It's dark
So dark
Mad and angry
A solitary cruel
Civilization where nobody
Cares nobody pays
Intrest for the lives
Of the hopeless
Or the needed.
The simple
Drive for the complex
Ideas of perfection
In which we crave
Is so prominent
Like an eched image
In our simply geared minds
Those gears only turn
One way
Not bothering to look
Back at the others
Who are perfect
For living
Without that
Selfishness

a.s.

Eating my meal at the usual fast food spot,
Public intimacy at the counter,
That love bird love,

Seeing person after person walk in,
So many memories in this very seat,
From back then,

Some moved on, some still in touch,
Those days when adrenalin was frequent,
The blood, my heart, would rush,

I still remember sitting on that hill,
In isolation staring out,
Into the stars and clouds,
Wondering what life's about,

This poem, written on a fast food napkin,
Concentration clouded,
By the noise of laughter and a screaming kid tantrum

The skate home that night,
My jacket shielded the cold from my neck,
It was 1 o'clock, no people, no cars in sight,
Except,

That one police car flying by,
Colors of blue and red,
With it sirens ringing,
Past my head.

the tick in the clock
the chatter of an ignition
dishes clanking
Mr. Everywhere
nowhere to be seen
the lungs don't show the lifetime spent escaping
times are cold
but it's too hot in the kitchen
make me a transient drifter
with a handkerchief on a stick
eating an apple
in a boxcar making it's way through cold night
make me disappear a wrangler
an outlaw
delete my typos
and move me to the recycling bin

I never understood
The idea of love
How you could be so invested in each other
So persistent to one another

Then I met you.

a.s.

I was six or seven
I realized the dragonball Z comics I was drawing
needed a story line to make any **** sense
that was the first time
Then I was twelve
writing gangsta rap with my friends
a group of English farm kids
who couldn't be any whiter
That's when I realized who she was
By fourteen I was writing things which resembled stories
only not really
fifteen sixteen seventeen
they were growing stronger
February of my eighteenth year I wrote that first poem
I thought it ******
and it did
but still
people liked it
poem after story after novel attempt after poem after story after...
almost twenty years old
the words are thicker
shorter
harder
but still,
we're not there
but I can't wait until
the days of matrimony bells ringing in empty churches
the day were you give in to my
I do
We'll write our own vows
burn our sacred cows
we'll write a love story
which won't ever be forgotten

sink into the silence
nothing left by nothing
a silent trip adviser
to blame the past on
levels of induced mindless
consumption that dealt
with the singularity breath
ghost located in page
after page after page of longing
caress and sniff and smell
the burning rubber sensation of
ice melted fire drops
dealt to deal with dealing
memories forgave in the think tank
calm in the blue raindrop
frisky frisk touch of soul
felt with eyes wide open
and a heart made of gold
to last ever last in the synaptic
convulsion that twitches and squirms
of a mental addiction love and pain
and parlor trick injections
did i mention the hopeful twist
of a sudden quick thinking passing
love is love actually and codeine is
a moment of unloved passive regret
o d on your section of unblinking
overwatch i snorted the powder
to happiness everlasting
cuddle with my corpse
i want to be the little spoon and feel your heartbeat in my back pressed selfishness to hold my soul and revel in the passiveness of unthinking
let me lick your inner soul and taste
the salt of a lie left on cracked breathless lips