And if the man from on high casts his eye upon you
you shall cower when faced with the reflection
A bird sits on a car side mirror
not alarmed by overwhelming footfalls
keeping rhythm with feet beneath desks to the universal drum track
white rabbit is peaking in the next room
while a scene of horror plays out
to be gossiped over intermission
you stand alone
in a small, dimly lit room
candle flame flickering against cream wall
ritual
your neighbors won't stop screaming into sofa cushions
as you laugh til it hurts on rerun avenue
go out and get after it kid
by this time tomorrow it'll be gone
whatever it is

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

She walked in from the street
windswept,
she had come close to breaking
everything in the outside
weighing down upon her
with every passing second
expectations
clashing
with reality
leaving her cracked
and those cracks told her story
with no falsity
it was plain and simple
and he traced the cracks
with his own yellowed fingers
smiling at her
enjoying the tale
enjoying her
not wanting to save her
or fix her
just wanting to keep her
keep her
as she is

the pile of books on my windowsill sits gathering dust
the pencils are swords instead of daggers
all the pen nibs are dry
the embers slowly starving
the smiles succumbing to gravity
and the grit's nothing but dust
if time is money
then we're in debt

A year ago I was sitting in my room
dropping out of college
I found a pen and an old notebook
which I got for my creative writing class
in high school
So I picked it up, unsure of what was going to happen
but I wrote a poem called in my dreams
without meaning to
Dude, poetry is gay
but It seemed I had a taste for it
a week later I was writing to drown out the sound
of my roommate fighting with his girlfriend
and the couple was born

I was a secret drop out
I even made up a class schedule
so I would go at varying hours on varying days
to any cafe which had cheap coffee and free wifi
and I would write these ****** little poems
saved in a google docs folder called
poetry
I used to ***** around on the web too much
stuff like stumbleupon
and I found all of you beautiful sons of *******
a strange old website called hellopoetry.com
facebook for those young or foolish enough
to call themselves poets
I was skeptical
I’ve never been a fan of other writers in my atmosphere
but I’ll be ****** If I didn’t fall in love
with the ***** old dog
I wrote and I wrote and I wrote
I may not have been the best
but you can’t spell prolific without pro
and when I finally hit
100,000 views
it was like losing my virginity all over again
only not as awkward and drunk

I’ve been pottering around on here for a year now
and every person who read my work
every angel which clicked follow
Got to see me bang my head against the keyboard
in dark rooms on even darker days
and they’ve seen some of my best work
definitely some of my worst
and I’ve met some genuinely great people along the way
I only hope that you all know who you are
So let’s raise a glass to the year passed
and celebrate
a bunch of wild poet… things
and here’s to another year
of weird little poems

Circling at speeds too fast to blur
the edges are edged out of peripherals
tick tock spoke the clock
as laughter erupts from the hungry bellies
of a million explosions waiting to happen
breathing out fumes of cough syrup
saying things like
I am so ****** up right now
wading through the *** of honey
to rescue the husks of dead flies
fists firmly grasping nothing but air
the message in the bottle is blank
close your eyes and open your ears
the fire is about to die
like us it too craves oxygen
which is ****** out of your lungs
with each couch depressing sigh
summer fades into snowy winter
in the blink of an eye
and the clock still sits on the wall in judgement
tick tock
tick tock

boys and girls
like oil and water
meet in the electric darkness
a ritual as old as time
set to the pounding
of mechanical drums
boys and girls
they don't see it
but they are each other
fatally flawed to perfection
and they see something
a spark off the flint
and they mistake it for love
because they allow each other
to love themselves
boys and girls
hiding from
men and women
try not to grow up
but a broken clock
is right twice a day
and they have run out of hiding places
their limbs burning
with lactic acid
they finally see
the toxic insignia
a skull and crossbones
no warning labels
this will **** you
so they separate
and you'd better believe
that it was ugly as hell
yelling and screaming and violence
all in the name of self-loathing
boys and girls
just looking for somebody
who is looking for them

my younger brother is getting older
and as life unfurls before him
like a long day at work
on a cold winter morning
I hope he has it easy
and fun
I hope he has it the way he wants
as for me
don't think of me as a person
naw
think of me
as the childhood memory
you repress
and don't know why
think of me as all the advice you never took
the sheep which you sacrificed for crop cycles
the facebook pictures
you'd never show your parents
the *** you're ashamed to say you like
the drugs you're ashamed to say you need
martial law is in place
and the revolution starts in your gut
so **** the fire to your forehead
and shoot rainbow shots in the faces
of all of the wrinkled suits
behind storefront windows
pull out your teeth out
and plant the speaking tree
mocking birds die beautifully
and I'm in the mood for a funeral
one day
we can all explode

Medicated through calming hushed tones
stating that everything is fine
everything is going according to plan
but in the back of my mind
I feel it pulsing
the feeling that what tides me over
is not going to last
and that one day
all of the smart choices in the world
won't save me from the serrated teeth
of the beast
which stalks us all
from womb to tomb
the cackling maniacal laughter
of an abomination set and ready to feed
on your mark
get set
flee
flee from the path which leads to slaughter
flee to safe havens of solitude
flee to the crowds
lose yourself
to the thrashing ocean
of accepting the free fall
the ground won't hurt worse than the sky

Don't **** them with violence
because they will still win
don't **** them fast
because lord knows
they deserve pain
don't **** them with your words
they are too valuable to waste
on such ****
no if you really want to hurt them
then **** them with your smirk
every time they **** with you
raise a corner of your mouth ever so slightly
an "is that all you've got" smile
because everybody knows
you are stronger
smarter
better
than all of them
and it ****** them off
so **** them with smirks
and if that still isn't enough
well you can always just
**** on their graves afterwards

I think that sleeping with somebody
(I actually mean sleeping)
Is so intimate
Because,
Your partner
Could wake up
In the middle of the night
And **** you,
But you trust her
Not to

This might hurt
these words that blurt
out like a volcano
with debris to throw
raining down
onto the town
taking no prisoners
like an unholy visitor
why am I angry?
because sometimes
it feels **** good
because sometimes
what under my hood
likes to heat up
when I feel beat up
not physical
not mental
just a broken principal
and the hounds are set loose
I don't control these words
they control me
which accounts for
sketchy rhyming patterns
which I don't believe matters
leaving form in blood tatters
these words attack us
and sometimes
I want them to hurt
to scathing and scalding
because it lets me know
that I still care

Hungover
too tired to move
too anxious to stand still
the taste and smell
lingering
as malt liquor pours through pores
the sun is daggers
and every step upsets a new joint
the customers at work -
******* with dollar bills for faces
the surgeon general wouldn't advise you
to operate that motor vehicle
hungover
because some nights
have a harder time saying goodbye
than others

the diner closed down
a sign in the window
but i'm still hungry

Don't even talk to me
about your ******* cat
I don't care
actually I do
I hate your cat
everything about it
Is that what you have to say?
is that all you came up with?
I want to hear
about your flaws
your contradictions
your addictions
your love
your long drawn out ****** struggle
I want something real
something which makes me more human
more alive
more prepared
emphatic to your apathy
I really am
but for the love of God
never talk to me
about that stupid cat
ever again

I was forged in the pages of books
where I hid from the life I was living
they called it fiction
but, ****, it all felt pretty real to me
I was the shadow of every character I threw myself on
on rainy Monday or beautiful Saturday
So I hid away in my room
patiently waiting for something
I might never know
with a spiral bound notebook full of all the things
I couldn't say out loud
It all started with a dream
I wanted to steal the shadows of kids just like me
from NA to EU
Africa, Asia, selah
So I hid away in my room
full of all the words from all the books I loved
and I gave it a shot

people seem to forget
that for every "good" person
there is an equal "bad" guy
just like night to day
yet nobody thanks the sinners
they go on,
knowingly corrupted
self sacrificed souls
they challenge the good
to step up and hold them in place
the universe runs off of balance
so for every brilliant man
who killed without heavy heart
who stole, begged, pillaged, lied
I offer up a thousand thank yous
because if it wasn't for you
Jesus would have just been a carpenter
so keep on sinning
and keep on losing

too drunk to blog
allow me to send my inebriated thoughts
ton the temporal lobes which halo your ears
I spend seventeen seconds spending spent time
on times spent wallowing in the too many you're the bests
genesis is failing
genesis is falling upon us
like snowflakes spent forgetting the times we forgot
I forgot to tell you
no matter how drunk I get
I will remember you
so let's regret the forgotten reasons
of reasonable men reasoning the realist responses
of people who forgot to check their phones
for the second time todau

In Los Angeles It is illegal
for dogs to mate within 500 feet of a church
and if that doesn't make you
want to host a dog ****
in the middle of an LA church
right next to the holy water
then I don't think we can be friends

hold on to the small victories
these are the hand and foot holds
that your survival clings to
there will be an avalanche
rock slide
mud slide
of rejection and doubt and defeats
but these small victories
a comment from a stranger
or something greater
have roots which run deep
and at times you have to say
kiss my animus
*******
and hold on
like your life depends on it

The dining hall was empty
all the smart people
were either in class
or still sleeping
at eight o'clock
the food is fresh
but still tastes like rubber
and the watery coffee
doesn't do anything
to shake off the waking dream
the faces of these people
all say the same thing
"what the hell am I doing up this early?"

Isn't it very strange
That the majority of humans on this planet
Are right handed?
I mean seriously
Out of seven billion people
Over three and a half billion
Are right handed
And I wonder
What part of our genetic coding
Dictated that
The norm
Was for people to rely
On their right hand

stop taking things
so seriously
I mean,
I'm seriously serious
don't be
seriously serious
about anything
beause when it all boils down to it
nobody will remember
if I forgot the C in because
in some dumb poem

I was just,
Covered in puke,
And toilet water,
You don't know gross
Until you have to clean that

Those were the days
before I knew about money
and before a relationship
seemed so **** appealing
those were the days
when we still had play time
twice a day in the school yard
and played guns with our fingers
bang bang you're dead
those were the days
when we were chased off of the farm
for climbing the bails of hay
angry farmers in tractors
those were the days
when my mother wanted me to come home
she would yell out of the front window
and I could hear
all the way from the church wall
those were the days
when summer holidays
meant the ice cream man
and making dens in the woods
those were the days
when my dad yelled at us
for writing obscenities
on the walls of my tree house
those were the days
when we would race up the tops of trees
not knowing how we would get down
those were the days
now just fond memories

If I were a praying man
I'd pray that every athlete or actor -
Who held out on a deal
Because they wanted more -
Would get every type of cancer

If I were a religious man
I'd wage jihad upon
Every company which values
the lives of workers at pennies per hour
So they can sell excess to the poor
And watch them **** each other

If I had a god
He'd smite every shark
Which took thing of necessity
And turned them into poker chips
So they could pay tribute to a false idol

Yes, maybe these things could happen,
But I'm not a religious man
I'm a drunk/high man
And these thoughts
Are just a night's sleep away
From being forgotten

it's funny
how much I revere you
how much I want to dot you eyes and cross your teeth
to all of my friends I sound like a corny school speaker
ideals, ideals,
ideas of fighting some good ******* fight
but what have I won?
what have I fought for?
isolation?
anonymity?
I dropped out of school for you
threw myself to your will
drank what you gave me
smoked with no complaints
and I've never felt so much of a need for validation
and don't act like i'm the bad guy
you're so fickle that I can't tell if you're coming
or going right out that door for some other schmuck
with less to say and a pair of skinny jeans
I'll drink you off tonight
******* out of my system
let go of you for a while
before I come crawling back to you in the morning

take this as a warning
college life is like
treading a tight rope
yeah it's easy street
but consequences
are put in the back of mind
and getting black out drunk
on a thirsty Thursday
with your boys
is fun
but Friday morning
with four cigarettes left
from the pack you bought the night before
isn't fun
and neither are lonely hangovers
and it's a slippery *****
to say that
you aren't an alcoholic
until you're done with college
so take this as a warning
go to college
and have the time of your life
but just make sure
that you don't lose yourself

Sometimes you just can't hide behind jokes
and sometimes you have to realize
that every time we feel overwhelmed
and reach for blunt or bottle
that we are being cowards
a life driven by fear
but who can blame us?
from the moment we came into this world
fear has been our third parent
so technically we're all related
Sometimes being a coward doesn't cut it
sometimes you have to stand up tall
and take it on the chin
over and over again
and turn it into the chattering
of keystrokes
or whatever it is
that calls to you
sometimes you just have to look in the mirror
and cut the crap

Every time I sit down
to maybe write a poem
it wears me down
I start the day off
full of last night's dreams
and draw them out
one by one
but each one
takes a little something with it
a little part of me
as I shrivel up
an emaciated shell
exhausted
there is nothing left
I crawl into bed
to be replenished
in my sleep

I was such good friends with last night
that she decided to stay with me this morning
waking up like coming out of a blur
panicked
check that phone
assess the damage
if you get lucky
your phone is dead
knock knock on the skull
go away nobody's home they're out
knock knock knocking on heaven's door
you should probably eat something
but your stomach won't get off
the merry go round
round round and around again
like a spin cycle
and you're always alone
but for the sounds of birds
nesting in the tree
outside of your bedroom window
but it doesn't matter
with a stomach full of one liners
you still get up
and go out that door

There was this girl,
she consumed him
so completely
that he loathed her
he loathed her
because he knew
he could never actually loathe her
even if she set fire to apartment
while he was sleeping in it
he want to an addict meeting
the circular discussion
fell on him
HI,
My name is blah blah
and I have a girl problem

The campus today
bathed in happy potential memories
was seemingly flooded
with pretty girls
which isn't a complaint,
it sure as hell made my day a lot better
I'm a sucker for a pretty face
in a sundress
so keep on being pretty
ladies

Here he comes,
All ****** up
A child
With a man's habits,
How can he handle this,
This genetic disease.
He just sits
With a mouth
Full of **** that
And waits for
This current night,
To be over

What slice of heaven
Fell down from pie skies
To fall in our laps?
Oh,
Wouldn't you know
It's a full life

I was told once
that I should take things
just a little more serious
and I seriously considered it
for about a second
before the realization came to me
what's there to be serious about?
we live in a world
in which
the human experience
has been mass produced
packaged
and shipped off
to millions of televisions
around the world
They took serious away from me
without even asking
they made this life into a farce
we spend it all
racing to see who can dig the deepest
like children
until we dig too deep
the soil walls around us
give no footing
and are closing in
faster then calculated.
how can I be serious
when being serious
means a life spent
digging my own grave?

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

Wear your heart beneath your sleeve
don't buy into the hype
people become a lot less interested
once they've seen your heart,
instead,
let them see your sleeve ripple
with each passing beat
so that the people might say
"what was that,
beneath your sleeve"
and you just smile back
"I have no idea what you're talking about"

the first thing you notice,
is the smell
all of the water just gets recycled
and it gets so *****
you can't see through it
the tunnel smells the worst
where the cars come through
and the laundry station is
I either get told to punch in
or that they don't need me
go to the break room

then maybe a car comes
probably not if it's a Monday
or if it's raining
but suppose one comes anyway
you get told to jump on it
pull it into the tunnel
then run down to the other end to catch it
pulling it onto the lot
you check what kind of a wash it is
if you're lucky
it's just an exterior
but let's be honest
it's probably going to be an ultimate
upholstery coated in dog hair
that the over privileged
WASP
stay at home mother
pesters you to get out
no matter how many times you explain
it isn't store policy
we don't cover dog hair ma'am
maybe her toddler spilled an entire happy meal
into one of the side pockets
you do a ****** job
she'll probably stiff you anyway

you're out on the lot
for hours
just making the same clockwise motions with your hands
over and over again
this can last for hours
then it's back to the break room
where the bosses cut lines of coke
off of the managers table
the place reeks of something
the IRS wouldn't like
you're there from 8 to 7
and you're lucky to get 5 hours on the clock

You get home
and the smell doesn't leave
and the first thing you want
is a drink
or a smoke
preferably both
and you want to sleep
for hours
sleep away the lesser moments
and the bigger one
but you know
you have to wake up at 6:45
to drive back over
and do it all again

I have a nickel in my pocket for every time you said
no, not this time
period
take it back to another period
and spend your time spending money you don't have
none of us have the heart to say no so the sun
but the moon is a constant reminder
of the remnants of what we are
and we were
what we could be
could be a penny thrown in a fountain
where we make wishes to a God
we said goodbye to
long ago

she could walk and talk and toe down the line
between thrift shop flannels and expensive black dresses
wrapped up in the layers and folds of your duvet which was so thick I sweat all night long
I woke up ti the light forcing it's way white through your plastic blinds
I woke up in my boxers and skin
next to you in your underwear and skin much preferable to mine
the recipe went my arm your body my other arm
and whether or not we did what everybody's thinking we did that night doesn't matter
nor does words we may or may not have said
but it matters that I was smiling when I woke up
to see you still there
my arm riddled with pins and needles
smiling
and the weekend before
we went to the haunted house
your hand clutching mine tightly
I wasn't scared
but I clutched at that life raft as hard as I could
as I lead you through dark tunnels and corn fields
it was good to see you
it will be better to see you again

no matter how well
he thinks he knows her
he always can find
some mystery
when he looks into her eyes
they change from brown
to hazel to green
like a mood ring
he loves her crazy
so much so
that he is far from sane
so unpredictable
she kills him again and again
only to revive him
and he loves it
loves the way
she looks back at him
and he isn't sure
if she'll kiss him
or set his bed on fire
say what you will
it's always nice
to have
some mystery

Tequila sunrise
whiskey moon
the way I like
to encounter my doom

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

The first time
that my mother caught me
smoking *** with my friend
in the backyard
she asked me
"Why can't you just
get high on life?"
and I'll be honest
I was ****** at the time
so I laughed
which she said
was the saddest part about it all

I've given it some thought since then
and it seems more terrifying
and less funny
every single day
because I have tasted life
the man on the corner
offered me
two grams of life
for forty dollars
so I went into my room
and had myself a life ******
and I never will again
At times you feel so elated
that if you stood up
on your tip-toes
and strained
you would simply float away

At times it feels as if every cell of your body
is burning with holy fire
everything is a threat
and ******* you want what's yours
and sometimes
what isn't
You feel as if every pair of eyes
should pay a toll
to look at your own
you feel as if
you just chugged
a barrel of nitro glycerin
all it takes is one lonely spark
and then
boom

At times you feel like
your whole world
was set up
just to cave in
when you are at
your most vulnerable
when you have lost all faith
something comes along
and shows you
that you can in fact
lose some more
valleys deeper
than the earth's core
lonely and cold
a hail storm
of knives

The worst times
are the times in between
the ennui
which constantly creeps forward
like the hands on a clock
when all you want
is for that day to be over
so that you can wish the same thing tomorrow
and the next day
and the day after that
hoping to maybe feel
just anything
life users don't have track marks
their cross is one made of
slit wrists and ashtrays
and howls to a God
you're not sure exists

Life
not even once

I know this guy
who deals *** out of his apartment
and yeah you can probably guess
how I came to know this guy
but you know what?
I'm a bad guy, so what?
but anyways
this guy has it all figured out
he takes a couple of classes
at a community college
and he travels the south
following jam bands
not my thing
but to each his own
and every time he returns
he brings back a lot of product
and when the summer sun graces this city
you can see him
getting high on the hammock
which he strung up on his balcony
what a life

I prefer maybes
over the real thing
every single time
so give me a maybe
instead of reality
because sometimes
reality can ****
but a maybe is nothing
just a maybe
so don't give me your troubles
and taboos
and issues
no,
just don't
because my favorite place to see you
is in my imagination
when I wake up alone in the morning light
with a smile on my face
thinking maybe I'll go see you today,
maybe...

There were children
climbing onto a big yellow
Richmond city school bus
on Forest Hill avenue
the neon cherry red stop sign
emerged from its chamber
speaking traffic
and the children looked so happy
to be getting on that bus
even though it was eight AM
and they were on their way to school
so pure and untouched
in their lack of days
it's better than driving home
after a party
still probably a little too drunk
to operate heavy machinery
but the children were laughing
the children know
life boils down to little more
than a great big
cosmic joke

You need not walk alone on this path
at times it seems like you are completely alone
in the middle of an alpine mountain range
surrounded on all sides
by thick snow so white it covers your world in blackness
no you needn’t walk alone
in fact you can’t in some spots
you need a support net
a network of supportive people
with hands waiting to catch you
when you fall
and you will fall
I can guarantee it
do not be the hermit
slowly losing touch and losing his mind in his shed
be the person who people would want
standing beneath them
waiting to catch them
when they inevitably fall

I'm sitting in my empty old house alone. Just me and the dogs. The air is heavy with nostalgia. I miss all the times I cursed out loud after stepping on bricks of lego. Somewhere earlier on my timeline I veered off the highway. These back roads are too dusty to always see the markings. It's not great for gas. But I think I get pretty good mileage.
It's funny how who we are can be so different from who we thought we would be as children. The drugs, the passive rage, the fear to do what must be done. I still haven't let it grip me - there's still that.
Whether it is good, bad, or ugly - **** happens. We have to learn to deal with it before we drown