She had wine colored lips
probably because she was drunk off of wine
her eyes were the color of tears
but she had just been crying
she looked good, **** good
but then again, I was drunk and on a dry streak
whatever, it’s valentines night
and I don’t think she has ever even heard of self-esteem
plus, it’s too dark in here to really see anybody
amorphous shadows trying desperately to get laid
it’s all fun and games until it isn’t
but that’s tomorrow morning
and for now -
consequences do not exist
I was watching the TV
so I could find out which ****
the worthless **** of the week
was sitting on
you know,
conversation topics
she was watching the rain wash away the snow
you know,
wishful thinking

people operate under the wild belief that
survivors are strong by nature
strong is a weak word
adaptable is better
The meek shall inherit the earth
the strong will die trying to save it
Me? I’m a survivor
an actor master of disguise
playing the part of a self-righteous anti-hero
but when the bombs start falling
you aren’t coming in my bomb shelter
hell no
and when the mobs are chasing us
I’m tripping you for a few more precious seconds
too stubborn to die quite yet
but don’t worry
when the dust has settled
and the cults have left their caves
to repopulate this rock
I’ll tell the story of your heroic sacrifice

alright kid, listen up. They’ve been calling you ****** for too long. Ignoring your humanity for too long. The first thing you need to do is study up on your state’s gun laws. Waiting period? Hand guns? Age restrictions? You might be from the south - in which case you are in luck. A neighbor will have a rifle or shotgun, probably not locked away too well either. If you still can’t get your hands on a piece there is always the gun show loophole. Everything is legal if you buy it at a gun show. Now you’ve got your hands on a weapon you’re going to need some ammo. How mad are you? Remember to account for human error. Now you need to work on concealment. They’ll see the weird little *** with a cop killer from a mile away. Trench coats don’t work. Who the hell wears trench coats nowadays, you’ve gotta think. The night before you should sketch out a birds eye floor plan of the school. Mark the exits and choke points. You’ve seen 300 right? Make sure to leave a copy of your manifesto for a perfect utopia on your bedside and eat a good dinner. Get your eight hours. Tomorrow is the big day. Getting shot only hurts for the seconds it takes you to hit the ground.

The school yard was quiet. First period slowly meandering along. Outside the sky is grey and the birds perch atop telephone lines in judgement. It goes Bang, Bang, and Bang then silence. Then screaming. Ears ringing and sweat dripping.

This just in. A shooting at could’ve been you high school has left thirteen dead and six injured. Let’s shove the camera in their face and ask them to relive how awful it all was. That’ll get ratings for sure. The shooter was sixteen year old could be the weird kid in your neighborhood. He got a gun from insert political belief here and brought it to school that morning. He opened fire in the middle of shut up and listen class. Now we are going to show you every page of his crazed manifesto on repeat for the rest of day. You can also find it online on our website or on Amazon.

Death came quicker than he thought it would. Suicide by a police officer is honestly very efficient. with each bullet unloaded on him it was like slipping into a dream. No more eating lunch alone with his crippling social anxiety. No more name calling. No more absentee parents. No more PE classes getting hammered in touch football. No more loneliness or anonymity. At least now they would all remember his name. The feeling of getting punched in the chest and the taste of iron on his lips were his best memory to date. Darkness now.

We make monsters
and don’t go to their funerals
everybody living with survivors guilt
I was never mean to him
who saw that coming?
everybody wants love
but nobody wants to give it
so instead we capitalize on tragedy
and lament our own foolish ways
too little way too ******* late

time keeps on slipping through the seams
as worn out as a pair of work jeans
fade away and stay insane
who can we trust?
all the industries rust
as we stand beneath them
waiting to catch debris
to sell off at pawn shops
for a gallon of milk and a loaf of bread
suns down
so the pradators prowl the town
see how their fangs glint with motor oil
turmoil in the soul the sole reason for this lack of control
deeper we spiral
everybody just wants to go viral like small pox
drive the check through the box
the list of mistakes you still want to make
break through the shake up of rubble
and start some real trouble, burst their bubbles
visible from the hubble teloscope
we **** hope and call it dope
no more sirens in rearview mirrors
pen the next great thriller and bring it into reality
point out their logical fallicies
and make another casualty in the war
of left versus right
north south east and west
and we think one is the best
jesters playing guessing games in the crown’s court
but we always seem to fall short - straying off course
and of course it isn’t fair
we’ve all had our share of heartbreaks
but we claimed a stake of this land
pioneers of the yeah yeah yeah
but we multiply until we all die
leaving seeds on the front lawn
of the dawning of time

Let me be your drug
stimulants to raise you up higher than any peak
setting your veins on fire and tickling the bottom of your feet
Let me hone your mind to a fine focused edge
lethal, right?
Let me take your inhibitions and crush them
teach you how to dance
and egg you on to violence
standing up for yourself is just that
depressants? Yeah I've got that covered
make you feel so low the sun light falls short
I've got a book full of lullabies to put you to bed
and I can make those cuts and bruises
feel like loose, easy sunlight
let me alter your perception
DMT, Shrooms, and Lucy
I'll show you a God you forgot to believe in
hallucinations so real they send your nightmares reeling
back into the comfortable dark of closets and bottoms of beds
Love Drug?
I'm an easy E to pop
Molly Molly Molly
Moon rocks
prompts for the closet romantics
and **** machines
light this stick of TNT spliff
and ******* out into the dead air between all things

The frozen birds died not happy
but not sad or wanting
they just ended
not like a book or a sentimental sunset
but like a crosswalk shifts from white man to red hand
Us - Humans -  the only animal which asks why
why is the world so dark
why won’t she return my love
why do I feel this way
Why doesn’t everything work out the way I want
if they could - the birds would call us *******
it’s why they can fly and we can only pretend
and I hate those pretty little ******* for that
Why?

My dad always had a belly
from the back you wouldn’t have thought he was fat
but once he turned around
you noticed he carried boulders in his beer gut
and it made the best pillow a 4-8 year old boy could ask for
I told him that at night before bed
my head on his belly
we used to drink apple tango when we went and walked our dogs together
every weekend morning
Daddy wasn’t a rolling stone
but he was a man of business class transcontinental flights
important Dr. Baxter
he helped with my homework
because his patience ran deeper than most
but he was a volcano of suppressed emotion
one small **** up away from erupting
back when we were kids it was scary for my brothers and me
now we laugh about it
we’re all taller than him now
But I still remember living at the Sheridan for 3 weeks
all of us ganging up on him in the pool
the way he picked us up and tossed us with ease
a 5’6 210 lb man
and I remember all the fights
the last minute flights
me hiding in my bed with my hands covering my ears
him so quiet and rational
my Mum so explosive and passionate
I remember her crying on Christmas eve
when I was sneaking outside for a smoke
I remember anger and numbness
I wrote him a letter once
I never sent it
I remember how friends and family used to tell me how alike we were
how that went from a good thing to a bad thing
I remember meeting his dad for the first time
the other Harry Baxter
and I remember not liking him
I remember when he stole all of our money and left my Dad for a second time
I remember wanting to beat the life out of that old man
I’m still hoping for the chance
I don’t remember the boarding school he went to
or the brothers and sisters he never got to grow up with
or how his mother called me “the boy” until I was old enough to read
I remember being so angry at myself for not being able to be angry enough
but It’s been a while now since all the drama
and I’ve had time to think and cool off
and ******* being a Dad has to be a tough gig
but he was always there for us in some way
maybe not to talk about heartbreak
or life long dreams
but my life has been relatively easy
and I never found myself wanting
He is a strange, quiet man
nobody is harder to shop for
Mum always used to say his hobby was his children
and I get that
I mean, I’m still here
and I think that means he did something right