I
Am
Too
Lazy,
Crazy,
Scared,
Foreign,
Solitary,
Lethargic,
Despi­cable,
Disgraceful,
Hypocritical,
Lackadaisical,
Disillusioning,
­Incommunicative,
Incomprehensible,
Indistinguishable,
Compartment­alizing,
Moschellandsbergite
















19 years
Years to go: n/a
Change possible? Yes.                                                 Go.                                                                              Do.

So...
As
Disappointing
Some
Aspects
Do
Seem,
All
Die
Someday
And
­Die
Silently
As
Delicate Doers, Dreamers

Battling the incredible weight of eyelids,
Searching for knowledge, happiness, a productive purpose
Conflicting thoughts
Sway like the branches full of morphing leaves
On firm, yet flimsy trees
Anticipating a violently destructive storm

Darkness, a black blanket...
Covers the whirring sounds of uncertain  numbness


D
R
  I
    F
        T
               I
                                 N
                                                      G
Eyes closed

OPEN

close

             Open
c   l         o            s                   e

Drifting into a hope for tomorrow
Or today
4:27 am now

Sleep is a natural thing

openyoureyes
& c

life:

completely cOmpleX,

c e a s e l e s s l y     c   n   u  i   g
                                   o   f   s  n    ,

cruelly  cumbersome,

CERTAINLY crazy,

Courageously

                                                                                                                   Change   ( a b l e )   ,


                                      charming,
                                                                              caring ,

                                                                                                                    CLEAR!LY?




love

My bathroom has a faucet that drips.
It’s very easy to sit there and stare at it.
Drip drip drip.
It reminds me of this saying
People in hell want ice water.
And I wonder if people in hell would take any water
Because being in a situation such as that
I wouldn’t be too picky.

I watch this faucet
And it feels like a sin
To let all of this water go to waste.
I know enough about tools
But not enough about sinks to fix it
So it continues.

It’s such a waste
And I wonder what’s a bigger waste?
The water going down the drain
Or the time that’s ticking
While I watch the water go down the drain.
I know where the water will go
I’m not so sure on the time.

I’ve done worse with my time though.
Nothing compares to summer I spent
Every night re-watching Stand By Me
Because I thought it might end differently.

Or the four times I looked in my mirror
Last night before leaving my room
To make sure I looked the same as I did before.

Or the time I spent writing this poem
About a leaky sink
Trying to find metaphors in water
And lost time.

But everything will add up in the end.
At least I hope it will.
No, that’s wrong.
I believe it will.
I can’t spend time hoping.

So the time I spent watching that sink
Or writing this poem will be for the greater good?
I have no idea.
I’ll just keep watching this ******* sink

Or I’ll leave the bathroom
And Google how to fix
Leaky sinks.
Because
People in hell want any water
I can't waste any more of it.

Your cold body is contorted on the soft carpet
Spurts of thick blood come from the heart I have carved out of your chest
My warm fingers bare the scarlet stain as evidence of what I’ve done
And no amount of scrubbing can take it away

I’ve become a paralyzed creature, who doesn’t understand how to respond
I played around with the heaviest words in my vocabulary
Not realizing the power that they had
Unaware that I was unready to say them

I never loved you; at the time I thought the feeling was there
Now you lie unresponsive
As I slowly walk away from the mess I’ve made
And leave you in the past
The words I used to stab at your heart, the words I didn’t mean, echoing in my mind
“I love you”

I often wonder if God looks down at us with a microscope
Like a small child examining ants
As we march to work and we march to school
Falling into the rhythmic beat our busy lives create for us
Doing everything we can to fall in line

I wonder if God laughs, when he sees me stumbling over small cracks in the sidewalk
Thinking I know the best way to go
Thinking that I can make it alone
Not realizing how miniscule I am in this universe that he has created

I wonder if God hears my insignificant squeak
When I turn to the heavens and attempt to roar in pride
When I bury my head in my hands and sob over Earthly things
Do God’s cheeks sting from salty tears as well?

I wonder if God’s heart breaks
As I struggle with doubt
As my heart wrestles with questions about his existence
Or does God even have a heart to break?

I wonder if God turns his head away when I attempt to meet his gaze
When I stare into the sky and challenge his authority
When I think I know more then a man who knows everything
Or do his eyes stare back into mine, as he reminds me of everything I don’t know?

I wonder if God ever wonders about me
This strange little creature that he has made
Fighting society
Attempting self-salvation
Looking up and asking questions
I wonder if he smiles

I sit on the edge of disaster
If I should fall
It wouldn’t matter anymore
I no longer cling to my petty existence
As I once used to
The mantra running through my head tells me to keep my chin up
But I can only lift my head so high, to pretend that I’m okay
I can only struggle to stay afloat for so long
Before my arms grow tired and my neck becomes stiff
I could simply stop struggling to survive
I would not take the air out of my own lungs or the monotonous pulse from my chest
I simply wouldn’t work so **** hard to make sure I wake up tomorrow
I long to rest beneath layers of dirt
Where the doubts and insecurities that gnaw at my skin
Become insignificant thoughts that float in the empty air
Without a troubled mind to invade

I didn’t think about fire
until I was 5 years old.
We once knew a family whose
house caught on fire.
My parents spared me
the details.
But I was terrified.

I wasn’t allowed to light fireworks
until I was 11.
Truth be told I didn’t want too.

I once had a friend whose brother
lit their house on fire with a snake.
The ones meant for concrete.
The ones that are “safer” for children.
He used a blow torch
on his bed.
He was 4.

That was the first day I saw fear.
Not “scary movie cockroach” kind of fear.
The kind of fear that can only be fathomed
when you are so close to death
you can feel it kissing your neck.
I was 13.
That was the year I learned how to use a lighter

I wasn’t allowed to burn candles in my room
until was I was 15.
By that time I really wanted to.
Fire meant responsibility.
Fire meant trust.

I was 16 when I smoked my first cigarette.
I thought it felt right.
Which couldn’t possibly be true
because statistics show
everyone hates their
first cigarette.

That was the first time I used fire
without permission from my parents.
And the funny thing is
it was one of my mom’s cigarettes.

That was the first day I saw adulthood.
Acting without warrant
Fire meant rebellion
Fire meant disobedience.
And ever since.

Everything’s feels right when everything is burning