“The electron cloud model says that we cannot know exactly where an electron is at any given time, but the electrons are more likely to be in specific areas.”

He drives too fast
Trees blur like a fake Monet
Feet planted on the dash
Someone soaked my tongue in *****
Lined my mouth in velvet
And put me in a box playing Elton John
Moving too slow

Eyes shut, I dream of a linoleum floor
A black front door with a gold knocker
A friend, a dog, a tomato garden, a swing
A crystal placed in a window, creating color
A smell of lavender and thyme and sun
A mom and a dad and a home
Places I couldn’t wait to leave

Cold wood floor in the morning
A stark white door with a peephole
A lawyer, a moving truck, a wheeze, a fear
A stack of boxes, collecting dust
A trip to a hospital and a wedding and a job
A disease and a stepmom and a

He drives too fast

your mouth tastes like all the sweet words
you did not mean
rotting between your teeth
gin on your breath
exhale
i take a shot
every stroke of you inside of me
is proof
i love the pain

Her black tongue between cracked lips
Slack-jawed by what is behind her eyelids
Malignant
A handful of shallow breaths every 60 seconds
Blood pressure plummets
Heart rate rises
Under water
She gurgles
Chokes
A cough

"It's just a cough, Heather. I’m okay.”

Body begins blank
You press me to fill it with words
"Did you write in your journal today, Heather? Stop making excuses."
I like to write about you
How you make me feel like I have a belly full of honey and potential and nostalgia
And how that weighs on the lightness that
I have been a ******* warrior to attain
Your hand on my thigh holds me together
like the sky holds you against the surface of the ocean when you lie still
And later on, when you kiss all the places your hands wander, it's hard to not love you
"What's your biggest fear? Write about that."

"Write about the things you won't tell me"

Mommy hid her ***** in the china cabinet in the dining room
She liked her naps on the linoleum floor by the dishwasher and
She taught me that wine tastes best from a box
We danced in the kitchen before daddy came home
I stepped on her toes and I could see her double chin and yellow teeth
I was graceful and she was beautiful and the Dixie Chicks were sincere
The dog barked, the time marked
I didn't know any better

Daddy turned the music down
And mommy got her face stuck on the end of her cigarette

....

My friend, she drives down the road
She says the leaves droop down when
The rain is coming
She says the trees are far too still,
It'll be a nasty one

Myself, I listen to her
I think about you, the almighty
Storm
I think about me, pulling myself in,
Keeping my back to you
Shaped like the leaf

Your breath blows on the back of my neck while we sleep
And the knot in my gut is still

i could have been a mom this week
but i did that thing of which you
do not speak

the helicopter's searchlight
against the trees project the
shadows of leaves bobbing in the street to
impersonate the reflection of water
it looks beautiful, honestly
until the
slaps of my soles on
suspect blacktop bring me
back and i wonder
who the hell they're looking for

please forgive me
if i don't talk much
there's too much conversation
in my head
and to speak anything
into existence
would be unnecessary

roses are red
violets are blue
you ******* *****

he sank the entire ship
just to **** his captain.

back to the basics
of vibrating atoms
geometric patterns
accept reality
as a projection
of senses and
unseen dimensions
attract what you need
and always feed the dream.

sitting on my bed
i have to ***
all the **** is gone
the screen is still blank
that stupid line blinks
i feel something
something powerful
but it won't come out
so i sit here looking
dumb
until i write a
****** poem about
how i can't write.

think of the sunrise
that will bloom a new day over
your grave
or the tree that will give you shade
whose roots will cradle your casket.

i can see the weight
of a long heavy sleep
resting on your
eyelids.

you're ready to
close up shop
and pull the
shades down tight.

play dead for
a day or two.

soon enough
i'll grow out of spongebob squarepants
in exchange for sponge baths
and square framed reading glasses.

my insides
are too
acidic to
host a
fragile thing
like love.

something must be
broken in that
area of broca's

i'd like my thoughts to
be immaculate but
it's rather hard to
articulate or decipher
my synapses' patterns
in a logical manner

the last frontier of my
subconscious somewhere
in here

but in uncharted
territory lies some kind
of fear.

all the tiny wires
in my wrist
unsure which
to cut
to disarm
the bomb.

i'll be riding my
bike through the
dilapidated streets
listening to the
gorillaz because i'm
on the planet of the
apes

this girl,
this poor deluded
girl.

all the things she
almost said
stuck between her teeth.

the sweet i miss you's
and i love you's
hacking away enamel.

saccharine nothings
disintegrating molars
and canines.

as her teeth drop
from her head
she puts them in her pocket.

just as a little
reminder of the things
that almost were.

my body:
she sits with me under the cold water of the shower and wipes the tears from the lines under my eyes. she lifts me up and wraps her arms around me. she tucks me into bed at night and wakes me each morning, peeling off the comforter and sheets. she tells me i'll be okay, because my lungs still work and my heart still beats. she loves me when nobody else can.

i ran out of distractions
now melancholy fills
the room.

the blonde hair and blue eyes
are just my disguise
i have a vicious dark mind
though i smile and try to be kind
if only you could realize
that it's all silly lies
there's no need to cry
but don't let it slip by

counting down the days till i choke on the words i should have spoke and
croak just like every other bloke
beaten and worn like a queen between spokes
sitting in the bathroom cutting lines of coke
bask and soak in the stale smoke
i could end it all in one swift stroke or
at the end of one tight rope
easily provoked and not one to poke fun
i'm the slimy yolk
swallow me raw and i'll crawl
right back up your throat
choke

petty people slaughtering for plastic crowns

just bored tired and uninspired
maybe i'll become a liar
pretend i'm a tire
or runaway to join a band of thieves

for now i'll stick to ******* at bottles
and hope for answers at the bottoms
breathing in the smell of autumn
and try to forget it's just rotting leaves

in being too selfless
the word is most literal
you give little things away
like your favorite sweater
or your special lighter
or your heart
and next thing you
know, everyone
owns you.

usual, run of the mill individualist.

the leaves on the sidewalk
were reduced to an organic
pulp of chlorophyll and cellulose
under the soles of passersby
who didn't even notice
how the ceaseless precipitation
had leeched out the pigments
from these lifeless cells
creating smears of
****** burgundy
that colored the sidewalk
like a toddler with chalk.

sometimes
i pay for
stuff with
change just to
see the horror
on the cashier's
face.

sometimes the fortress around one's heart
isn't there to keep someone out
but rather,
it's there to keep something in.

something so great,
that if let loose,
it will eat you alive.

idiosyncrasy is synonymous with idiotic
while dc is now despotic and chaotic.
personality is peculiar, exotic.
sinful to be ****** or
slip yourself a narcotic.
the world is robotic,
i am astronautic,
i am quixotic,
the smoke is hypnotic,
and i find all of this quite strange.

one pill
two pill
three pill
four
how many pills till i drop to the floor
float like smoke
and kiss the ember goodnight
how many pills till it's all right
xanax and rugrats
high and content
no more stress over what i can't prevent

this is
the twentieth
time i
get to
see the
heat of
summer
dissolve
into the
coolness
of autumn.

and i
can't help
but feel
very lucky.

behind my
eyes there's
a picture
of a boy
he has
a haphazard
half smile
and lips
that beg
for a kiss
his skin
is sun bleached
and his eyes
have more life
than i could
ever fathom.

i like when
words speak for
themselves
and create
their own beat in your brain
i'm not one for fancy things
i like black ink
on white pages
and sentences that are so
well calculated that they
seem effortless

i would prefer to sit
home alone
and read
the fountainhead
the catcher in rye
the metamorphosis
the stranger
i get drunk off plays on words
i get high off clever plots
what keeps me up at
night isn't money
or relationships
it's the fact that
there are so many
lovely books
that have yet to be
in my hands
it's overwhelming
i do not dream
of stacks of currency
or a lover by my side
i dream of paper
covered in ink
and the satisfying
feeling of turning pages

no longer was
she content
walking among the
dead
however there were
none of the living
kind to be found

she didn't understand
their boring jobs
and boring spouses
and boring kids
and boring houses
and boring ***
and boring traditions

she didn't inherit
anything from the
past
she didn't owe
anything to anyone
and she didn't care
to pretend
that she cared

one might call
it hedonistic
but there's no
wrong in
walking away from
anything or anyone
in favor of
walking towards
something better

and this girl
ran as fast as
she could
and found herself
a way to breathe
life into her
existence

if he was red
then i was blue
together we made
the most beautiful
shade of purple

a particular man
dedicated his
entire life
to answer the question
'what is happiness?'
he had loved
and been loved
worked hard
and relished
the fruits of his
labor
he tried his best to
do right by everyone
and never to pass judgment
he had travelled far
and wide
never discriminating
and embracing every
opportunity that came his way
however he never truly felt
himself to be 'happy'
sure he had times of joy
and of course times of sorrow
but some kind of doubt always seemed
to linger in the back of his mind
that he was missing out on something better
that he would rather be somewhere else
and this was ultimately his downfall

he never appreciated what was given
to him in the present
and he failed to realize that happiness
is not something one achieves
but is something that one
creates

happiness is the fleeting moment
that you were in a specific place
at a specific time
and you were a part of something
greater than yourself

you were just a snowflake
in the avalanche