1/18/2018

i used to be sentimental,
i declare like some sort of achievement
like it is something to be proud of

that i feel nothing
nowadays.
and i do, i think

but i have always been told
my writing is analytical
corpse cold, to the point

the car's quiet in the night
and, moving to the corner
and crossing my arms

i entertain the notion of what've i done
but life doesn't mean anything
and that's the good part

i laugh but I'm not smiling
as you confirm this idea
the fields are

evil and dark
but how do i explain
i can't it's not like i have ever felt it before

with a smirk
i
play with my hair

and remember
what being a woman's
good for.

she’s kind of like a ghost
in that she’ll float in and out of the room
and touch the clock
that is so silly now

she’s kind of like a ghost
because she’s often
scared and lost
and she disappears
when you touch her

she’s kind of like a ghost
that I want to help
with her unfinished
business
but she can’t hear me say
her name

she’s kind of like a ghost
of a little girl who just needs
a friend

she’s kind of like a ghost
that dances with me under
that sheet she’s wearing

she’s kind of like a ghost
who can see how transparent
I am too

she’s kind of like a ghost
and I will wait for days
in the same spot
to see her pass through just
once

she’s kind of like a ghost
that makes me want to die
so I can maybe hold her
hand

she’s kind of like a ghost
and people tell me ghosts
aren’t real

It's easy to have mixed feelings
But it's stuck in my head and I still can't believe it
Several months invested and it feels like it's *******
I wanted truth but all I got was a half assed excuse of something that was never real
I guess these days it's just unheard of to actually feel
Been **** on before, got **** on again
Sometimes life doesn't feel worth it,
Can't wait for the end.

a short bald man with
a big belly lives nearby
and from out of his furflesh cave
he peeks out once or twice a night
to remind me that he
is the only company I have any more
and he is the worst company to keep
he'll come over at the worst possible hours
while I am working
while I am crying
we'll party til he pukes
right in my lap

I want him out, I want him gone
I want to think.
He is the ghost that will light a fire
in someone's yard, spit in a face
and dash to leave me with the mess
I want to cut him out of my life, this
parasitic twin that drains all creation from
me

I was a good person until I
met him late on the computer screen
dial up noise, legs hoisted high
I was only looking for a magician
he crawled in to bed with me and
my green nightshirt went dark
and the wolf in my room
crusted over with rot and oil

Each time I pass
the bus stop where I
met Hallelujah Studs
my eyes water and my puppy tail
wags and swishes and wishes
for her to just text me back
the Tobacco tolls and my tobacco rolls
and I smile to read her name

a wake, a funeral would be less
of a stress
than to toss and turn in my sleep
and dream of her face on these pillows
which have salt stains from both
the ritualistic tears
and the spilled seed of
fruitless petting

I've kept every ticket stub
to every movie
I can't watch now
because you are the face
on the screen
and I thumb through the pile
and as much as you talk about Delpy
or Marling but I don't know
if you ever knew that you
were my real leading lady

anyone who says they
drink for the taste is
a *******
liar
because if I let a demon
take a **** in my mouth
in exchange for forgetting
my aching blood on the
floor
I’d say I drink for the taste too.

one time
i imagined us with
two point five clay pots
we made together at
3 am and metal tied to our
fourth finger
but this zipper never stays
zipped for
more than
five
minutes
because i am weak and
***
is how i keep warm, even if it’s not my favorite blanket

I want to be
the next
Bu
Kow
Ski

and when I look in the mirror
I see my ****** face with a matching 'tude
the drink and the smoke in my mouth roll out
sending my lovers running
and I can't even see my **** over this paunch

I am the next Bukowski