This world is going to burn,
But not the way you envisioned.
Just know that when your cities fall,
That this was your decision.
Asking for forgiveness isn't what it was,
No matter how hard you try,
You will never regain their trust.
Tell me apologies are a must,
When all you ever do is curse them.
And drag them through the dirt,
Like the way you dragged them down.
Burning has no sound,
When no one's around to hear it.
The pain must be searing,
The passing on endearing.
When you're gone, they'll have no words.
No emptiness inside.
Not a nickel for all the times,
You made one of them cry.
Nowhere left to run, nowhere left to hide,
There are no more words,
No emptiness inside.

is there a hole
in this shadow
of deep darkness,
so that
i can just crawl
myself into
and get out of
this mess.

​It's not where you come from
It's not where you've been
It's not your bad choices
Nor the guilt that flushes in

It's not the people staring
Nor the thoughts in your head
It's not the voices saying
That you're better off dead.

It's the people that's around you
The people that you know
It's the songs that's on repeat
And the poems you read alone

It's the sun rising in the morning
And it's the raindrops splashing to the ground
It's the love that which surrounds you
And the home that you have found.

Coffee here.
Drink me black
Bitter still- my favorite snack.
Food and sweets long forgot.
Replaced by this energy shot.
Through my eyes.
Reverberates my tongue
Just one sip.
And now long gone.
Wearing off too soon.
Never could replace sleep.
Bitter laugh. Bitter tea
Only a short sweet reprieve
Blackened lead doors slide closed.
Too bad that in my dreams
I am there left alone.

There is rain
and it is Saturday.
But that's no excuse for shame.
Nor is it more of an excuse
to watch self-inflicted wound
run loose.

I think of the sweet
crackling of
a summer treat-
branches burning,
newspaper receding.
THC,
butane
and stems of
a neglected yesterday
meeting.

But today is what's to be missed.
There are floods-
even on the weekends.

I am a floating hoax;

I will always be
a box of half-peeled jokes.

To flourish within this exposed state
is to self-paralyze and re-create.

But the nerves just don't want to listen-
that's the biggest part of the condition.

This explains rain on Saturdays,
absence within summer's crackling,
and hollow bones
floating like stones.

With luck
my torn skin will reach the ocean floor.

The echo of such a collision
will resemble my
inconceivably
indifferent
indecision.

Hair in sun
I wove my red bike
Inbetween the road's midline
Crying and screaming
"Please, hit me"

i've had enough of this
stupid
meaningless
life

for once I have no regret
choosing death
over being
alive