There is no one I miss
more
than the feeling of you
crawling into bed with me
but there are no monsters,
but men,
there are no monsters,
but men,
there are no monsters, but men,
only us who cling to sinking ships
who wave hello and blow out candles
there are no monsters,
but men
only us who wish death upon ourselves,
only us, who punish, for punishing,
only us, who torture, for torture,
only us, who hunt, for sport,
there are no monsters, but men
and as much as dear Jordan attempted to clear,
he could not escape the men,
Hello, they sang, hello, he whispered,
thinking,
there are no monsters, but men
Dear Jordan, he fought, a champion,
Dear Jordan, with lions and fish,
Dear Jordan, who hunts, as pure as he is,
Dear Jordan, our own,
personal,
man.

Blissfully, I recount,
his eyes as grey as the sea,
blissfully, he spoke,
vibrations shoving insects aside
to push his words to me,
as a storm does, as a storm does

Rain, beating on his window,
shocked him awake and in turn, horrified me,
gathering thunder to himself as if
he were Zeus's favorite, his shivers shaking the house,
as a storm does, as a storm does

and one by one, we traveled alone,
with winds adorning our heads,
and bit, by bit, he gave himself,
to me, as though
I could save him
as a storm does, to a port,
as a storm does.

I have never met one, who spoke,
with such a velocity as this one did,
with storms flying from his lips.

I  am  a  sight  so  sorrowful
I  cannot  bear  to  think,
what  ­little  children  feel
when  they  stumble  upon  me.

When  I  n­od  to  show  them
what  my  intentions  are,
they  turn  and  ru­n  from  me
and  watch  me  from  afar.

When  I  smile  and  bec­kon
them,  to  come  to  me,
I  sadly  have  to  see
them  cringe  a­nd  cry out loud.

When  I  beg  them  to  stop
and  listen  to  my  song,
they  look  at  one  another  
and  stare  at  me  in  awe.

Oh ­ why  can’t  they  come  closer
to  see  my  beady  eyes
a-blinki­ng  with  my  tears
wherein  my  sorrow  lies?

Oh  why  can’t  they  come  close  e­nough
to  see  my  shoulders  frail,
bent  forward  by  the  wind­
and  rain  and  storm  and  hail?

Oh  why  cannot  they  see
my­  body  hanging  limp,
a  lifeless  shapeless  pity
with  only  w­ithered  hope?

A  sad  and  lonely  scarecrow
standing  in  a  lonesome  field,
destined  to  spend  my  days
­in  endless  sorrowful  ways.

The familiar taste of nicotine
In your breath
Excites me
Maybe because I'm
Taking one step
closer to cessation
Every Time our lips meet,
But you're the bad
habit that haunts me in my sleep.

Sit inside the tube of eternal thought
Hearing the train roar by
Clack clack on the steel
Erasing memories of the bleeding brain

Pick up the ribbon of sorrow
Blind yourself with nothing but temptation
Silent tears pound the pavement
Rectifying my existence with pain

Cross my emotions with rooted aggression
Tempt my fate by the tangled noose
My toes sweep the chair, tipped over
It grips my neck, one last breath

When your paving new roads of living
But your own blood brings back the past like it’s a beautiful scrapbook
Pointing and adding their own comments like it's something new

But living In a trash bag will suffocate you.

You're the inconvenience at the bottom of that trash bag
Except they treat you like a silver spoon
Then realize you're merely a used plastic knife

And living in a trash bag will suffocate you.

They assume all your thoughts and feelings
Because you're dead to them
And bringing to your grave nothing but fists and bad attitudes

Being dead can't hurt you.

But unfortunately I'm in the bottom of the black trash bag
Along with immature arguments
And stinging comments

The fight I've put up hasn't been enough
Hopefully one day they’ll recycle this trash bag to become something new again.