somebody at work
said who'd want to be normal
her eyes glinting behind
her ray band sunglasses
and her car wash uniform
and her Toms shoes
but she was right to a point
who would
when normal means being the middle six?
**** that I want to be all three of them
an angel of bad taste and baggy clothes
and the best people I've ever met
never met normal
going home on the last bus
with his briefcase
and suit
and his dial tone voice
no the best people I've met
took normal out back
and Old Yeller'd the *******
they are the people who would fly into the sun
if only their wings weren't held together with wax
Me?
I'm the subterranean rodent
taking para-scope Polaroids
hoping to get a glimpse of the good life

He was never afforded the luxury of a fresh start
his religion painted depictions of him
a silhouette entrenched in a thick bank of fog
The earth of his homeland has forgotten the taste of his footfall
left to find his own stake in reason and meaning
he emerged a cultist of jaded
false idol to the yearning masses
a means to an end for the end of meaning
the pounding of feet and fists
an eternal drumming
the call to action
too quiet to not be heard
his movements carried the voices
of birds too feeble to migrate away from icy fingers
he swims upstream until his body
becomes the sediment in which we plant our flag of victory

At times it might feel as if
you can't do anything right,
like the only thing you're good at
is ******* things up
and every turn you make
leads only to dead ends,
The clocks on the wall
still tick tock their pretty little hearts out
like laughter,
cruel laughter
at how broken you are,
but the important thing
is to never forget
that a broken clock
is right
twice a day

You are a guitar
with strings which
are the slightest bit
off tune
an old acoustic
which is more like an old companion
then an object
varnished to reflective perfection

Me?
I'm more like a grand piano
gathering dust
in the back of a thrift store
accustomed
to telling the tales
of the down and out
empathetic tears shed
leaving water stains
on the ivory keys

Excuse me, Ma’am, but do you accept rent
in the form of formless loose poetry?
no?
I guess that makes me the jack ***
Prometheus stole fire from the Gods for us
we re-gifted it for a pair of Nikes
sorry
but ******* don’t we look like hot **** hot shots?
you look good in those clothes
and I can say whatever you tell me to
in a way that sounds almost original
for just a taste of Eve
her kisses taste like bad apples
and I think I’m in love
I think I’m drowning because I forgot how to swim
Nobody wants to listen
we all just want it to be our turn
our turn to cry and make a ******* scene in the grocery store
no I’m not as high as I look
I am way higher
Cheech and Chong? Honk on my pipe of poison
then we can all get goofy paranoia
don’t escort me out of the Garden
it’s cold out there and I’m scared
beneath this mask of calculated courage
all of our friends exceeded the recommended dosage of cough syrup
so they bob and weave through my toy box
with eyes never fully open
**** it, right?
anybody can buy white powder, mirrors, and razors
but not everybody can’t
that’s funny… isn't it?
waiting on the heels of my next paycheck
because hotpockets aren't cutting it anymore
and jah never paid the bills
the lights in my room are burned out
and it is so ******* dark
just close your eyes
run from the monsters which own the shadows

reflecting upon a cigarette
I discovered a small fact
the middle burns stronger
any ash comes from the edge
the same is true of people
we age,
wrinkle,
decay,
rot,
die,
but  we still burn incredibly bright
from our centers
don't let the fire
ever die

"I think I'm done drinking and smoking."
He says to the near empty room
the lights all off and the blinds down.
suicide is easy if you have enough time on your hands
being the devil's plaything isn't all that bad
The left side of his index finger
the right side of his thumb
stained yellow by oral fixation he never quite shook
More of a skeleton than a person
with hands that don't stop shaking
until the liquid sterilizes his soul
"Yeah man,"
...
...
"I think I'm done with all that ****."
he says between **** rips
"Hey,
if you're going to the kitchen,
could you grab me a beer?"

my brain is dotted with burn holes
craters on the moon
like the ones on the denim sofa
from when I fell asleep
beer in hand
cigarette hanging loosely from the corner of my mouth
like the dot that comes at the top right of a cinema screen
change the reel
in the industry we call them cigarette burns
thoughts get lost in them
only to be found covered in tar and ash

it takes me in its hand
I don't know what it is
or if it even has hands
but I know it exists
in some ethereal realm
pushing along a corkscrew hallway
which switches it's polarity
with every hard to draw breath
It has a plan for me
or an idea
and all of my other aspects
are thrown out of the window of a moving car
they are useless to this guiding force which has me
and the road ahead is hazy from the heat
and oasis watering holes fill this desert
with signs which read
"happy hour 24 hours a day"
and I've never been religious
so it's strange to have to
put all of my faith in something

Buy yourself a masochistic combo meal
for the loose change and buttons in your pocket
the fish are thirsty
and the dogs won’t stop barking
I’ve got this itch and It’s just out of reach
would you mind?
I fell in love with your nightmares
and stole glances of you through the rain drops
string theory seamstress
running wild with jungle cats
you’ve got a little me in your teeth
white supremacist **** heads live ten blocks away
but they mostly stick to themselves
do you feel the paranoia closing in?
the sun sets behind a skyline made of fire
all of the fire hydrants in the world wouldn’t be enough
to sooth these burns
nothing makes sense anymore
so let’s just say **** the world and be done with it all
I’d rather walk down aimless avenue
than check into the jaws of life motel
for every drop swallowed
there are three of four dead children
we don’t take them for granted anymore
because we know they’re waiting for us
waiting to catch us when we inevitably fall

"Do you like me?"
the words took courage
courage which would go unnoticed
"Not really, that's why we're so good"
words cushioned by a teasing smile
it was that same **** smile
which chased her dreams
all night long,
"You're bad"
"I'm certainly not good"
"You're nothing but a quick tongue,
aren't you?"
it made him laugh
"I'm hurt you didn't mention
my killer ***"
she had to admit,
it wasn't too shabby
"I think you love me."
"I love pizza,
but let's not get into that"
she looked cute
colored by the flush of frustration
"God, you're an ***"
"You wouldn't have it any other way"
"You wouldn't let me"
"No,
No I suppose I wouldn't"
they stood awash in a comfortable silence
she wished he would agree with her
he wished that he could
he knew that he did
"What do you want
to love me for anyway?
You are leaving again
after the summer"
"So what?"
"So that."
she was a ball of energy
and he wanted to take her in
and feed off of her,
wanted to keep her fire going
yet he feared,
his ice couldn't be melted
she tucked her chin
into her breast
and he cupped her face
by the jaws
leaned down
and gave her a kiss,
"Things are always better
in the summer"

There's an old road
where I spent much
of my childhood
back in England
that I miss
more than anything else

I tell all of my friends
"Yeah Virginia is ******* beautiful,
but you haven't seen real green grass
until you've been to that
small farming village"
yeah I'm from the sticks
it wasn't strange to come home
to stray sheep
which had escaped
from Farmer Neville

But where was I?
the road
that absolute beauty
on one side
proud oak trees
some of which are older than
the entire United States
covered in a sickly yellow moss
chlorophyll green shafts of summer
when we walked around
in shorts and t-shirts
the other side
is a field of grain
which was set ablaze
once a day
when the sun came down
to plant a kiss on the horizon
and we spent countless hours
playing on that tire swing

Now that road is closed off
overgrown
after we left
on our transatlantic journey
nobody was there to take care
no more children
whose laughter
echoed off of those
proud oak trees
and I do miss that road
I don't regret leaving it
life wasn't meant
to be spent
longing for old roads

Hey Pops,
things got a little crazy back there
huh,
the funny thing is
whenever people would say to me
"You're just a spitting image
of your dad"
I was proud
Proud to think that
one day I could be like you
A family
and riches
and land
and the love of a great woman
then came the move
another country
only meant new troubles
Big city American troubles
far beyond the Drax farming village
I remember the night
you were drunk off of
gin and tonics
which was a feat for you
and you cast iron liver
you told me
to not go to college
unless I knew exactly
what I wanted to do
This surprised me,
you said you wanted to be
an archaeologist,
you climbed the grand canyon
and visited Australia
before your career
which you pursued for us
took its toll

You told my Mum
that for your 25th anniversary
you were taking her abroad
the location a secret
then a week before
you dropped the bomb
"I'm not happy
I want a divorce"
which I could have understood
if it wasn't for the cowardice
which ran through your veins
Old Man,
and I hate you
because I love you
because I can't forget
what you've done for me
the opportunities I've been given
and maybe it wouldn't hurt so much
If I hadn't heard my Mum
sobbing her eyes out on Christmas Eve
so here I am
a prospective college drop out
with nothing but words to cling to
and a determination
to prove everybody wrong
who made comparisons between us
and like I said,
I still love you
but that doesn't mean
that I won't dedicate my life
to undermining everything you wanted
but never had,
Dad,
I'm going to be your worst nightmare
evidence that
You can follow your dreams
and still be a good person
free of coward blood
evidence that
you made the biggest
******* mistake of your life
I will be everything you could have been,
but failed at
Old man,
I love you,
and I thank you
from the bottom of my heart
but at the same time
*******
for teaching me the most important lesson
To let your passions die
cut's deepest of all
Love from
your once and always
son

the world is wrapped in plastic
and our feelings can be found
through a binary language
in the internet web of deceit
and the only thing we feel strongly about
is our own apathy
and maybe our phones
the culture's obsession with Zombies
makes sense if art mirrors life
we walk around looking through empty glass eyes
and make fake relationships
with people
who barely even exist
we grow up
and fill the shoes
which were left for us
at different points
on our journeys
generations of Russian nesting dolls
the few of us who want to live
are drowned in debt and ***** looks
and Jesus Christ
one day we'll be in charge
of the entire ******* planet
just think about that

I told her
You don’t want any part of this
I’m a promise broken on the cracked surface
of loose lips going down with sinking ships
but I’m the rat fleeing the wreckage
to wash up on your shore
carrying the plague of free thought
and loud voices
she said
you don’t know what I want
and you don’t know what I need
and she was right
but she didn’t need to be my muse
all the others I’ve thrown empty and lifeless
in a ditch on the side of the road
which connects my **** to my gut to my heart to my brain
called the I-90 soul
and she says
yeah you go go ahead and pour another
poor ******* you
so down on yourself
because self-loathing
and low self-esteem
are in
and your calculated mask of apathy
is only to draw the people closer
So I said to her
I’m the spider in the web?
and she said
no you’re the abandoned dog
scavenging the streets
growling at strangers
when all you really want is a nice home and a good petting
Most people wouldn’t advise mistaking dogs for wolves
and she said I’m not the one who’s mistaken
listen to me woman
you might think that on the surface it’s all swagger, ego, and witty cynicism
but on nights spent lonesome
I waltz with my madness beneath the chandelier of the killing moon
I smoke and drink to quiet my mind
because no matter how prolific of a writer I am on a given day
I lose more words than I catch
and it drives me to dark corners of my mind
where razor blades and pills sound appealing
and let’s not get started on the selfishness,
she said who isn’t selfish
and I said you will always come second to the words
the only thing I know how to love
because I know how much I hate them at times
know how much I wish they’d stop
my head is full of drunk six year olds careening bumper cars into my skull
and they never go away
they just grow more quiet
and I go through periods of isolation
where any other human presence is just an obstacle of my test
my quest is never ending
just like the great human tragedy
So you don’t want me?
I do, and I want you to want me
but I need you to know
that you shouldn’t
but I’m selfish
I’m hungry for validation
and I can’t lie
the way you look in that outfit
looks like my next best poem
so sure,
be mine,
but remember that I warned you
the thing is about writers
we are as passionate as they come
but you won’t find a more fickle bunch

frozen lakes
leafless trees
blank faces
numb
everything numb
self medicated
desensitized
he misses the feeling of tears
he misses the feeling
disconnected
and the life boats
are slowly going out of sight
people, people everywhere
with no thoughts to think
he looks for something
which can crack the shell

Chivalry is dead
and it was killed by the fairer ***
lipstick red cigarette butts
and wine glasses
squeezing the trigger
to complacency
and if romance is dead
then I guess I'm a necrophiliac
because I still believe in the chase
and the grand gestures
and don't tell my male friends
but I cling to the stories of true love
like a kid too stubborn to believe
that Santa is really just old ma and pops
blown out in a haze of smoke
the dust cleared to clarify
that crazy chaotic chances
won't always land on snake eyes
but I keep throwing the die anyway
and one day I'll die
and then I'll die a second time
when my words die
and maybe I'll be proven wrong
and be alone
but I won't stop
I can't be an atheist
because I understand all too well
the depth of the well of faith
so I'll keep on walking like a blind man
carrying my romances around with me in a hobo sack
until I find what I'm looking for

got a new health system for the new wealth victims
take it on good good faith
why try communicate
when the fake and faceless
don't seek illumination
all across the nation
we've got nothing except teenagers coughing
racing each other to the coffin
dear God will this globe stop spinning long enough
for me to tough out these spins
I'm sweating on the bathroom floor
losing all the words I could never ignore
and yeah I like to live in the similes and metaphors
but I'm just looking for a ***** of Babylonia
moaning on the phone as again as I **** my paper n' pen
give me an acoustic mariachi quartet in the morning
urge me from snoring dreams of soaring
because rent is due
and I'm way too broke to waste so much time
sitting here writing for dimes and nickel spots
fraudulent paychecks not enough to cut it
no room left to say **** it
something has to put a stop to this
we've been playing chicken for too long
with your favorite song on repeat on my radio
the flowers are now in bloom
until another winter brings their doom
and we ally say it's too soon
so pour another tall drink into the kitchen sink
and make some time to think
if we keep treading water like this
eventually we'll all sink

The neo-hippies were all in play
dancing from the hips while playing the bongo drums
talking about love and peace
feeling like a mix of molly, ***, and pbr
and the anti-frat guys were there
everything they do is just to be the opposite of the norm
they don't actually live a life
they just deny others
and my friends were there
bombed out of their brains
seeing strangers as if they were old friends
with smiles on their faces
and arms around shoulders
and a resounding chorus of slurred pub songs
and there were the strangers
leaning up against fences
or standing by the fridge
hoping somebody they know shows up
or hoping that somebody would talk to them
hoping they aren't as awkward as they feel
then there is the wannabe DJ
he brought his ipod
and his taste in music is just so incredible
that you need to hear it before you die
and wouldn't you know?
it's nothing but bass and generational fads
all of these people mesh together
and together they create
something which is just
so
boring

I know I did my thing
whatever the **** that is
but I have never
been more graced
than the moment I actually met you
you perfect ******* girl
who is so not perfect
our lives are intertwined with ****
I know it better than most
but baby listen here
it's a wild world
and we've always had fun
so i know the time is coming
where our fun
is less fun than actuallity
but I don't want that to happen
I cling to our time together
like a child
clings to his first memory of Christmas
because you have shaped me
to be good,
******,
mean,
loving,
caring,
desperate,
and as time goes on
My life shrinks away
like the time we have left
so please
ignore my flaws
and perfections
show me how
the world ends

call this college drop out a cab
to take him back to the good path
and find some gauze to stuff that mouth
because it's full of too many
**** its
but the thing is
it's easy to worry about the things which don't matter
when you're searching for a reason for the spawning of your matter
and I've never had that problem
I used to wonder why I wasn't born
some poor African kid with a bloated stomach and a war lord
then I figured that it's because I'm real freaking lucky
but it's funny
to see so many people
hopping around like bunnies
worried about the fight between what's good and evil
when all I'm thinking is
holy mother of God
that girl has a nice ***
or Jesus Christ
is it really four O'clock already
I think I sold my soul
not to the devil
he's a real *******
I think I sold it
to the people born in the shadow of the hill
because they really could use it
then again
I probably just dropped it in the toilet
when I was taking a ****
so ***** my soul
and ***** yours too
because we are all about to die
in the grand scheme of things
and nobody one hundred years from now
will probably ever say
*at least he had a good soul

I used to pray a lot
knees to carpet
elbows on the edge of my bed
hands in the humble position
Dear God,
say hi to Granddad for me,
I hope he’s doing okay up there
waiting for us
I’ve been doing good
but I would really love it
if you could give me super powers -
I swear to use them right -
thanks God
-Harry

God never favorited any of my tweets
never liked any of my pictures
never poked me back
but that doesn’t mean much
in the ways of existence
I think He just doesn’t like to be bothered
and I never heard back about my Granddad
and I still have no super powers
but I am still here
and the weather outside
is ******* magical

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

under all the beds
in every closet ajar
these things are very real
the thoughts suppressed
the last cold breath
the moment before death
the void between all things
all the green paper life rafts in the world
won't stop the blood from seeping into so many lungs
and one day
long after recess laughter
and birthday morning smiles
these things will dance under the harvest moon
they are drowning the children in the rivers of Madison Avenue
and shaping them to soldiers of the dull
shooting innocents point blank in the face
with pop-up ads
The fry cook king
laughing at the bloated corpses
holding up his monuments
a shadow will break through the clouds
and consume the flickering candles
waiting to go out
in the metaphorical cave

I'd sign every letter I write you with a kiss
Only Manila envelopes taste like ****
Besides,
Who the hell writes letters anymore?

And from his lips leapt silence
silence which says so much
beneath the layers
of its dead nothingness
And in his head rests madness
like a tire fire
he breathes out black toxic smoke
And in his heart
he screams out
Won't somebody help me,
can't you see I'm drowning here?
but they don't
whether it's pride
or arrogance
or whether those two things
are one in the same
his silence shrouds him
Nobody hears your silence

I'm writing this from my phone
Winter forgot to wake up
So now the kids play in the streets
And it's one of those days
That attacks you with a smile
You can't quite shake
Give me your tears
And I'll make you a tall glass
Of half full
Excuse me ma'am
But your self esteem is showing
And it looks like you could use some more
I have an ego
Locked away in the basement
And occasionally I feed it
Smiles from pretty girls
And likes on my work
The car has no gas
I have barely enough dough
To pay the power bill
But everything's all Henry miller
Because I decided to start living in day dreams
So if you pull up next to me at a red
And find me laughing to myself
Feel free to join In

Poetry taught me ******* myself
poetry taught me why I shouldn’t
poetry taught me that sometimes
a laugh is a whole lot more than a laugh
and poetry helped me get back in touch
with all of my long lost tears
poetry taught me that girls at a party
love a poet
but girls at a party
don’t know a ****** thing about poetry
poetry taught me that that doesn’t matter
I’ve got a **** and we’re all just animals
poetry taught me how to talk to girls
poetry taught me that I’m the type of guy
who strikes out way less on the page
Ermmm… yeah. Do ya like music?
poetry taught me that getting high
results in crashing lows
and it’s the ascent/descent which breeds art
passion comes from the destinations
poetry taught me honesty
and how to make a lie sound truthful
poetry taught me life and death
and made nihilism seem hip
poetry taught me that my Mum is on occasion
a crazy woman
and that my Dad is more like me than I’d like to admit
poetry taught me that that is all okay
poetry taught me how to be okay in the passenger seat
but also when to take the steering wheel by force
poetry taught me how to make the glint of
a neon sign reflected by a broken forty ounce bottle
into a dazzling beam of lunar light
poetry has taught me a lot
and I’m eager to learn

She had a pair of bright eyes
somewhere between hazel and green
he was never much good at colors
there's a spark in those big eyes
which carries a hint of
I don't know what's going to happen next
and her pouted lips
raise at one corner
to suggest
she prefers not knowing what's next
"Oh Miss bright eyes,
won't you come for me?"
he sighs
in the early morning
and before his drunk head
rests on that pillow
She makes the closet romantic in him
want to write a whole bunch of things
his friends would call gay
and he doesn't care
she has him now
caught in the spell she cast
with the gyrations of her hips
in sync with the drum beats
which ring out from the basement speakers
his bright eyed girl of mystery
and adventure
and maybe love
He has always had a thing
for bright eyed girls

At the desk of my childhood bedroom
the chair with no stuffing
the window open where I stole smoke breaks
the wood stained ink and graphite
a pen: black
a journal: leather bound and lined
I used to doodle in classrooms rather than take notes
and that's what these poems are
silly squiggles from a mind too preoccupied to listen
and I'd like to hold onto this habit until I'm old and grey
and I hope
that I am still not listening

Make me famous
take my name and stake it in the ground
call me your savior
a blazing stranger
ranger of your unsaid thoughts
make me famous
give me the limelight
and kiss my picture each night
before you fall to sleep
only so you can dream of me
let me tell you how to be
how to live
how to give me your attention
while all the kids sitting in detention
quote my ****
make me famous
I’ll sell your shoes
I’ll be the brand logo of your clothing line
I’ll be the most loco average Joe shmo
to ever come winking across your television set
my Mind set is set in its ways
ready set go
and let the words flow poetic
so all the people can worship me: Pathetic
Make me famous
so I can reach apathetic kids
and convince them that I have all the answers they need
and for a small fee -
a tithe of everything you are -
I can teach you things you never knew you needed to know
while I drive my flashy, new car
I’ll crash it on the strip
flip a few bills to some cops
before blowing my intake at the *******
I’ll sell you a page of happiness for your soul
the sole survivor of a time the history books burned
my life takes a turn towards neon tribute
while I look for something a little stronger to shoot
If I were a little younger I’d probably be knocking on your front door
after your loot
looting words from the thin air and ****** them
making them state the statements that I hold dear
just so I can have your ear for a few minutes
and I’ll never be finished
long after my body is dead and gone
my name will be spoken in hushed tones
by young poets, scribblers, and thinkers
across the plains of save us
once they make me famous

Take the bottle of Jameson
my favorite one
triple distilled like a loaded gun
Imported Irish whiskey
makes you feel frisky
so drink up quickly
before the bottle's gone
Pass it around to and fro
lost in a thousand gulps
a quickly slowing pulse
my favorite flavor
my one true savior

Get drunk
Or high
Work out
Apathy
Hypersensitivity
Violence
Witty
Fathoms deep
Feel the swell of a universe
So full of life
It all repeats
Make the canvas
Something beautiful

Like Lynyrd Skynyrd
I'm as free as a bird
and lord help me
I don't want to change

She was everything he was not
He was everything she wanted
She was a nervous wreck
he was too, but in denial
She wanted to save him
from not wanting to be saved
He wanted to protect her
from whatever might come
they were young
and yes,
they were stupid too
just like everybody else
She went away
He stayed a hometown boy
who wasn't at home
She could sing
He could listen
she was a wild child
looking for a port to settle
he was a nice guy
looking for something
not so nice
children of divorce
kindled a feeling of
let's make this work no matter what
and maybe it won't
they don't seem to care
too many romcoms
and too many chipped shoulders
all they wanted
was to write
their own love story

Crazy
one word
which says so much
what is more crazy
than defining sanity
they say I'm crazy
I say who isn't
I'm sane because I know
that to be sane is impossible
my mind wanders
and sometimes it races
sometimes I think so much
that I get paranoid
and hide beneath the covers
so that maybe
I can sleep forever
But if I'm crazy
then it means there is no hope for the sane
a massive army which covers the globe
from pole to pole
tropic to tundra
seemingly infinite
they walk around
filling their humanity
with nifty trinkets
like magpies
they see something shiny
and take it back to their nests
where their malnourished children
feed on the neglect
I might be crazy
and thank God for that

You walk in the door
Immediately you are aware of the competition
13 or 14 other guys
Who you imagine
Slobbering and panting
Over one of the few
Available females in the place
An you get mad
Jealous even
Over something
You were no where near having
This party *****
A total sausage fest
We should roll out
I'm sure,
the next party will be different
What are we
Always celebrating?

flying high,
set sail for broader horizons
try not to die
or disturb my comfortable silence
don't even try
to spark up any violence
just sit back, unwind
and listen to the guitar strings

melt into that couch
and block out the world
wash away all the ouch
and money and girls
become a total slouch
and laugh as the room twirls
just sit in that pouch
of a world undisturbed

but don't fly too close to the sun
best not to end up like
Icarus, the fallen son
because we don't end up in an ocean of water
we just burn ourselves up like lambs to slaughter.
so remember, take it easy
when you are trying to take it easy

I used to love all of the drama
all of the *******
I was never a part of it
always off in the corner
watching,
observing,
unknown
the "struggles" my friends encountered
"My boyfriend is a ******"
oh no, please tell me more,
"He likes other girls"
you don't say
"My best friend didn't pay,
for the **** I loaned him"
what a *****
you should probably fight him
go ahead,
feed me what I need,
I won't tell
I have always been best at
being a blank canvas

It's been a long and strange trip. but don't fret - it isn't yet at the end point. I've always loved the morning, but I'm far from a morning person. Which seems pretty symbolic to me, but I'm an English major so it's kind of my job to be overly analytic. The hardest part about growing up is keeping track of who you are, and trying to figure out if who you are going to be matches with who you want to be. The smell old Bukowski's ashtray clings to my clothes. and everything that I don't have the courage to say out loud can be seen in my eyes and the lines of my face. And I know this will sound absolutely ******* ridiculous - but in modern society it's hard to be a man. gone are the days of Clint Eastwood kicking *** and taking names. All we have now are morons and ****** bags. I read somewhere that we are the quitting generation, and that ****** me off. Because the faults of the current generation are always due to the previous generation. But people are ******* by nature who can't take responsibility when their plants begin to wilt. And my Dad quit on me - not the other way around. And I know that this probably isn't fun to read - but frankly I don't give a ****. This isn't something which is going to be published - more so some much needed venting space. And I'm trying to figure out how to bring this thick wall of rambling text to an end, but endings don't really exist. Just unknown places which can not be followed. so instead of assaulting your eyes and your poetic sensibilities for another ten lines I will say this: If you read this and didn't immediately think of killing me or yourself, then thank you. If you did, then feel free to pretend I never had the gall to write such an ugly, boring, self-indulgent piece. And I hope you all have a nice a day

It's funny, y'know?
every guy
dreams of
a girl
around eighteen or so
wide hips
a tight ***
firm *******
flawless skin
perfect hair
kissable lips
and eyes you could drown in
then a guy meets one of these
magazine girls
and she tells him
she wants nothing to do with him
at which point
she changes in the blink of an eye
from an image of divine perfection
into just another
******* ******* ****
it's funny how that works out

I met Jack and James in the 9th grade
a Tennessee farm boy and an Irish *******
they were wild
they didn't listen to parents
or teachers
or me
they knew how to destroy and dismantle
and from the rubble they made their nests
they showed me good times
backed me up in bad
even introduced me to girls
like Mary,
in her sweatpants and poncho
no make up
talking about the universe
we first kissed the summer before 10th grade
everything was so ******* rosy
Me, Jack, James, and Mary versus the world
we were going to do big things
and ***** anybody who said no
we weren't the type to take any ****
but years went by
them sleeping on my floor
my couch
my bed
using my bathroom
my money
Jack and James started the fights
I got the bruises
While Mary sits on the couch
eating potato chips
and talking about her next great idea to change the world
I got the bills
I told them,
enough is enough
but that is never the case
now I sleep in a grave
they were kind enough to dig
with friends like these,
who has time for enemies?

I knew a kid
who would skip school
and get drunk
every other day
he's in rehab now
and I haven't talked to him
in two years now

I knew a kid
who would go to the river
every weekend
to do *******
and whippits
he's in rehab now
I haven't talked to him
in a year now

I knew a girl
who was an alcoholic pill head
every weekend
she would parade around parties
trying to find a man
who could make her forget
she was nothing but trouble
I don't want to see her again

My best friend
spends too much time
with his nose pressed up
against upturned mirrors
and I worry about him
I wonder when I will speak to him
for the last time

My own brother
every morning
can be heard inhaling
keyboard duster
with the added bitterant
to disuade abuse
and I worry that I might become him

Everyday I stay inside
too many problems
wake up in the real world
so I either get
really **** high
or good and drunk
to keep everybody outside
I haven't talked to myself
in quite some time now

We all have our problems
all of our heads are ****** up
in one way or another
but we'll be alright
everything is going to be
alright

caught a slug from the green bullet
as blood vessels rush to the surface
of tired eyeballs
which sit atop
a mountain of wrinkly black trash bags
he coughs up everything but his blood
blood which visits every *****
every muscle
every hiding place
bringing the body quaking
rips of sad clown laughter
tearing through strained necks
and tears
the monologue is off the leash
echoing down hallway after hallway
finding an empty abandoned room
to hole up in and wait for respite
the green bullet
which he loaded himself

it's all alright
quit worrying so much
for just one second
you did everything they asked on the app
wrote your essay
brought it to the lady at the front desk who irked you so when she asked,
"You've never been abroad?"
you'll get in
walk through the door onto that plane
maybe a 767
maybe some other form of human packaging
mixing elbows and hips with everyone else bound for the country I once called home
it'll be about seven hours of careening through the air
seven hours an angel
Heathrow is crowded and a wave of people threatens to take you in their riptide
but you'll be better than fine
in the middle of all of those great buildings
I mean,
****,
it's London:
one of the greatest cities in the world
and if anybody should be there
it's you
and you might get lost over there
in all of the faces of strangers and opportunity
and that makes me happy
it really does
but at the same time
I'll be here in Richmond
good old Richmond
our Richmond
doing my best to be supportive
doing my best to walk the straight edge
between waiting and living
doing my best to get your face out from behind closed eyes
You're going to London
and I'm going crazy

Me - “My Mum’s getting worried” skinny
You - “God I want you right now” beautiful
Us - “Are they hanging a painting up?” loud
It’s release kindled with belief
that you could find that corresponding jigsaw piece
and I’m a corner piece - easy
and you are an outdoor cat - hardly tame
in that pair of black workout pants
and that flowing dark hair
You are like Spanish
beautiful, strange thing I can’t get my tongue around
I’m like somebody lmaoing on a chat room
efficient with my lack of substance
laying on the bed watching you get dressed
I drag on my imaginary post-******
because I know you hate the smell of the real thing
unless its staleness is imprinted deep in my clothes
this disease has no known cure
the way the images slideshow their way behind my eyes
the way my blood is rerouted
every time I catch a smell of your sweat
or a memory of your taste
like faces on passing trains -
eyes locked momentarily
I went from student to drop out to student to lover of life
if life were a metaphor for the way you move those hips
you said you don’t know how to dance
well your tongue must’ve been taking night classes
maybe one day I’ll ask your last name
maybe one night you’ll say mine like a confession
but until then, special little stranger, keep bringing that *** over to my place

You are getting nosebleeds at all the wrong times
the tears welling up behind your eyes to track down  your
pale, pockmarked cheek
and that bulging in your throat constricting the airflow
let’s you know that fast can be too fast
you thrive with the sunlight
but like flowers standing tall against the oncoming winter
you wilt with day’s last breath
what time did you get home this morning?
hair all matted and stood up
smelling like a sorority party massacre
glitter, wine, tequila, coke, and anonymous ****
take another adderall
******* for the bored children
feel the electrical signals pulse from your brain
to snap your pupils to attention
wash the ***** out of your hair sweet heart
the boys back home never talked to you the way these city boys do
“girl, *****, chick, ****, ***** -”
“oh her? yeah she’s a sure ****
her legs are like seven eleven
they’re not always doing business, but they’re always open…”
So forget the night ever happened
each day brings new opportunities
but they all want you
they all want one thing from you
and you don’t want to say no
don’t want to make them mad,
be a tease, a *****, frigid
and you like the way they make you feel special and beautiful
until the next morning
with the nosebleeds and the dry heaving in strange toilets
and you are waiting for Prince Charming, huh?
as if he will jump out of cheesy romcoms and magazines to hold you steady
well Prince charming is dead weight slowly spinning beneath a frayed, twisted rope
in a dark closet next to the nameless stranger and the noble outlaw
so go ahead and smash those mirrors sweetheart
what’s seven years more bad luck?

We were dandelion seeds cast out by the aimlessly reaching kick of a child
a God who we had never heard from
as we ran amok the coast of North Carolina
the beach calling to us a challenge sent forth from the end of all things
an experience that would stay with us well after we had washed the sand from between our toes
The world was lit up through a golden screen of carelessness
and our sunburned skin quickly hardened and the salt made it leathery
drinking from the chalice of fading youth
we came alive like machines and hailed the night
the nights where we became a wash in lust and solo cups full of tears
tears we never let loose because we needed all the water we could get
we ate space cake and counted the stars as they blinked at us
urging us to communicate and comprehend the message of the forever unfurling cosmos
The mornings were ruby and sapphire clashing where heaven meets the horizon
and in the cold grasp of the Atlantic we were baptized
emerging fresh and innocent and smooth
The seagulls left us alone after sensing our leap into desperation
and every face was the face of a long lost friend
we never knew we even had
Police cars were taxis and untold punchlines
and the word adult was blasphemy
we bathed our arms in holy fire and sent smoke signals out to nobody
which read:
we are here in the midst of all things. We are what we make of ourselves and we reserve the right to not know the answers
dancing inside the expansive night of your mouth
where each tooth protruding from pink exclamation was its own full moon
and your tongue an opal rendition of the sisyphusian tides
we eroded our soul against the ceaseless crash of waves
and fell asleep where we were last standing
we took hallucinogenic mushrooms and spat in the face of the old ideals
and in the chaos all we were really trying to do
was forge ourselves strong
in all the places we feared were most vulnerable
we wanted to come out of it strong
unchanged
wholly us
…
but did we?

Natural light pours in from open windows
and my room turns gold
until the sun passes behind the clouds
and my room is a mess
and my head aint too clean either
everything smells like cigarette smoke
and stale beer
like homeless sweat
I only sweat the small stuff
and wade carelessly through the big
like a child playing in the ocean
My tongue gets tied
when I try to scream
help is charity
and who wants to be a charity case?
I'd rather just drink a case of beer
and let drunk Harry play with the reins for a few hours

would you be offended
if I compared you to an alarm clock?
because you make me
wake the hell up
and maybe that ****** me off
a born seeker of silence
but i know
that if you hadn't
there would be so much
that I would miss
and to be honest
when you don't wake me up
a beautiful song
just the wrong place, right time
I miss you