Neon signs came to replace the sun
last night, as the cars drove nowhere
and our minds drove somewhere;

the streetwalkers did not fail to appear
at the sound of change
splashing in a moving pocket;
***** like flowers in bloom,
we unearthed a dumpster rocket
and aimed for the moon,
prayed to land soon;

all the while aspiring with fire,
head tucked between thighs
as outside horns blared
to drown out practiced lies;

familiar smells like a gas cloud,
sensations of electric currents
sizzled fried brains on expired warrants;

so strong I could feel my nose hairs burn
while in revolt my stomach turned,

looking for someone, anyone
to blame,

while a million mourners yearned
for the same:

there was no one.

The rain’s coming down in hot snowflakes
as I stand in the center with my arms spread,
and my tongue sticks out catching the flames.

My eyes close and I am there in your head;
we run through fields under cotton candy clouds,
projecting tranquil shade wherever we roam.

And the rain outside is making my hair wet
as I take a breath for you and then another,
just like I had in those days of yesteryears.

I breathe in this breeze known to me
and send this fresh wind back to you,
so that now you can share mutual air.

*Breathe …

Comfort in flying,
entwined, we’re soaring
through a sky worth exploring,
embraced and forming
a snow angel in the clouds of tomorrow;
solitary in shape, universal in spirit.

Acceptance in dying
as long as your hand’s in mine,
and my lips are on yours
and we continue beating
from the same drum
even ever after.

Iniquity trampled
by the omniscient shadows
our rising crescents cast
glowing in the moonlight
like two vermillion balloons
sprouted from the same string
coated with an invincible shell
impenetrable by even the sharpest blade.

And we are sinking deeper
into this everlasting night
where the sun never rises
and we never care,
for your breath
warms my soul
and my soul
soothes your heart
and your heart
inhaled into mine
keeps us immortal
‘til the end of time

                                                      

                                                          and beyond.

Over time we lose our mind
deep in valleys indiscreet,
bound with treasures buried behind
the empty vessel we’ll one day meet.

Searching for an answer to it all
even though it’s written on the wall,
blended in with spare last words
engraved along the bathroom stall.

One day maybe we will see
the bottle floating in the sea,
and unwrap its final note
to reveal what destiny wrote.

Fingers caressing delicate piano keys
along the softness of your spine,
arm wrapping around what is mine
and pulling you closer to what is yours.

Your head resting against my chest,
eyelids heavy with utmost content
as outside waves rebel on the shore.

I kiss the top of your tired head,
wild hair tickling my lips
as we trace sleepy circles along warm skin.

The night comes to a rest
and we are too exhausted to protest,
caught in the peaceful silhouette
of a moon yawning its melody.

Our embrace intensifies
as two fated raindrops saturate
into the same leaf.

Apologies changed with the weather,
and trees split in half;

this would never get better,
there would be no change,

despite how much
the movies promised.

Our “one day” mantra
had started running dry,

like an alcoholic bruising flesh
in his foreseen relapse,

and a ******’s inevitable conclusion
of a vein collapsed;

and still the leaves flew,
all because of you,

because you just lose,
and because I just use,

and because we never grew;
we just flew.

It seems like some
distant dream
fading away from me
into a bottle
floating at sea.

Maybe it was all
in my head;
although that doesn’t
make it fiction.

A part of me says
it never happened.
Just a hallucination,

a bad dream
fabricated
to haunt me
forever.

But when I sit here
and focus,
visualize myself
melting
into the seat,
face exploded
and spine snapped,

I remember everything.







Especially the nothing.

Ocean never ends but you know it does
When you’re shipwrecked
And you’re sinking to the bottom
With buried secrets and ***** lies
Where all your philosophy dies
  
You say it never ends
But does it even begin?
Depths of your mind floating on
In a vast sea of golden blue
Convinced like it’s true
Millions of damp miles
And yet it’s all the same
Stick your foot in anywhere
And it won’t get any wetter
  
Predictability is our ability
Boats sinking all around
We call for help, our dying plead
But your neighbor is just as doomed
  
Every often discovering new bodies of land
Inhabited by yourself, another populace
Passing the time by scratching our *****
And killing our fellow man
All fed soothing *******
Only to turn around
And fix me the same meal
  
Feasting upon our misery
Toes becoming wet
Wood disintegrating
No time for towels
Too busy hating
  
This water drowning me
This seaweed strangling me
This ocean burying me
  
And I just want to dive away
And swim with the sharks

In a dangerous spot where my worries rot,
but never go, no, they haunt me so.
In a deadly place, mind’s bound by old lace,
burning the wick and ingesting lovely arsenic.

Let the unknown take me home;
we’re all depressed, so just let me rest,
lay me to sleep where the innocent weep.

No more comfort zone, now that paranoia’s grown
into my very own silhouette, and yet I don’t regret
looking into your eyes, planting hatred for dreaded goodbyes;
glued as one, impossible to ever be undone.

Days tick by and I can’t help but wonder why
it’s getting harder to trust my shell, this anxiety cell,
trapped by jaded streams and fed by invaded dreams.

Waking sweating of aghast, an era soon surpassed
by knowledge fit to last, so let us take a blast
to a higher moon, where it plays our favorite tune;
together in perfect seclusion, diminishes all delusion.

Today I found a phone
half-buried in ashes.
I casually picked it up
and dialed your cell.

You answered on the first ring;
a faint wink from lady luck.
Your voice caressed my ears
and I burst out into tears.

I inquired about your day
and you told me all about it,
that you were on your way home,
and asked me to lay out hamburger.

I told you of course I would,
and that I couldn’t wait until
you pulled up in the drive;
I would kiss you forever.

I begged you to please hurry
and you reassured my worries;
you were just around the corner,
and soon we would be together.

I sobbed and told you I loved you
and you told me you loved me, too.
And I believed your every word,
even if the phone had no battery.

My mother’s killing my father,
and my mother’s killing herself,
while I rot from obvious unknown causes.

I like watching them with headphones on,
so I can’t hear the stupid things they say;
the words are always so predictable.

Don’t they look ridiculous?
Don’t we all?
Don’t you?

…

Don’t I?

You in the snow
The one nobody knows
Hot blood boiling at 20 below

You in the white
The one who owns the night
Numb limbs never felt so right

You of the undead
The one forever in my head
Resonant moons have long bled

You of the blissfully cold
The one yet to be correctly told
Snow imprints together growing old

You of the evermore
The one destiny washed ashore
Lost souls could not ask for more

The ocean washed it all away
before we’d even awoken
from our dreams.

Towns washed away
like a hose cleans
a sidewalk
of its chalk.

Creations no more,
erased from existence
as easily as
a man blinks
an eye.

It was gone.

Now was the time
for hands to come
together,

rather than to drift
apart

and accuse those who
did not control
our origins
of sadness.

In our moments of weakness,
we preferred to shed
death

rather than to shed
light.

To be seventeen
and young and mean,
where the future is mine,
or so is the slogan
of those left behind.

To be seventeen,
still lit by the flame
of dear curiosity
and burning ever bright.
The age of experimentation,
a way that should never die
if you expect to have
any sort of life at all;
a train of thought
that should never
arrive at the terminal.

Full of spirit
and adventure,
to be seventeen,
built like a machine
without a schedule,
following whatever
seems right, and ignoring
the opinions of those
too bigoted to understand
a simple Poem.

To be seventeen
with an imagination
of indestructible
titanium reinforcing,
enclosed around an
ever wandering mind,
and if superstition
held any ounce of truth,
I’d already be blind.

But I seem to be
well enough,
despite a liver
that’s worth ****,
and will probably be
worth even less
in seventeen more years
to come.

Until then, however,
I will continue to be
whatever age I value,
and to do what it is
that feels right,
that feels like me,
that feels like
whatever the hell.

And then I will probably write
another Poem on the whim about
whatever the hell again,
because that is the only thing
ever worth writing about.

You dig?

Do you remember that July afternoon
where we took a walk in the woods
and got lost on purpose?

Some people may not understand
why we did what we did.
Well, those people can
continue being on time
right on to hell.

Do you remember the trees we passed,
that perfect day of our past?
It would not, by any long shot,
be our last.

Do you remember how your hand felt
locked within my own, as we strolled
our own private planet?

Can you still see the lake
we stumbled across, and feel
how cold the water had been
as we jumped in, freshly stripped
of all clothing?

Can you still hear the sound
of our bodies splashing
as the heat fled from our
system?

Can you picture what it was like
as I led you on tiptoes
to the center of the universe,
where the curse
of consequence
was no longer valid,
where you wrapped your legs
around my waist,
and I kissed
your wet lips,
looking into your eyes
and yours into mine,
and ever so discretely
entering the only
warmth left in
all of the lake?

Do you remember how
the mosquitoes took a day off
just for us?

                                        

                                                    I do.

nose like a sprung hose
benadryl refuses to open
and I’ve had enough of
trying to crack its code

throw the pills across the room
along with the rest of common sense
and punch the wall in with my fist
frustration through malevolent bliss

can’t stand it and I don’t know what to do
you’re so far away and I am acting up again
don’t know how to solve it and not sure I’d want to
unless I could take advantage of my medicine

want to inhale it inject it live it bleed it
snort it but never hurt nor desert it
high on our time and I am going broke
another stage of this ****** up jester twist
and I am not sure how I will ever maintain this fix

this fix this fix this fix
this dream this dream this dream
this memory memory memory
oh my God a memory memory
a memory I can’t even remember now

now remember
no

withdrawn from this life
and drawn into the withdrawal
and I can’t focus on anything else
besides the cracks in the structure
of the building encasing
my own sizzled brain
and the chains that I pay
to keep me insane
insane

keep me insane

The first time we talked
you were already dead.

The last time we talked
you were more alive than ever.

Now we talk today
and you’re sound asleep.

So when we talk tomorrow
you’ll be wide awake.

I used to be trapped
in this little room.
There was no lock
chaining us to the bedpost;
just this surreal numbness
that prevented us from
ever getting too far
away.

You could open the door
and take a step out,
only to find yourself
entering the same room
in which you’d just
exited.

It was madness.
The walls were my enemy.
They planned to **** me.
I could hear them plotting
behind my back, as they
closed in on my deepest fears.
I knew I had to escape
before the cracks
on the ceiling
ate me alive.

On more than one occasion
I recall sitting out
on the windowsill
with the night air
taunting me to join it.
So tired, yet there was
never any sleep,
and when there was,
the dreams were never good.
And I know now, sitting here,
I would have joined the moon’s
convincing breeze
without hesitation,
if only our room hadn’t
been on the second floor
where I would have only
broken a leg, and felt
more pain.

But before we could relocate
to a higher surface,
I at last found my own
little light,

and you know, I guess that’s
pretty all right.

It’s been said before
and it’ll be said again
and again, as long
as we are allowed
to walk this earth,
and I’ll say it now,
just as you’ll say it tomorrow:
it is a wicked world
we live in,

and it is not
going to change.

Generally, we like
to think of ourselves
as a good person,
sometimes we are right
and sometimes we are
way off.

Save those moments
of natural kindness
deep in your memory box,
because those events
are perhaps the rarest occasions
you’ll ever stumble upon,

but don’t forget
the cruel intentions
that succumb the majority.
Keep it further from memory
and closer to instinct,
for it is a necessity
of survival
in a land
where evil
rules all.

And when you look
in the mirror,
into the leak
of your subconscious,
and you see the malice veins
strangling goodwill,
the rancid flesh
rotting your soul,
the black eyes that darken
with each action
of a corrupt fate,
you can ask yourself
what went wrong
all you want,
but you already know
the answer:
it’s buried deep
under six feet of dirt
with the rest of your corpses,
and the farther you search,
the blinder you become.

So you can look all you want,
but it isn’t going to prevent
another innocent casualty,
nor is anyone going to forgive
the pleads of pure monstrosity.

Face it: you should have
leaped off the deck
before the ship even sunk.

We made love on the moon,
but we came too soon;
so I took your hand,
and went again.

The night did not end,
and there was no protest
from those watchful stars
off in the backdrop.

You told me your sign,
and I told you mine.
You lent me your mind
so that we could entwine.

Our veins did connect
as did our breaths;
above their concepts,
we shrugged it off.

The light fantastic,
I hoped you’d let it.
The night elastic,
I hoped you’d keep it.

And you did.
I forgot to think
about tomorrow’s color,
and focused on you instead.

You were my favorite shade,
the only one I could see.
Blinded from the rest;
cursed not, but blessed.

Galactic ruins kept us safe
for those that ruin,
hidden under sheets
on our perpetual moon.

We made a cocoon
and never left it.
We sprouted lips
and refused to evolve.

(but time still flew)

disrupt
the quiet tune,
erupt
yonder bloom.

I wonder
how long
we’ll wander.

It’s not a game,
but we’re winning
anyway;

must be insane
to consider us sane,

but who does?

the look in your eyes
constellates what we create,

in the valley
of star dust
and car rust,

we fell in bed
in a house
without a roof,
and hoped for rain;

oh, how we prayed.

The man was not a man,
but a listener of music;

the melodies told him when to sleep,
the angst gave him his anger,
the happiness blessed him with love,

the guitar beat gave him movement,
the lyrics were his thoughts,
and the end of the song
was the only closure
in a world

where music
was the only thing
that made any **** sense.

there was this lady
with these streaks
in her hair

but there were no streaks
in her mood
like a flat square
of cardboard
you wanted to beat
until a new shape
crafted

one day she says,
“I don’t got nothin’”
to which I pointed out,
“well at least that’s
somethin’”

she stopped
and asked me
what I meant
looking at me
real funny

I smirked and said
“ah, I wouldn’t give it
a second thought,
honey”

she never did get
what I meant.

listen to the curtains in their dust;
could pull the strings anytime
and reveal that predictable sun,
but I’d rather bathe in darkness,
melting into your rare warmth,
in the silence of our knowledge
and the comfort of our skin,
with the finishing touches on our lips,
welcomed shadows deliver us to bliss.

I came across this house
with all four walls still intact,
in a lost town, a forgotten state,
in a country without conversation;

and I went inside.

It’s kind of silly,
but at first I had knocked.
I almost expected someone to answer.

But of course no one did;
no one ever does.

There was no food inside,
or anything else of use;
all scavenged long ago
by those most likely dead.

There was this marker;
black, permanent …
Sharpie …
a reminder of life
before it had ended.

I went to the cleanest wall
and etched my soul;
I wrote you a message
in case you ever stumbled upon
the same house.

It said
             I LOVE YOU
and I signed it
                              YOURS

At least I know,
if you never come here
someone else might;
they’ll find this message
and rediscover just a single grain

of
hope

that’d previously blown away
with the rest of the world.

Roses are red,


                                                violets are blue,


                                                                                                 ******* *****.

I may never have you
But at least I know you’re there
With the slightest possibility
Helping to muffle fear

I may not know your scent
But I know I’d know it
If I could only pick it up

I see you from afar
You smile, you wave
Tell me to set sail
But I lack a boat
And the skill to swim
In these rumored travels
One foot drowns the other
As they forget to say

Drench my lungs
As I weaken in your core
If only I could have
Just a little more
Of your time

You may not be real
But I’m not sure I care
As we’re thrown against
Waves of nowhere

You’re real enough for me
Even if you remain
On opposite sides of circling beasts
I can still imagine your hair
Blowing with the rhythm
Your eyes shining with the moon
Your feet in the sand
The water inches from land

I can hear you call out
Even from far away
Your voice will always
Be clear as day
So I call back

Reaching you as you reach me
Our echoes hold hands
In this swirling deep

O’ sea lips,
If only I could kiss
The salt in your wind
Life would be just

O’ sea lips,
Evil must feed
Patience is our  key
To defeat its greed
And we will laugh
At the pity it pleads
For we have—
—and always will
Succeed

O’ sweet sea lips,
Breathe into me
And I will never breathe you out

I refuse to wipe the tears from my eyes
after crying for fifteen minutes straight,

letting the salt dissolve into my cheeks
as a reminder for the snow outside.

I think I could cry like this forever
and never lose my balance again;

it’s the greatest feeling in the world,
crying your soul out like this.

I’m sure outside my frosted window
I must look like a crazy person,

but that isn’t going to stop me
from doing it some more.

*Thank you …

there’s something magical
about hearing your name moaned
nearly two thousand miles away.
knowing you have control
over someone across the country
without barely doing anything
makes you feel like you can
rule the whole world
if you so chose,
and I do choose.

one day you will all
moan my name
and it will be how
life was always meant.

there’s something special
about *******
your worst enemy’s
property;
giving her wings
and rejoicing
as she flies away
toward a new dawn,
where the property
no longer is a property,
but a cloud,
and no one owns
a cloud.

they are free
to live
as they
wish.

My lady would go crazy
whenever I was found
in the presence
of another female.

I guess she assumed
the leg between my legs
did all the walking,
and like the monsters
of her nostalgic past,
I was on the prowl
for any ol’ piece of ***.

It got to the point
where I gave up with corrections
and allowed her chartreuse fever
to run completely wild
and that was kind of fun
for a while.

Then one day I saw this guy
put his hand on her shoulder
in a reasonably innocent gesture
I read too far into.

By the time I was through,
my knuckles were raw
and his face was pulp,
while her face sprung
into a sea of abhorrence.

I was left alone
with a broken hand
and a month in county.

hear me again
as you did before;
granted naught.

you are the ear
I plead to
under covers
of salt water,
fists clenched
with the whole ***
on the table,
along with
my soul.

make it right.

just make it right.

please.

The writer never strayed
from the same line
in his notebook,
yet the tip grew dull
and the page grew a hole
as deep as his desire
for satisfaction.

The lead bled red,
as did his tears
in his fit
of utter

madness;

he’d lost it.

I can’t decide whether
I love you more than I hate you
or if I hate you more than I love you.

I don’t know if I should kiss
your sweet salted lips,
or strangle away frustration;

with a simple stroke of my hand
I can deliver you to bliss,
or deliver you to the clouds.

I can make or break
this entire glacier
in just a few words,
melt away our sorrow,
or freeze our guilt.

Now if only I could
make or break my mind,
then I could finally put an end
to this fatigued suicide.

A perfect heartbeat

Next to yours in unison

Other thought dismissed

there is a man,
was never much for plans,
just wants to fight and ****
and drink and cuss
and one day he believes
he’ll sneak downtown
on this bus
he’s been watching
for quite a while,
and he’ll happily go
wherever it goes
just as long as no one knows
his name, he thinks
he’ll finally be sane.

*

brain relinquished
of all thought,
save for the liquor
he bought
at every truck stop
they stopped at
as the bus filled up
on gas
and the passengers
filled up on candy,
and they didn’t
ask questions,
they did not
judge him,
they left him
completely alone,
and he was perfectly happy
to be going nowhere
as long as it wasn’t
the same nowhere
as before,
and the man,
he couldn’t ask for more,
no, he could not
ask for more,
he did not want any
more.