They gave me a
29 page pamphlet on
what I can no longer
enjoy.
There wasn't one line
on what I  could
abuse.

We all have our outs,
our ways to escape
it all for a few
needed
moments.
A purpose or a
vice.

My mother has her
wine,
my father his
faith and his guns.
My brothers all
have their futures,
my friend his
Lalo.

All I have
is this,
and if it
ever leaves
me ,
if the words stop
coming.

Then what am I
but another
empty useless
soul ,taking
up space.
Fighting off the
demons,
waiting on the
darkness to come.

Learned long
ago
how to
live alone.

Watched the
black cat
eat the fur and
the bone.

I enjoyed her
company
I can not
lie.

She told me
to take
care I
promised
her I'd try.

I drank
on the
floor and
used
in the dark.

I wonder
if this
feral cat is
some kind
of lark.

I've rehearsed
in
my mind
what I would
say.

Selfishly
expected her
to watch me
live this way.

There's a hole
in the screen
where the
cat comes
in.

It's hard to
remember
how this
addiction
began.

It kept me
numb
and numb was the
only feeling I
was searching
for.

I used enough
in those days
to avoid
feeling any
type of emotion
for too long.

And when I
cried,
it was mostly
over a memory
of a time when
I should
have cried
but
was too numb
to care.

I don't know what I'm seeing
but I'm looking right at you
I don't know what I'm hearing
your lips are next to my ear
I don't know what I'm feeling
that's the worst feeling in the world
Just pull my body close to yours and
maybe I will see
maybe I will hear
maybe I will feel

{e.p}

I am a tempest,
     the most violent of
     winds whipping around
     without concern for any
     who surround me. 

I am a volcano,
     the lava of my emotions 
     exploding up and over
     to seep throughout
     every nook and crevice. 

I am a typhoon,
     my gale force winds
     showing mercy to
     neither sea nor land as
     I rip-roar over it all. 


And you…
     you are the halcyon tranquility
     I've been searching for
     all along, the serenity needed 
     to calm my frenzied turbulence
     with but a stroke of your lips,
     leaving me breathless and
     my winds settled at long last.

Don't look.
The world's about to break.

Don't look.
The world's about to chuck out all its light
and stuff us in the chokepit of its dark,
That black and fat suffocated place
Where we will **** or die or dance or weep
Or scream of whine or squeak like mice
To renegotiate our starting price.

I wouldn't mind it—
being the crayon color
that no one could name.