You tell me you’ll never be
A famous dancer—
—or a supermodel

Nor the century’s next
Glorified *** symbol
Frustrated teenagers
Will never visualize
The curves of your *******
As they ruin your cutout
With their discarded spawn

—Tho’ I am not certain
As to why you would frown
Over such a fact

You tell me you want to be famous
And I ask you why
And you don’t know

I ask you what famous even means
And you shrug, not sure yourself
But you still want it nonetheless
You need it to prove
Something you’ll never understand

Like ice cream
For the ego

I’ll ask the entire globe
And still no one will ever know
Why they have this desire
To be worshipped by all
To have a million arms
Catch you as you fall

But you will never need them
For my grasp is stronger
And my devotion is longer
Perhaps it will last forever
And perhaps longer than that, too

You do not need
To master the world
You do not need
To even be great
At a single thing

You are great enough for me
And I will always be
Your number one fan

Just as long as you continue
To be your own
Human being…

I fell in love
when love was lost;
always the hand
that comforts,
the muse you use
to bathe distress;
and the insects I dissect
to impress the wrinkles sprinkled
along your favorite dress;
forever repressed
are those depressed,
in a coffin shell
nailed
in a satin hell.

Through your
persistent assistance,
we formed an
ethereal resistance
with the stories
that we made,
talked of self-
proclaimed renegades;
fiction more accurate
than the non-;
a panoramic view
from beyond,
just outside
the rising tide
that we love
to criticize
when together,
wielding doubled-
edged blades.

In the chameleon-
esque plains
that we became
one in
our skin, our eyes,
our lies.

Truth was
of no importance,
with invention
a reliance
to our home-
remedied alliance;

the
only
way to
acceptance
being
in[our]sanity.

Curly hair sprawled
out on the bed,
eyes in a trance,
clothes we shred.

An embrace of passion,
desire’s too much;
no more talking,
we speak with our touch.

Glorify your neck,
lay upon it a long kiss,
our bare bodies together;
instinctual bliss.

Slowly move down,
I stop at your chest,
breathe in a ******,
mouth engulfs your breast.

Hand rubs the other,
gives it a little pinch,
soft whimpers fill the air
as I feel every inch.

Brush back up to your face,
I take in another taste,
and you lock your ankles
around my waste.

As we absorb our lust,
we begin to combust
with every moan,
scream, and ******.

Eyes roll back, a release
and a decrease in rapidity;
love and sweat glue us together
as we melt in this room of humidity.

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.

I cannot wear watches,
for they do not want my time.
My blood is tainted;
poison to their mind.

Long ago, when I walked
my share of sand,
I was smothered
and then punctured
by a villainous needle,
injecting me with
an army’s worth
of iron,
of disease.

Now, as consequence,
I am forever cursed
with the death
of a thousand clocks,
and counting.
With a mere flick
of my marked wrist
I managed to ****
Father Time,
and I did not
look back.

I cannot progress,
nor can I rewind
to a better time.
I do not know
what my future holds,
for I do not have
a future,
and I never will.

My life is destined
to stay
right where it is.
I will not step forward
and I will not
fall backwards.
I will stand in place
without surprise
for as long
as the sun
does rise,
and when it too
no longer
arrives
I will still continue
to live to the fullest
on my mountain
of eternal
intermission.

In full moon, such a dynamic night is this,
flying on my broom in a sugary bliss;
confidence follows on this perfect night,
but retreats as I come across a fright.

With a flicker of your eyes
I see hints of my demise;
my hand runs along your layers
as I succumb to useless prayers.

You haunt the ominous doorstep;
oh, so many times have I wept
from pondering your amber glow,
malignant nightmares you do bestow.

Stem shakes the imagination,
activates fear’s acceleration,
a burning plague of curiosity
digs into your monstrosity.

A sinister grin scratched into your flesh,
my courage plunges into the thresh;
your creators may label you artistic,
but your luminescence spells sadistic.

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.

I am the vulture,
the feathered creature,
the afterlife deviant
with an abyssal glow
fading in my aged eyes,
searching for opportunity to rise
as I slice through pessimistic skies.

I am the claws that feast
on those who decompose.
I scavenge all that is left,
the bits no one cared to miss.

I am the devourer
of purgatorial descent,
the digestive system
of a life needlessly spent.
So don’t go asking yourself
where it all went when you’re
building up dust on your favorite shelf.

See, the webs are your mind
and that spider represents time,
and sooner than later it’s gonna die,
but don’t you fear, for I’ll always be here
plunging through the wicked air
ready to scoop up all that remains,
which accounts for a carcass
that isn’t worth a grain
and a family of flies
following you to the grave.

This is you and this is me,
and in the end delusion cries
as it realizes there’s only one destiny;
one final truth for your precious lies,
an honest ending of karma pecking out your eyes.

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

you know when you stand up
after drooling in your coma
of apathy for hours, for days,
and your legs feel like clay?
so numb they might as well
not even be there.
you move at a slow pace
like the tortoise racing
time’s hare.
you wobble and struggle
for balance, for ledges,
for a sense of sensibility.
but all you get is a sudden
shot of tingles as motor skills
are relearned in a matter of
seconds, years, eons.
so useless you are
in these moments of shame.
God forbid there was a fire,
you would be doomed
like the leaves
in the wind;
melted into your sofa
with the ***** hairs
and potato chip crumbs.
an ashy pile of eyes
studying others’ realities
through a plastic box
of wires,
gratified by your
idolized  idleness;
your patriotic
procrastination,
where all your limbs
are forever
asleep.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Roses are red,


                                                violets are blue,


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

Dirt from under the tire swing caked into my fingernails;
so raw, they’re beginning to hurt like hell,
layers crusted upon layers until they’re busted.
You can smell the smell and I can tell
you’re disgusted.

You shoot me down
with that knowing tone,
as if you’re too good,
as if I’m just ****
with ***** fingernails,
with that *** that shakes in your stride
as you walk away from me,
as you shoot me down.

I’ll shoot you down.

You leave me trembling
in my wake,
in my sleep,
as I shake,
as I weep.

Soon you will tremble,
and I will win,
and after you’ve realized
why we’re perfect,
you will also win.
.
We will tremble.
We will win.
We will love.

Perfume savored,
I return to my sanctuary,
my four walls;
walls stripped of character,
walls strangling my mind,
a mind running out of time,

and the cellar door
leading to my dirt floor,
where I can collapse
on my knees
and scream pretty please,
and pound my fists
into my skull
until I bleed
enough sin to succeed
in my goal of filling
a paradoxical hole
eating my stomach
to shriveled bits.

Crimson tears forming puddles
to drown my fears of failure,
I continue to formulate your ideal man,
so you will be my ideal girl,
and together we shall rule the world.

I pry at magazines with cutout eyes,
I dine with your hologram,
but it’s never the same.
I need the real thing,
I need you here,
underneath me,
on my dirt floor,
where you are mine,
evermore.

When I am through,
flowers will grow differently,
and the moon’s glow
will never glow quite right again.

Music will sound completely new,
histories forever tainted,
our love will stay true.

When I am finished,
nothing will ever be the same.
They will say nasty little things
that you’ll never hear.

They will say I’m crazy,
and they’re right:

I am.

I am insane, but at least I know
I am the rain and I am the snow,
I am the cloud destined to guard you
until the sky falls down.

I am the hand that comforts,
the lips sewn into your own,
the bleeding heart dying
beside your bleeding heart.

I am the creator,
and you are my prize.

Claim thee I shall.

My fingers bury themselves
in my cellar floor,
as I try to grasp
how to make you happy,
how to please you,
how to complete you,
how to have you,
got to have you,
need to have you.

Must have you.

Fingers so *****, it’s sickening.
Maybe one day I’ll cut them.
Maybe one day, a lot of things will happen.
When I’m finished with my project,
maybe that day will come.
When I’m done building your present,
maybe you will have me.

When I’ve built your man,
maybe I’ll build you.

With a toolkit like mine,
there are no exceptions.
I can reject your rejections,
and accept my paradise.

Madman’s fingernails
claiming handfuls of hair,
so stressed, so pressed,
trembling on my workbench,
striving to at last add
the finishing touches
on our present,

the one I’ve built
just for you;

my magnum opus.

I hope you like it.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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)

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.

As I rode through the wilderness,
split in half by a manmade trail,
I strolled along my own cognitive road,
where I have wondered to wander
more than enough, truth be told.

I visualized what I’d come across
just around the corner; perhaps
a **** in progress, where I’d
put an end to such a misery.
I would be what they called

             “a hero”

and not the fleeing coward
I often felt like.

But empathy killed the damsel,
so I erased her distress,
and replaced this scene
with an act less extreme.

A man with the features
of a cheap stereotype
faded into the picture,
masked in black; he demanded
for the contents of my pockets—

—to which I, of course, refused,
smiling at a chapter
I’ve more than once abused.

A scream of relief pushed
surrounding crows into disarray
as another villain’s rusty blade
punctured my addicted flesh,
leaving behind a scar
for whenever I can’t think
of anything interesting to say.

My mind is full of potential lunatics
resembling a house of bricks
structured by insanity.

But where do I belong?

In the kitchen—
—or across the street?

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.

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.

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.

Oh, mirror, mirror
On thy self-reflecting wall
Honestly, tell me
Who’s the greatest of them all
The answer, of course, is me

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

A perfect heartbeat

Next to yours in unison

Other thought dismissed

Phone call notification;
monotone robot
delivering its message:

your book is now available to pick up;
report to the library at once,
lest your order be returned,
come alone, but bring your phone,
never fear, I’ll meet you there,
as along as the machines inside
continue to ride,
so will we.

A chance of escape
via a rare break
in a wall trapping us all
in our own separate rooms,
offering opportunity
away from private tombs,
and to each other,
to which there is no better.

Once given word of flight
I rush through mountains
just in time to arrive at your side
through the front doors
of our utopic pharmacy
in which we’re prescribed
spiritual medication
to relieve distress caused by
perpetual determination,
the pavilion where we practice
mental meditation,
forever joined
by reciprocal warmth
and whispered kisses.

Frantic fingers traveling
at the pace of haste as we taste
all that we can in the given span
we’re allowed for the moment:

the present escape formula
we’ve used and abused
will only last temporarily,
but it is enough to keep blood
flowing through our veins,
just the cathartic saunter
required to remain sane.

Pressure between your shoulders,
shaping your spine; shadowing the blind,
stress relief through ancient grief,
tho’ less wise you’ll still criticize
the actions of your reflections
painted in the mirrors leaking nightmares,

And in the end you’ll still evaluate
only when things aren’t great,
while I’ll continue to *******
on these precious tectonic plates,
painting over the old world
with new shades of chaos.

We’ll ***** and moan until we all grow old
and increase the fire until someone puts it out,
and yet we’ll never know what it was all about.

The answer buried under the aged wonder
flowing beneath my chambers,
never to be uncovered
until everyone is in the pit,
skeletal ash, so delicately rash,
now consequences return
as the careless burn.

and we are our own ****** hot spots,
erupting over your own ****** thoughts,
mixing lava where it doesn’t belong,
and ******* your world into a massive batholith,
a dried chunk of a once damp heart,
now contemplate how to complicate
and begin again from the start,
until the pressure of it all relapses
and from within a fatal collapse,
Poetic caldera relinquishing the day,
and all that you know will be broken,
and all that you don’t, you won’t.

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.

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?

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.

There’s a quarter in your pocket,
a place to mourn her lost locket,
the silver heart chain over rusted,
fallen to that sea we once trusted.

In comes the pale man with his stale plan,
his hand like a ghost deceived on the coast;
he has his guitar and you know he’s come far
to spend those coins protected within your *****.

Gladly take your silver linings,
along with all your other findings,
at the bottom of a red purse in your grip.

All a part of the lead curse in your lips.

Like magnets,
we were drawn
in our fragments,
while complex ***
held our best intents,

even if you lost your belief,
despite me being a thief.

The man was me;
a pity you couldn’t see,
although I think you could,
and if not I wish you would.

The powder on my fingers
from the times I lingered
watching your chest move
in your dream groove.

I had to smile
in spite of myself,
all the while spent
and lacking discontent,
as I prowled out the door
and pawned multicolored spawn.

You, my dear, a surrealist;
me, I’m afraid, a realist;
you saw wonder clouds
while I slipped under crowds.

Your quarter fell in the machine
and I dialed a familiar routine,
while you sat by the phone
and continued to be alone.

Bold texture, innards feasting
on an empty mixture
of this, that, and the other,
and whatever else that feels
like sticking to my shoes.

Can’t conceal your fear, nor mine,
of being left far behind
in the blood dust and crude crust
plaguing our teeth
and all that **** underneath.

Oh, what is this?
I don’t even want to know;
you say you’re alone
and I say I am too,
but who was it that first blew
air onto the other?
and who was it that first said
don’t even bother?

Bold eyes staring into these cold skies,
ice on the sheets chilling our blood raw,
freezing to the point where we can’t even fall.

We’re so raw,

and you’re so wrong, and so am I,
and I’m so right, and so are you,

and answers don’t even matter
when you can’t remember
the question you wanted to ask,
like the future and the past,
and this ******* present
wondering where it all went
when you had it in your hand;
come up with another plan
to make up for yesterday,
you bold clever man,
and compensate for what you’ve wronged;
could have said it in your sleep
and shrugged the thought away
like a broken microwave.

Wait, there’s always time
to **** up and shut up and build up
until there’s nothing left,
until there’s anything but it all,
until we’re so **** raw,
arms out but we’ll never fall.

Stop and explode before our hearts implode;
yeah, it’s a mess, but I digress,
such regrets, like a hole,
why aren’t we whole? why so ******* dull?
and we were just on a roll, it seems, such deceives;
juxtapositional dreams aren’t so rare
when you’ve misplaced the world
and we stop to care; where did it go?
oh, we were once so bold, long ago,
when our shoes were so clean,
and dreams were easier to believe.

Such heavy weights straining anticipated dates,
with dysfunction swallowing eternal junction,
the shadow people bait us into nevermore
and then they seal the door.

in   stores

  now,

also
           in
                 vanilla;

RC Glow.

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?

My blue shoes skidded against the pavement
as I broke at a dead stop.

Sweat dripping from my brow
and stinging my eyes,
I peered forward at the deer
standing there a hundred feet away
blocking my path, her head faced
the other way, looking at
God knows what, perhaps God
Himself.

I started to edge forward,
my tired feet flintstoning the bike.
I held my breath, but I could not
control my heart as it pounded harder
against my chest with each inch
I crept.

But I did not get close enough,
for a neglected chain on my precious bike
gracefully slit silence’s throat,
allowing its blood to contaminate
the air within.

The deer fled back to her home,
leaving me alone to ponder
what could have been.

And I know if only I’d had
the opportunity
to stroke my hand
along its mischievous fur,
that would have been
the greatest day
of my life,

even if
I lost my fingers
as a result.

there’s come on my sweater
and a knife in my eye;

lid twitches over socket,
fallen out or it will soon;
cancer-infected vision,
come-stained point of view;

ugly and bleached,
rinse and repeat
until it joins trash;
****** laden crash;

it’s all the same,
ply my fingernail back
and feel the pain;

it’ll still be the same;
same smell, same sorrow,

same stain.

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.

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

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.

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.

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.