can't shake the feeling that i'm not enough
and no-one else has anything better to say
on the subject;

she feels like being hypnotized and when i
look in her eyes i don't know if she's real
or not, i've been down this road before. is
she a pretty face i'm stealing glances of
or is she a figment? oh, what a shame.

god, she's like a glass of red wine sitting
against my lips, souring every kiss, and just
like wine i'm gonna disappoint my lover by
taking another sip.

i feel so full of wreckage and broken glass i
think tonight i'm in over my head.

ad hominem in utero;;
stuck in a hole just out
of grasp, you are the
shell of the boy that
you've been-- i am the
shell of the kid she
knew for all those years

and im sick of textbook
readings and im sick of
wasting your time trying
to breathe when youre
still hooked to an inhaler
and i'm sick of wasting
my time because i spend it
doing math while you are
wasting away, somehow-

i wish you were here, oh,
it feels like i've been
asleep for years in this
pouring rain and it feels
like i am the setting sun
even as i pour cup after
cup of coffee; the doctor
said he saved me, but im
still dead, im sorry.

scraped knees and
blurry vision;
romanticizing nothing
that really mattered,
but it doesn't really
matter anymore; you
used to take me too
seriously and now he
laughs at all my jokes.

you can hear her dog
snoring from your bed-
room; i can hear you
whining from your
rocking chair. you
keep saying you are an
artist. i don't know
about that.

you were always there
just out of touch, and i did
not know how to reach

there are ghosts
in my eyes and
they scream into
my ears; there
are ghosts in your
touch and they
feel like all those
years but i think
we can shake them.

i saw god and she said that science was a sin
so i asked what level of hell i'll be rotting in
she said it was going to be okay

it's like suffocating and choking
on chunks of my own guts and i'm always
talking about dying, about living
but i dye all the time to prove i'm still
alive

and, man, i saw god today
she said nice to see you again.

can't find the good in everything
but i'll keep looking
because end-to-end, everything
has got to begin

can't fight the bad for the
sake of fighting something.
can't fight the good for not
being good enough for
picture-perfect

you can't frame something
in popsicle sticks and call it
a masterpiece, i guess

i sat along the shore, waiting- god knows what for, but i was intent. maybe i was waiting for you to come back, like you always do. maybe i knew you weren't going to.

i could try. i could dream.

the sky went grey with clouds looming like they were full of judgement and not water- my anxiety swelled but i would not be deterred. i was waiting. the rain poured. something was bound to happen, though, and i didn't want to miss it.

the sun fled and the crowd dissipated and the city went on, cars pulsing through its veins but i stayed right there by the water looking out. my heart ached and melted but i swear i felt nothing.

i must've found eighty messages in eighty bottles and they all said the same thing. i didn't listen to a single one. i figured i hallucinated them.

my stomach hallowed and i tried to stand up but the tide dragged me back down. i saw a dolphin chasing a boat about fifty feet away and i tried to call out but it hurt. my lungs were on fire and the back of my throat tasted like bile as if my digestive tract was working on consuming myself, as if i was drowning but i couldn't have been drowning in two inches of water. the tourists with umbrellas and neon towels were long gone and my only company anymore was seaweed.

i was so terrified.


you didn't come back, and you weren't going to, and i knew it from the start but i didn't know what else to do.

at least the saltwater was washing away all the scars you left me. at least the rain would wash away the blood.

it feels like someone
is gripping my throat.,
and squeezing, and
it's filling up with *****
and bile as they drag
me through their mud.
i feel like everything is
caving in and the walls
come crumbling down.
the walls come crumbling
down. the walls come
crumbling down.
i come hurling down.

how's it gotta feel to
not fear every glance,
how's it gotta feel to
not have a bullet in
your chest,

there's one for looking
the wrong way,
there's one for loving
the wrong way,
here's to being the wrong
way being the way out.

here's to being the next
headline, the next facebook
debate, here's to being a
social commentary and last
but so very least, a human
being.

i feel like i’ve lost all my shine,
everything that made me feel alive
i’m alive i’m alive i’m alive
i’m all i’ve got and i’m sub-par
at best;
i don’t do anything the same anymore
and i’m so afraid i’ll never do it the same again.

i'm scared that i feel my best when i'm
pinching at my skin, piercing at my will to feel,
reeling in from the pain that brings itself
down over me and creating my own
so i feel in control;
i'm afraid i'll always want to take it in my own hands.

when really i just want to feel like everything
matters enough to title my assignments
something funny, again.