I take coffee with my sugar and milk
I take air with my smoke
I take water with my beer
I take one too many steps towards the edge
falling now
letting go of a life too fogged up to control
**** my phone who needs the apps
friends fuckbuddies and pretentious awful photographs
I don’t think I’ve been awake for the last two years
because this all feels like a dream
and the glove fits no matter how many times
I run it through the drier
nobody ever changes - they only come into their own
I’m trying to get rid of these Russian Nesting Dolls
please oh please like my ******* poems
please oh please stroke my ego
please oh please tell me you aren’t wearing any *******
the blue sky is collapsing on us
and it feels incredible to see heaven brought down to our level
the people on the corner must’ve been right after all
the end is nigh and the devil is white
I look at my reflection as it warps like a crazy carnival
a little less false prophet and a little more anti-christ
I’m just sitting here like
“just be honest dude,
the solution to any writing problem is writing”
and now I’m over there like
“Stay the ******* my lawn”
bitter is an acquired taste
but if I am being honest I couldn’t care less about taste
so long as I get you drunk
so tweet that
put that on your blog
I’m not ready to leave the assembly line gig yet
and neither are you

no longer am I afraid of my own ignorance
nor am I afraid to lie
every single ******* poem
has to be so **** enigmatic
that I tire of reading
the same whiskey stained, cigarette smelling
blocks of text
I hate poetry
and I hate poets
I hate myself
and I hate you
so sue me
pretentious young people so concerned with life
pretentious young people all looking for a crack at the limelight
me oh me oh me oh my
read my pain drenched musing
feel the depth of my soul
because I have no other hopes
of ******* above my weight class
Me so touched and artistic
Me drunk and high -
a raving mess of hormones and emotions
where do we go from here?
which breakthrough is waiting to be made?
are we doomed to ape the beats and Bukowski
until the day that writing is made obsolete by tweeting?
**** oh **** oh **** oh ****
see? I’m edgy, couldn’t care less about P.C. and good taste
I’m wearing the same black shirt
as everybody else
but mine is different - see?
why be  a poet
when you can be anything else?
who chooses the bullet to the head
over the winning lottery ticket?

None of it really matters anymore
the amount of time I spent contemplating time
is maddening
I gave it a shot
the good life
but all I got were nicotine stained fingers
and a few shreds a few loosely remembered good stories
we’re all dead now anyways
just waiting for the boatman to come
calling our names
as we pay the toll of clocking out
I have senoritis
I have writer’s block
I have ****** stumps instead of fingertips
you have your own life now
your own looking glass to pass through
and this sigh
says infinitely more
than I ever could

The world had just rolled out of bed
remember the time I woke your mother up
with my sentimental talk and Kamel 100’s?
I do. I remember. Things like love and happiness
passion, *****, ****, and blood
the sounds the walls made against the bustling of life
we were inebriated on the endless possibilities
we didn’t want to see the trap looming above
until it was already upon us
Isn’t it silly to think of that now?
Drunk breakfast at three AM
coffee which kept us up longer than fragile moon beams
rinse and repeat
green paper envelopes
a citation for living without fear
we could’ve made the world stop in its tracks
if only we hadn’t ****** it all up
so badly

The rain fell in buckets that night
hair slicked to weary faces
and gazes which condemned the stars for shining
the gaping maw of it’s almost over now
is rapidly approaching
and we chew the cud of *****
until we ***** all over ourselves
arms ending at the wrist in ****** stumps
which spurt arterial confetti
so that the stray cats which wail at the moon
can stay fed for another day or two
how dare the sun burn so bright
in the face of such darkness
snub out the smiling masses
and cover them in soot and crude oil
the man behind the clock is laughing
between a pair of ******* aching with regret
but maybe after just one more run at it
we can pull ourselves free of salvation

You are the storm which ushered in the summer
bare limbed trees swaying in panic
straining against the anchored weight of their roots
with war drums constantly pounding against rib cages
hangovers and lactic acid induced cramps
a pack a day for every mistake made out of cowardice
slip in the oil slick of too little too late
we live only for continuity’s sake
these dreams are being swept away by a river of blood
diluted with poison
so break the cameras
keep on avoiding sidewalk cracks
keep on looking for escape at the bottom of the toilet
these cold tiles feel like childhood
this ***** feels like love
this costume feels like respect
and all of this ****
tastes like your kiss

Brain cells fading into haze
the sky is all topsy-turvy
we were walking through the stars
with our heads swollen to the size
of planets
we drank the leftover nectar of Olympus
and our strides brought tears to the eyes wilted flowers
the moon reflected from the broken forty ounce
told stories older than darkness
and we ate that **** up
with brown and amber and green
and street lamps bled crimson eternal
the four of us in an old hippie van
those were the days
when the plastic bottle was a key
and our face the beaten path
that I walked in rural childhood daydreams
simplicity is beauty is art is pretension
we spoke of sliding into Alice’s Wonderland
love is scary but ******* feels as good
as getting away with fake sick days
so we dressed like magazines and music videos
and lived like spotlight
until all of the wool knit scarves unraveled
and all the old wounds scabbed over