I know someone who finds solace in ballet shoes
                A boy who strums his secrets to guitar strings
Someone that spends his waking moments with glazed red eyes
             As if facing this world cold turkey
                       Isn’t even an option.

For boys whose fingertips shake
                Like the burning end of a cigarette
And girls whose smiles resemble
Car crashes waiting to happen
A cacophony of shattered noises
             And those of us who feel guilty for the
                     mere act
                           Inhaling air
                        And exhaling poison
So we spend lifetimes holding our breaths

   Until we burn our lungs out trying
            To warm our hearts
            With something other than the fire
           That burns out in a smoky haze

Until our eyes become rivers,
flowing oceans
That cry out a thousand melted glaciers

Our tongues speak ruined languages
We read everything backwards
Curse in Latin
Make oaths in Russian
So whatever we say sounds beautiful.

So that our hands wont have to learn permanence,
affection
consolation.

I don't think anything
I don't speak or write
Never mention the silence
that this void leaves behind
and no one sees that
behind my eyes
because deception is brutal
though some people aren't killed
never even fooled
(such a pity)
**** them all
I stare at you all my circle of friends that I-
(or **** yourself)
and feel nothing for these blurs of people
They look familiar.
Thank god for the idiots that-
no hand prints by passing strangers
the Russian palm on the back of my neck
Eugine, Nikita,
big boys, big big big big big big
with big ***** and strong hands and broad shoulders
(look away)
god bless the ******* that buy you  gin and there's this miracle
in the form of something lyrical
runs like water tastes like liquor I
love
the lyrical melody of being so ******
off your ****
face, *** whatever you wanna call it-
drunk.
I'm soberly contemplating switching the feelings off
Oh how it works
nothing but irises and going back home and kittens you don't bother to save-from
the streets
they all die anyway.
its a grown up kind of feeling
(silly)
Laughter doesn't ring the same way
you bash skulls against the wall
On Leo's drum kit and you swear his eyes are a deeper purple than the shade
of your hurt
you don't care
cant find it in you to care
we are the same you see we dispose of those we need nothing of
so its okay I guess

I can judge you anyway though
nothing nothing nothing
no feeling
"the contours of your face as mysterious as the scars that lined your hands"
left a place back there as cold as daddy's coffin
they don't tell you that sometimes
you hold onto a little bit of childhood, like laughing at
people falling on their *****
now protect us against that kind of crass humour
Ill pretend to care
-but you'll see that I really don't
the restless way my knee jumps like
your heartbeat and eyes that swim over walls and
faces
like a ski *****
left too many bruises
were all going down
and I just don't care any-more.

Dog days fly dust to dust over a hick
pit sardined between corona bikinis that house
the unmistakable stench of lukewarm apple
sauce in the c-cup padding and toothless
******* sitting indian style. Graveled friction
fading the back pockets of their overall
dungarees. Amongst them a settler on their native
turf accepting a Jim Beam peace pipe while above
the influence commercials march in protest claiming fried
egg consequences from engaging in the act. The culture
shock is worth the weekly once-in-a-lifetime chance
to sip the tabasco-glazed opening of my chemistry
teacher’s flask while he schools me in perfecting
the cotton eyed joe. A muffler spontaneously
combusts, melting the raybans off the face of a tragically
hip spectator taunted with “that’s why dad named you Joe Dirt.”

He had a gold tooth
Right in front

I thought;
A hideous feature
Worse though
Was his aroma -
Certain death & ****
& Liquor.

He screeched some babble at me
I didn't understand
And he got angrier.
'What does this ***
Want from me?'

Unlocked my car
I got in
Slammed the door
Lock.

His index finger
Pointing at me as I drove away

Justice is a *****
With claws
Miles and miles and miles
Guillotine jaws
And when she throws the book at you
It's 1000 pounds
With a curse in every clause.

And when those swords
Turn in on you
It's miles and miles of claws
To wring you out
In a razorblade chokehold you won't ever

forget.

I sketched a faceless man today
I put more details in his hands than I ever could in his eyes

I drew a faceless woman today
forward facing
I put more details on the muscles of her back
than I ever could her nose

I painted a faceless child today
I put more details on his body
than I ever could his lips

I painted faceless beings today
all hollowed out alone
my art teacher looked at me like i was a little disturbed
I could not explain to him that the hollow of her cheekbone
will have more meaning
than the color of her eyes
or the voluptuousness of her lips
and that the strain in her shoulders
will show
and that man will have more meaning in the creases
of his palms
than I could ever put on the lines of his face
And all I could think of was
How that faceless woman had a **** good
***