The words on the paper flow endlessly
a cycle of dying and
living and
breathing and
choking
with pepper sprinkled in for
good measure

great is the depth of the
sea
that infinite battlefield where the
war never ends
the fishes themselves with not a moment of sleep
carry life as a trophy
we once called their land home
but
now it's a place where the world goes
to drown its sorrows

molasses with the stink of gangrene
blisters from the wound;
it will not run

foul slow swelling putrescence
of plasma and, past cells
can only be lanced

it will not run.

congealed crust of scab
and keratin strands
is shield for eyes
and, the point.

it will not run.

The clock slaves
Their lives
Are regimented
By clocks on walls

Oh the misery
Of it all

I saw the most beautiful
Things today

Heavenly smile
Of that Chinese man

And I was so grateful
To be alive today

I saw the black bird
Standing tall

I saw the small turtle
The mystery of it all

Women discussing
Something about
Rich men

I was wondering around
Yes I did it again

And all because

I couldn't give a ****
About clocks on walls

it's nights like these
that my mind becomes my own worst enemy.

when i put on a rope necklace,
and pour myself a tall glass of bleach.

imagining what it would be like to have all the pain stop,
and for the static noise to be silent for once.

it's enough for me to go through the motions,
preparing to end it all.

but i wake up from my trance each time,
realizing the truth of the world.

i undo the clasp of my necklace of rope,
and pour the bleach down a drain.

the razor blades go back in the drawer,
and the pills back in the bottle.

waiting until next time.

it's nights like these where i almost do...
but don't.

A flit of the wrist in her eyes
Flickering like stars in the night
Less to do with fear, the curiosity of a different view point
Kept her sleeping in the forest

I have covered the mirror
With notes and quotes

Painted the white walls
With acrylic and oils

Washed my spotless car
Repeatedly

Aired my apartment
Completely

I have written words
On wingspans

Carved phrases
Into his hands

Burned candles
Down to nothing

And left lights on
To hear the buzzing

I eyed my reflection
As I swore:

"I do not love him
Anymore"