Will you take my hand, follow me
Into this unknown land?
Live together in absolute bliss?
Life with you: the only way to exist

Your smile brightens my day
Obsession’s swept me away
Under this vermillion moon

My heart’s caught in your harpoon
And it’s dragging me willingly
Racing along your loving beat
Rejoicing in your arms, I know
You make me fully complete

Maximum love always for you, shall this
Everlasting pleasure prevail true?

Euphoria is a drug we know well
A short lasting high
But the greatest of them all
A quick fix here and there
Will never suffice
Nor will the whole supply
But it gets us through the day

Euphoria in our veins
Heated from the inside
Weak and stronger than ever
Grips tighten as souls enlighten
For the fifth or sixth time
Or some other number
We've lost count
We can't count
What are numbers?
Mathematics are of no concern
To a couple addicts

My euphoria
Stay with me
Bring me home
Sail me away
Euphoria

Fog in my head
Swimming like clouds
Nothing is wrong
When we're this high

So stay close
For a little while longer
Sweet euphoria

You'll ruin us all

dystopia, where are your welcome bells?
utopia—must have missed the exit.
oh *****, I’ll gladly breathe your scent
if you’ll calm this paranoid cursive.

drag me from this bush
and introduce me to a forest
to claim my own.

skipped the chalk
of enlightenment,
and landed on a crack
and sprained my ankle.

head beating like a popcorn machine,
membrane popping in the sun,
sweat pours through ****** doors,
drenches my senses in gasoline
while a mosquito strikes the match.

pupils flawed by nails clawed,
bloodied sockets gouged
to forget to remember
and to remember to forget,

to stop thinking about life
after it’s all over,
and when that will be,
just let it be,
you and me?
relieved free?
maybe …

… and maybe flesh will sizzle to the bone,
maybe I’ll scream and moan,
and pound my fists into my skull.

hamburger raw,
soon to unthaw
in the flames
driving sanity
insane.

posture with the shakes,
productively stressed and
destructively depressed,
I just want to shed my clothes
and drain my lungs into the moon,
like a wolf without reason,
without a single concern
except for me and the moon;

the moon and I.

Intoxified,
out of my mind.

Paths intertwined,
running blind.

Straight ahead,
where fate bled

a new destiny,
for only you and me.

Your cosmic grace
reinforces our embrace,

as waves of affinity
guide us for infinity.

Spiraling beyond
any anomaly ever spawned.

Expediting faster,
smashing through disaster.

Dual impenetrable grips
fueling a paradisiacal eclipse.

We drift within the moons,
floating along vermillion balloons.

Impressions in the sand;
together, forever hand-in-hand.

**** up

                                        Pathetic



*******,­
      
                 all
                              
                     *******


Reasons naught
pointless
counterpoints


**** up


Cosmic             *******

every
           last

detail

every
           last

derail

until the tracks
can

                       no longer


be wielded
back                                                
                          
                                     ­                        together

to

                 get

                                    her


Lost

like my mind
                  no longer mine
                                        so far behind


**** up


Flesh inflamed
eyes insane
slippery      
    
                                    dame


fallen

        ­                     from my        grasp


fire’s less oblivious


too much sweat, I bet


of a **** up


sweating out

                      the eyes

as I hear
                  
                        finalized
                                    cries


mine
        
                                       no more

nothing

                                       anymore

lone shadow

                                       forevermore

breathe

                                       nevermore




                                                  ­                 ******
                                                          ­             up

Amorous static shocking souls,
Aspired electric transfusion
Affectionate beat combo,
Hair rising, wondrous levitation
Hence from optical illusion
Paradise in the realm of duo-salvation
Ground rumbles, a vibration
Amid this secure hand combination
Like an infinite tube of glue
Forever sealed within our fate
You’re for me, and I’m for you

Maybe we’re all better off dead,
I ponder, as the thoughts replay
again and again throughout my head.

And when your ponderings can’t focus
long enough to match with the last,
you have to wonder if perhaps
you’re already completely ******.

****** of thought,
****** of fresh ideas,
****** of it all.

So **** it all.

— the motto of a thousand deluded slugs,
bugs lathered in slime; thoroughly spattered
with imbalanced chemicals of an imagined time,
                                    
                      ­             and I couldn’t agree more.

Head pounding
at the insensible drum roll
of the closing in
overwhelming mass
of dull hysterics;
the ever present drone …
                      I can hear it …
                                 I can’t bear it …

destroying me from the inside out
                     until I
            implode
                                      a sickness
infecting all pure stars reflecting
across a lake
contaminated
by a thick oil
lucidly pleasing the spoiled,

and      I’m         thrown
          right in the
              center
sinking
            at
                a­ slow
                          melancholic pace,

like quicksand you’ll never understand,
a liquid so intolerably bland,
I’ll be relieved when my lungs finally
                                                         ­    collapse
to this long awaited lapse
of closure.

Do not try to grab my hand.
I wouldn’t even know what to do
with dry land if I had it.
Let me dissolve with the fallen;
I’m already deeper in
than I am out, anyway.

My interest has long since faded.
Can’t relocate purpose for the Word,
for I am ever bored, and you can feel
rest assured there is nothing more.

No ingenious plan for escape.
No story-arch that hasn’t already been repeated.
No conclusion that I can’t predict.
No two-faced intentions that won’t contradict
all the reasons I used to enjoy those creative seasons,

and I can feel the decomposing treason
chilling my heart to its core,
like a rancid breeze stirred just for me.

Left with no purpose, no drive;
on the inside, I’m not even alive.

There was once a time when my wife
would have made a fuss over my nails,
nagged me to scrape the dirt underneath
until I was presentable to guests.

But that was a long time ago,
back when my wife was still in my life,
and not a memory distorting mindwaves.

Now the only guests I am able to endure
are the vultures impersonating Death’s halo;
enhanced in a game of waiting the other out,
determined to last until the other cracks.

The dirt under my fingernails worry me;
ponderings of how long they will remain,
and if I will ever clean them at all,
actions depending solely on
the annoyances of a lost void.

Where are you?

In my sleeping bag
drawn by a drowsy pencil
and a fragile grip, ******-esque slip;
paper wings blur together,
lines like stale rivers
converging into an ocean;
lids heavy, drool present,
in the spirit of creating
untitled Poetry all night,
but the ***’s worn off,
and now I am ready
to leap into that ocean.

Tarnished capsule
Elevates levitation
Animated colors
Projecting importance

Caught in our glow
Blinded by what we create
And the stars do know
Of this beauty we radiate

For we excel this beautiful spell
Higher than the clouds
Deeper than the soul
With your hand in mine
And we are whole

To seal the deal
With this kiss
My lips on yours
Paused in a sky of bliss

I drink your heart
While you consume my mind
And we know, high on our sublime
That this ride has only just begun

In this abstruse mist we

Levitate and coexist
Over all scenarios conceivable
Visions never unbelievable while
Entwined within your soul

You make me completely whole
Offering you all of me, for this
Unfailing love will always be…

Swiveling in my chair;
chivalry’s not so fair
when you aren’t here
to compare

the ducks in the pond,
where we used to ponder
temperatures on the other side,
and wonder

how much bread we needed,
and where they went in the winter
when wind was thick with frost;
how bitter

life seems now in my lazy chair,
lonesome feet limp on the ground,
with thoughts of your touch
spinning ‘round

my mind; consuming my time,
memories like scrapbooks
flipping from front to back,
with looks

that excite me years later,
as I dwell in my little chair
and you sleep under covers
we share

two thousand miles
away.

Can you feel the distraught knot
suffocating the veins which keep you sane?

Melanoma of melancholy’s coma
inflaming the reins attached to mares

leading us into inevitable nightmares;
valuable stallions influenced by fiery battalions

with the scarlet eyes that makes the harlot cry
in the depths of nerves long burst, retinas forever cursed;

visions plagiarized by the pseudowise,
those not destined to die

now tip their glasses and dine;
a toast to regretted time.

Sponge eyes twisted in duration with the machines
installed six hundred feet under the Earth;
lips chapped and tongue unfulfilled,
a slight itch molesting my throat;
juice yearning, hibernation warning;
total shutdown following global release,
spasms on the floor along broken glass,
content with the shards scraping death
from behind my eyes
and flinging it in the pan
beside my feet.

They were running out of water,
while we still possessed plenty,
stored in bottles, jugs, cups, toilets,
stored in the gutters and backyards;
a supply large enough to quench
billions of parched throats.

But before their claws could scratch,
we defeated them through sacrifice,
through patriotic self-destruction.

Now our supply is just as low,
desiccated by mushroom sighs;
wasted by hereditary wastelanders
cashing in on an apropos wasteland.

Like history predicted,
we destroyed it all.

Rope withers
Pries us from this
Barricade
This land is not meant
To hold us
This dock is not meant
To keep us
From drifting away

Feel my outstretched hand
And take a leap
But do not fear how deep
This sea may be
For we are deeper

And my arms are stronger
Than a thousand anchors
Glued to your magnet touch
Catching you like the bucket
Catches the rain
Overflowing affection

Like a leaf
Evaporating droplets
Of what makes you you
And subsequences
With what makes me me
Soaking our senses
Within the same waters

Absorb your heart with mine
And jump off this pier
Land into my embrace
Where, together, is always
The most perfect place

Using only each other
As our own balance support
Untie the decomposing rope
And allow our eternal raft
To follow the moon
Into a new vision

Where even the darkest of storms
Hinder us not

I don’t enjoy the TV
as much as others seem;
rather say goodbye to reality
and hello to a new dream.

Never have felt the sea,
yet it means more to me
than it does to you.

The moon is my getaway
while the sun is your only way;
a day without light
has never been so bright
from where I stand,
and from where you can’t,
for in your point of view
it’s just another
inconvenience
to get through;

like a coffee stain
at the crotch
of your pants,

you continue to scrub.

Lightning flashes,
only it’s not from the sky,
it’s from the hands
that break your fall,
the hands you use to crawl;
I saw them in your grip,
cellular migraines
surrounding me in the pit,
flashing out of control
like a industrial seizure on a roll,
standing perfectly still,
row after mindless row
like a haven of brain-sizzled zombies
recording priceless moments
to enjoy at a later time,
contaminated by a screen
pixelating a musical dream,
and that’s exactly how I felt
in the center of the attraction,
cord after lyric after cord
ruined by modern distraction,
and despite the following talent
being the pretty reckless,
it was still pretty obvious
we’d remain being
the pretty restful.

White dwarf in a garden of eden
strolls along multicolored streetlights,
nodding at the spectrum manifesto
as lullabies meet and senses heed
henceforth the eve of madrugada.

Expansion was to blame,
as was the thesis I forgot to write
but mailed anyway.

The stamp failed to stick,
as did our hate,
despite our tries.

We abandoned ourselves,
left to roam alone hand-in-hand,
rolling around our own private land;

regarding the brilliance
of the unwritten plan.

The sky held no surprise
as the other galaxies evolved;
imagined no second thoughts
when we chose to dissolve.

Air induces nausea,
hearing spills blood,
sight activates disgust;
this world, it’s just a boil
polluted by megalomaniacal pus.

Sensations unsought,
significance rejected
like a bag of bones
flung in the dumpster
beaten down to thrown stones.

Just close your eyes,
feed on their thoughts,
tighten the collar,
and grind your teeth
into that withering dollar.

the kid with purple shoes
died last year,
over the weekend.

they announced it
the following morning
at school,
where everyone
was dreading
the day
ahead,

and dreaming
about the days
after.

he’d parked his car
on the tracks
at a crossing
of life and death,
and waited.

tears drugged his mind;
vision gone blurry,
peripherals
narrowing
toward the lights
ahead,
until they were
too close
for him
to drive
away.

there was a moment of
silence
in the room,
and then soon
talking resumed,
and no one
mentioned him
again.

that night I saw him
in a dream,
still wearing
those purple shoes;
he told me to tell
his mother
he loved her,
then turned around
and walked down
the train tracks
until consumed
by the darkness
that consumes
us all.

I didn’t need to tell her,
because she already
knew,

and so did he.

Hey, what are you doing?
Don’t tell me, though.
I honestly don’t care,
just thought I’d ask,
wearing my Himalayan mask.

Eleven at night on a Tuesday;
arrow pierced my nose,
leaking dusted snot,
head a drowsy mass,
a dizzy, unfathomable knot
beckoning me into a slumber,

yet I feel this tranquil
half-conscious state
as I hear the ever dear
lonesome crowded west,
all the while ******* in
the crust of plate tectonics,
that hypnotic spell
of the devoted neurotic,

and in a few
the lights will finally perish
and my Styrofoam boots
will once again
walk on ice.

There was a black child
stumbling along the deserted road,
heading in my direction,
although I doubt he even knew.

It was the first person I’d seen
in well over a week, at least;
even if he was not the soul
I forever seek, I gladly accepted
his withered embrace.

He looked into my eyes,
and I looked into his.

There was something lost in them.

“Help me,” the boy croaked,
and passed out in my arms.
I cradled him like he was my own,
and in my mind, he was.

I built a fire and laid him on a blanket
that I previously found
in a destroyed supermarket,
inspecting the affecting effects
of total annihilation.

He was more bones than skin;
most of his teeth missing
from tar bled gums,
and his stomach was bruised
from God knows what.

I wondered where his parents were,
and if he even knew himself.

Suddenly my mind
was filled with a flash of flesh
grilling against more flesh,
where anxious fingers dug in.

Tears met as unwanted
satisfaction struck
with remorse,
and thoughts
of a better time.

These visions are something
I will never get used to.

In the morning the boy was dead.

I never even knew his name,
but it didn’t stop me
from telling him mine,
all the same.

Climbing up from this prolonged descent,
two halves combined being what destiny meant;
losing my discontent, rare of malcontent,
forever yearning to breathe your scent.

An enchantment you present …

Hand-in-hand this world we shall explore;
these winds are impossible to ignore,
means more than some ******* metaphor;
pounding fists against the locked door.

Your mind I do adore …

Together we’ll overcome the conflicted,
negative thoughts vanished, all contradicted;
time’s ******* restricted, frustration’s inflicted;
the hourglass has been thoroughly afflicted.

I’ll survive ‘cause I’m addicted …

Like a match strike, the love’s automatic,
want to join your church, for I’m a fanatic;
your character cinematic, soul charismatic,
talking to you makes me ecstatic.

*I’m your addict.

Your name came like a ghost
in that frosted windowpane
I stood in front of;

our hands connected
with ice on our fingers,
skeletons in the winter;
cursive’s not bitter
when crafted from
our own breath,
no longer distracted with
our own death,

until the glass shattered
and pierced our faces;
created art we couldn’t
possibly start,
nonetheless end—

yet we did,

again and again
and again.

Stumbling numbly through the dark
with the moonlight upon my face;
sick of this world, the one fed by grace.
I take another sip of my toxic *****;
please join me, I’ve got the graveyard blues.

Kick some rubble, stomp the dirt,
craving a human, some juicy dessert.
Its absence stings, makes me hurt;
am I the only one left to convert?

I won’t have it, I won’t give it,
gonna scratch, gonna burn your skin,
gonna stain the white flag red
and resurrect my beloved undead.

Let’s take a ride and darken the bruise,
only if we erase my graveyard blues.

Curse the soil, raise the zombie,
my little skinny flesh eater—
—ah, there ain’t nothin’ sweeter.

Laugh with my fanged beasts
as they howl at the moon,
reminding me of a familiar tune.

Bring out the blood drinkers
and decapitate the good thinkers;
brains for dinner, brains for lunch,
flesh n’ such the ghouls munch.

Release the creatures from their cell;
again, they roam the night—
—time to raise hell.

Sharpen the claws of my sinister muse,
lend it a blood-inked quill—
—no more graveyard blues.

Another day’s sun
weighing us down;
an exquisite appeal,
sleepy and more real
than the days spent
doing anything but.

A dusk we trust,
tuning common love rust;
a reversal of iron and alloys
corroding,
as such things are wont to do,
from time to time,
through rhyme and rhyme.

Hard hours bled on the clock
for the payoff at the end;
a check stub spun as a rerun,
adding to numbers
we can no longer count to.

Fingers bled and rough
as our nerves are tough;
beaten yet not defeated;

a massage of purposed hands
can cure even a dead man.

A reminder at the bottom
of the porch steps,
where hair rests against
a perspired chest;

caresses restless
within autumn whispers;

it’s the good life.

Reliance on silence;
our day went just fine,
now that the sun is down,
and you are around,
and everything is in
its right place
again—
and evermore.

It’s the good life,
the one on porch steps
painted by imprints
of time;

a scrapbook full
of memories
yet to occur;

the only life
that doesn’t seem forced
to call a life.

So I guess I'm depressed
I don't know what to do
I'm writing things of originality
Guess I've a mental disability

So let's go see a professional
Step right into the confessional
I'll empty my thoughts, my mind
Right into your precious little time

Dear Omniscient Shrink
Please tell me how to think
List my flaws on your sketch pad
Inform me of the newest fad

I need some Xanax to calm me down
So please fill it out before I drown
I'm confused so what do you suggest?
Maybe you should just conform me like the rest.

Can’t recall the last night I slept
without awaking multiple times
under the serpent’s cataract eye,
mistaking a midnight whisper
caressing my defense systems
as the shiver-inducing slither
of a mercenary’s lucid blade.

Hours afterward, eyes stretched
in fear of invisible shadows,
as the sun rises to meet my gaze,
I can’t help but wonder
when the night will arrive
where imagination
isn’t the villain.

Night air, so tranquil,
accompanied by you and me,
and an ever gentle breeze
soothing our decree.

Words so soft,
spoken like raindrops
making love to a puddle;
majestic discretion revealed
to the only two willing souls
savoring the sky.

Nineteen hours away,
you still manage to sink
into my welcomed chest
as our synched eyes caress
a harvest moon at its finest,

the royal glow ascertaining
a profound truth heavier than
the radiant Venus hanging below
on its translucent string,
swinging with the stars,
swinging in our arms,
in our hearts;
evermore.

Pencil shavings spilled in the drawer,
layering over my cerebrum cortex,
like fallout that fell out from my sleeve,
shaken down with me to the ground,
but bound never to leave.

Despite all this,
the pencil tip still snaps
whenever it feels my pain,
regardless if it’s invented or installed.

A thousand pencils broken in my grasp,
yet no words ever seem to last;
rhetorical questions and questionable rhetorics
jabbing my eye as if I’ve already worn it,
but the fabric feels more new to me
than the first day I bought it,

and I can’t remember
what I did with the receipt;
think I might’ve lost it in the gutter
with the other organisms
that were no better;

but maybe, if you would let it,
I could try my luck with some store credit.

Left without reason,
caught in the breeze
penetrating me;
a season for treason
discussing
the inevitable concussion
of creative repercussion.

Big bad pig man,
same sad **** plan;
it's for the audience
(we like you!)
hence the distorted sense
of a reported defense
impaled and left stale
atop a graying fence.

Trash the artistry,
erase the registry;
no active hard drive necessary.

The creeps are a lie:
it's not fine to color
outside the lines.
Remain sane in that little brain
with that structured page
to sterilize natural rage;

copy and paste with haste
until the end,
because approval of a friend
and the applause
of a predetermined cause
is all that's needed
to feel like we've succeeded.

"Safety in warmth
above the floor indoors,
where outside the cold's too bold."

Forget this united mantra,
shred your clothes and dip your toes,
and join me as a contra.

Because obscure is the cure,
while ease has always been the disease.

The injection
The perfection
A numbing high
A bliss I can't deny

The inhalation
The dreamt sensation
A solace turned thrill
An intoxication she'll instill

******, tripping in zest
Another hit, I've been blessed
*******, whiskey, paramount ****
The ultimate drug, she's what I need

No agenda for rehabilitation
Plunging deeper into fascination
Peeling away at the skin of society
Never want to enter sobriety

Isolated in the shadows
kept away in storage
above his head.

Directed downtown
where the strangers
tended to hide.

Accompanied with
a pack of matches
and a money jar.

The jar was empty,
as was her stride;
a hollow center.

Nobody noticed,
save for the night ice
bullying her raw.

Tried to keep warm
by a cheap timid flame
ablaze in delusion.

Hallucinations kept
her sanity at bay
until the final fade.

The next morning
the matches were gone,
and so was her mind.

Body frozen stiff,
she chose to remain
in those lovely flames.

I find myself under God’s magnifying glass,
sitting on a log that belongs to the dead,
scribbling words in endangered trees
just to grasp my own spiraling sanity.

Beard so thick I cannot help but scratch,
and hair so long it’s edited my shadow.
You wouldn’t recognize me unless
you were looking in my eyes.

I wonder if I will recognize you
whenever we finally meet again.
I used to study each corpse I passed,
making sure it wasn’t you,
but then stopped when I realized
if you were dead, then I would be too.
So instead I think about the ways
you must have changed
over time, in this world of ours,
this land of the unplanned.

I imagine your skin is brown,
hair going passed your waist,
lips chapped and awaiting my own
to get them wet again.

I move my feet in the dirt
under this log;
a daydream of a distant cloud
that we share our sight on,
sky splotches slowly
guiding us back together.

Have you changed like the rest?
Have you killed for survival?
Have you cried until your stomach
started to hurt?

What do you eat?

What do you think about
to sooth you into sleep at night?

Do you think these same thoughts
when you think of me?

Do you think of me?

I think of you.

I think of the credits
at the end of a movie,
from when movies existed,
and how sometimes
there would be extra scenes
once the words were finished
rolling up that silver screen,
and it gave you a sense of relief
that just because something’s implied,
it doesn’t mean it is the end.

Sometimes things are just given
extra film time.

Unravel the twist tie
Coherent thought gone awry

Frantic

Shaking

I cannot comply

Any longer,
And I'm sure to die

Squeeze clean the balloon
Aching for my angelic cartoon

Empty the contents into the syringe

Wishing,

Yearning for the eternal binge

Stab the needle into my wrist
Please let it forever consist

Increase the dosage,

Make me feel like I exist

Feel the beauty shooting up my arm
Satisfaction can leave no harm

Like a perfect sky,
Where ecstasy is the drops

And it always rains,

My heroine fills my veins

Eyes were like the difference
that makes the surface and bottom
of an ocean without ships.
The fog too immense
for normal aquatic life,
but I still sank
all the same.

The water felt like solids;
green murky depths
that seemed to be
leaking from my own ears,
creating this vast sea
single-handedly.

Dragged down by chains,
hooks inserted into flesh,
like a fish without hope,
a limbo lacking doubt,
taking me along despair’s
graphic scenery route,

phantasmagorically correct
and fantastically imperfect
was the chimerical activity
that surrounded me,
as I refused to hold my breath;
and in its thickest cloud,
I fulfilled a destiny
bound for death.

An energetic aesthetic blast
Swallows my heart whole
Pulls it towards you like a
Magnetic poetic vine of
Everything I hold dear
I hand it to you my
Pretty beautiful revere
I mean it, I am sincere
When I say I would die
If you ever disappear

The sky is falling, followed
By acidic rain, but I no
Longer care, I’m not insane
Just crazy for you, a love
That is rare, difficult to obtain
And even harder to maintain
But I know this desire shall
Remain for without you I’m
Nothing but a lonely stain

Again the government is lying
But I’m no longer crying,
It doesn’t bother me what
Drugs Congress is supplying,
The Resistance is still strong,
They are still defying, I just have
Moved away from relying
On every little conspiracy
They are implying

Your white has
Brightened my black
Your charms have me
Enlightened, everything
Will be fine with our
Arms tightened around
Each other’s soul
You’ve buried my
Depressed cynical hole
With you next to me I know
I am completely whole

I would rather
Breathe your scent
Than exploding ******
So please disable that bomb
Put away the nuke, I am
Finally calm now that I have
Found my other half, let’s ****
The world later, right now
I just want to hear your laugh
We can watch hand-in-hand
The apocalypse another time,
Presently I’d prefer to kiss your lips.

Within I endure madness
while outside I lure sadness.

Feeling like a biblical man
on a quest for his own grail;

averse trials mentally fixated
on a mountain universally hated,

conjured by the monster’s plague
inhaling a cloud of enemies.

Battles of the paranoid schizoid
unleashed on common ground,

soaking in a dagger’s blood lust;
and at the finish line I do trust

comforted warmth will embrace
my exhausted thoughts at last,

and will grant them freedom
like the dying man’s wish.

In the mirror of my spirals,
hazel perceptions translate
candid reflections of flesh
once mistaken for wood,
carvings of a surrendered soul,
a spirit left less than whole,
of when depression gladly paid
its miserable ******* toll.

Dark jagged lines imprinted
across skin once pure,
stigmas of the past
reminding me that storms
can always be darker,

but you know, they can
always be clearer, too.

Medicinal steel awaits
the shadows of history,
eager for my touch,
for the thrill of the slice;
distraction through mutilation:
humanity’s haunted vice,

wherein I am not looking
to ease the pain,
but to intensify,
to charge an overload
on my overworked brain.

Reflecting reflections reflected,
I reflect on the repercussions
of thoughts lost too deep
within its own mind.

Dehydrated by an empty canteen,
I can hear the drops at the bottom
but can’t seem to shake them out,
and my tongue is getting so dry,
crackled like a gunslinger’s boot.

The sun is torture, and it’s here to stay,
but what about you, are you staying too?

Lick my lips and it all but kills,
so weak in these times of despair;
my lungs need your damp air
and like a fish, like a fish
I’ve become addicted
to your sweet liquid.

Need to drink you in,
have to breathe you in,
and forget to exhale,
and you’ll drink me in,
quench our thirst,
inhale our scent;
like cool cement
we are content
to be addicted
to our liquids.

Want to bathe in our thick waters;
encase our lungs in an aquarium
with a castle made of sand,
and poison the other creatures
so we can swim in peace.

Overwhelm the tank,
all that we can take,
‘til parallels begin to shake
and our surreal liquids
are their own **** sea,
and let us float, and let us be,

and once we’re finally down,
let us drown.

Building up until you’re breaking down,
closing in until they’re all around,
fish like thoughts like robots in reverse,
like a curse in clockwork in which

you've forgotten how to flip this switch
from off to on from dusk ‘til dawn;
boiling point to make you clench,
teeth gritted and nerves pressed,

cerebrum stressed like a suicide hex
wearing you until you’re skin and bones;
zero fat and a bundle of mistaken homes
but none your own, like an infant alone

abandoned in the freezing cold,
no sense of the blessed nor the rest;
calming tears for misguided fears
shed along the wild prong,

poked and bled into those ahead
of your own flesh and bone;
with tension evolving to apprehension,
nails dig into palm as you learn never to stay calm.

Insects welcoming themselves
in and around her eyes,
rushing the universal act
known as decomposition,
but they will just have to wait,
for she is not yet ready
to experience the encore
of cruelty.

A veil to secure
her condemned health;
tho’ there is no use
when she sees
little strings of blood
in her *****.

Maggots drilling deep
into her wretched gut,
a pool of forsaken oil
pouring out between
ghost white fingers,
and staining feet
with its cancer.

Outcasted by those
still blessed by ignorance,
she continues to stumble
under these street lights,
forming puddles
in her death gaze.

They sat on the stoop,
on the rooftop,
on the grass.
They watched,
they saw,
they turned away
in disgust
and disarray;
vowed never to see,
but to be.

Ideas sprayed on parchment:
plans for the future,
true ideals
indestructible,
fit to last.
It was their turn
to undo the past.

They would create change,
destroy order,
and recycle the entrails
into a revolution,
one that would have an outcome;
an outcome not of the worst
but of the best.
They’d pierce straight through
this vanilla-stained vest.

They looked in each others' eyes
and smiled at what they saw,
for within each pupil
glowed a fire;
a fire of the downfall
and revival
of this world
they've come to know
and hate.

They knew one day soon
their hatred would spin
and move in the other direction;
the direction of light,
of true happiness
and peace.
The soothing sparks
rocketing from their eyes
convinced them so.

They knew they would succeed,
unlike others who have tried,
they knew how to win,
knew not to try
but to do.
They would release
their envisioned paradise
from their grasp
and upon the oblivious.

But as they grew older
an event occurred
that would cause a change,
a change that would make sure
to reject any other,
a change that would be the annihilator
of their dystopic utopia.

A small occurrence,
unrecognizable,
a brick thrown
shatters through the window,
triggers a false realization.
The shards succumb them
into the seducing
sepulchral-inducing cage
that keeps them bookmarked
to the same opening page.

Vents crack,
in pours the fog.
The mist once loved,
now loathed,
seeps through the fracture,
smothers their hope,
breathes their air,
air they used to dream,
now nothing more than a theme.

Fear drags them down
like the others,
devours wonders of the unknown,
slashes at their flesh,
shrieks of monotone,
visions escape from the wound,
wounds of which sealed
with reminders of the failed,
never to be reopened,
their appetite remains forever lost.

Now they walk
back and forth,
forth and back,
hands in pockets,
shoulders shrugged.
What's the time?
They've lost track.
All watches are smashed,
big hand frozen on yesterday.

They are the lost,
previous dreams forgotten,
left in the rain,
drifted away
down the drain,
never to regain
their once beloved ambition.
Instead they gather
gritty ammunition
and float towards
certainty, the predictability
of a future that ceases in a puddle.
They are the lost.

A flick of the matches
Unleashes paranoia in batches,
No where to run, nor to hide,
Access to bliss has been denied,

Creepy crawlers slithering from above,
Stability laughs down at my lack thereof,
The walls are closing in upon my physique,
All this **** makes me want to shriek,

Resentment overload is the overcast
From the cracked muzzle of the unsurpassed,
The gas can devours from the soul,
Slowly creating a wearisome tainted hole,

Hallucinogenic petrol bleeding into my eyes,
Have suspicion tomorrow is on the rise,
The walls of frustration are caving in
And the flames are smoldering against my skin.