I’m violent by nature
Where even the fondest of nurture
Has only ever been enough to barely suppress
The violence that slips into my unconscious silence
But all these violent thoughts I keep safe
Sitting on a bar stool alone with them
A couple dozen other people around me
Staring at me buying me drinks
Wanting to lace their
Fingers around the base of my skull
Wanting to pull my thoughts forcefully out of me
But I never let them
I will never let them get to you- my violent thoughts
Don’t worry I’ll never let them touch you
I’ll never sell you out
Instead I’ll go home alone tonight, sed for your quiet company
And lay in my bed and let your circle up in me
Spinning around until you are comfortable enough
To spill yourself out onto my dreams
And so you do and unapologetically unleash
Every single thought of hate and of spite
That in my consciousness you are too modest to show.

I never noticed the sound before
When I stumble into sleep at night
The sound of a thousand
Militant ants crawling through my thoughts
Eating them up
Creating mazes of my memories
Now its all I can do to muffle their mouths
Munching on my membranes
Mimicking movements of mimes sprayed with mace
Pacing through their tunnels trotting past my
Old thoughts and lingering ideas
It’s all I can hear now
When I stumble into sleep at night
The slow decay of the little things in my brain
And the hope they eat you away with everything else.

The difference between me and her is that I was built for this ****. I was forged in heartbreak and birthed into quiet suffering, but I’ve conquered my demons and I’ve slept with angels. I’ve been taken advantage of, I’ve robbed, lied and lied to, I’ve been hungry and full, I’ve been drug through the mud and then after I’ve washed myself off time and time again. I was built for this ****, to be the stronger person. To be the person who won’t fall apart, the person who- over time will mend my tiny broken and cut up heart till all that’s left is a bruise and I’ll live with it. To be the person who can take rejection off the hands of someone who wasn’t built for that kind of ****. Never think of me as shattered, but rather a mosaic off all the battles I’ve lost and won. That’s the difference. I can take this ****.

You seem tired of it all
The constant and always puzzle
Of living and doing
Of being and breathing
I am too
Come with me then
And we’ll leave it all far and further away
I’ll knock at your door
With dreams in my eyes
And blankets in my hands
And you’ll still be awake
And you’ll open the door
And if you’d like we’d just leave
I’d take you everywhere that’s different
I’d show you wonderful places
Places nobody else knows
And if you’d like the perfect places of sleep.

You pledge allegiance to a certain type of government.
A nation that is ruled by fat men
in ***** dens who fill the air so heavy with smoke
it tears up your eyes so you can water their poppy fields
and all the while with your right hand over your heart
that beats feverishly with the influx
of toxins that mix with your blood
and dilute the red poppy petal
with clear atoms that bubble on spoons
in the shape of bone crossed skulls.
They rule with iron fists clenched around
green paper that they take from you only
to sell you back  fresh needles as necessary happiness
to counteract the sadness they have created and placed you in.
They sit there with smoke rings coming from o-shaped lips
that ring around the perpetual cycle of
supply and demand-
supplying addiction and wrapping it in itches
and demanding your free left hand scratch
and you do, you scratch so hard that your skin opens up
and the pain requires more relief.
The nation you live in waves its flag with
173 stars representing the heating point at Celsius and not celestial
because space is far away from this place
and it offers too much unknown for you to think
that there is a different world besides the one they own
and maybe there is true happiness there
somewhere where hands are free from swollen veins
that act as puppet strings.
Where bail and bailiffs and bars and blame and
bang your head into brick barriers aren’t standing between you, brother.

If you were to read our story backwards
It would tell the story of how you held me as we slept
How happy we could be with nothing but empty time and a bed
How we kissed, but only a few times and only  real quick
How we ignored how we felt, how we brushed it off
Or how we would talk on the phone until one of us would nod off
How we first met, how silly you must have thought I was
Until one day once upon a time, a long time ago
You forgot about me forever, I wasn’t someone you’d ever know.

I see you now like a wishing well
A fountain of forgotten promises
A graveyard of lost pennies
A ripple like a grapevine echoing the sounds of lost times
So much so that what I wish
What I wish
That when I chucked a quarter at your heart
The one you Guarded with windchimes made of rib bones that sung sweet rhymes
That maybe I’d hit a high note
And you’d think highly of me
And  breathe in all that was good of me
That brought about that musical loud sound that even you couldn’t deny
Sang sweet
But even after all this time I still feel like
I’m playing musical chairs with your exit signs
The red neon lights that echoed a rhythm that sounded like a lullaby
That tune that I could have sworn sounded like a love song
You sang to me
And that you meant it.