as you wait for me
to speak
is my revenge,
petty as it may be, and my pride dwells somewhere
between my clenched teeth
and the back of my throat

im in the process of extracting myself
from all the attributes that surround me

i'm picking myself out
from the remains of what i've seen
and what i've heard

i'm putting myself together
with what i've found in yesterday
and want to see in tomorrow

like a canvas full up with shades of color
being painted over with white
with no finished product in mind

perfect isn't what i'm going for
so i asked a cat for direction
and it grinned, said
you'll get where you're going ,
just walk

you wore the clothes i wanted to see you in
and so i kissed you on the lips
let you smell the mint that
my stick of gum had left
on my breathe

the world approved of our relationship
i loved you so i took you to the movies
i paid for your ticket
and i held your hand.
i wanted more of you
but the world wouldn't let me take it

i didn't know what i wanted
you gave me what i asked for
what is love
what was our love

i wanted more of you
i was unsure which parts
you could do without
i didnt want pieces
i wanted you all
i wanted to steal you from them;
the world.
they were my enemy.
you were mine alone.

sometimes i think about our friendship.
there's nothing worth salvaging,
i just remember
when we hated ourselves with a passion
that belonged to an empty past

we found ways of lighting matches
and setting flames to things
that we never even knew existed

and then the king of marionettes
tied strings to all his enemies

and the ones he should have trusted most
were considered unpredictable because
he did not control them

and so he hated us all
and i cried because i think
i may miss who we used to be

This poem should be about somebody.
It should describe
the feeling of
your hand in my palm
and your lips on my cheek,

it should tell someone
that they mean
something worth holding on to,
and so I wont let go

so long as they love me,
so long as 'happy'
is something
I can give to them.


But that isn't
what this poem is about.
it's just an empty shell
and 'happy'
isn't even something
i can give myself.

I'm so lonely
tell me,
where am I?

And why aren't you here

im just going to write a bunch of random ****
until i bleed this all out;
i've got a empty well of consciousness
and nobody knows me anymore,
or at least thats what i think

im not happy anymore;
im not sad anymore;
it's better i think, for the most part
but i miss me sometimes
but i cant look back

i have to stop trying to leave **** behind
im starting to block up
all the exits
i dont want to get stuck in this place
with all the nightmares we've had
and ignored
or maybe pretended never existed at all

maybe i seem stable these days
dont we all
i know suffering's everyones little secret
im not vain enough to think im the only one
with problems

but man
these days get heavier so quickly
and the nights last like desert storms

sometimes i get cold at night
but i cant wake up

some days i think ill **** the lights
and then myself
because i cant take living with you anymore
because you ****** me over so bad
and every day
i have to look at you look me in the eye
knowing you're telling yourself
what you did to me was okay

i dont understand
why am i so horrible
why am i so easy to leave
so replacable


you're horrible
why the hell am i the victim
when you're so twisted