I fell asleep after "Good Morning, Vietnam":

I can feel it all, in your hair.
Under trees.
Flying above the stratosphere.
My arms extended.
The skin burning off my torso-
struggling to breathe,
with a smile on my face.

(Canned laughter)

You're in a living room.
You are me.

I dug into my chest and petted my heart.
Groaning, the blood swam around my hands
and ate it's way up my forearm,
to my elbow,
to my neck,
to my chin,
to my lips.
"I can ******* blood,"
an internal piece of dialogue.

She whispers in your ear,
"I know who you are."
I am you.

I cut my voice on the air, calling out for her.

Why'd you abandon me?
I love you so ******* much.

Why'd you abandon me?
I love you so ******* much.

(Canned laughter)

Why'd you abandon me?
I love you so *******-

You are in my room.
I am you.
We are everything,
and we are nothing.

That's my mirror.
It's shattered.

Hey, there I am on the ground.

There's a brunette, mediocre poet.
It's shattered.

And on my hand are specs of heated sand,
sleeping in my skin-
a glass garden.

How can one find schizophrenic kisses
in a reflection.

(Canned laughter)

I said, "How can one find-"

There are pleas
that disguise themselves
in trees
that whisper in the dark-
Like a crinkle in a kiss,
or the words that you'll miss;
too late for meds,
too late for sleep
this time.

We ride on the beaches
with cool kids and leeches.
We **** blow off the ground
because there are times you feel,
and some you fake
when everyone is around.
The bodies in red
that you leave in your head.

The trees tesellate
into nooses and goodbyes.
And I swear this isn't the first time
that you've loved me
like it's the last time;
when I've been something to lose.
The love you have
is the love you refuse.

Your cries are milk-
I wish your cancer was mine.
To be a mistake.
To be left behind.

In a dark and distant galaxy-
Upon a new world I seek-
You're healthy and smiling-
because, because, because, because
there is nothing as romantic
as dying on your kitchen floor-
There is nothing romantic
about waiting for you
to come home
from war.

Daughter, daughter
on the wall-
Why'd you let your picture fall?
Killing yourself for instant
pseudo-safety-
Killing yourself for nothing, maybe-
But the gun is still pretend enough
to put into your mouth and bluff
And say that no one can
save you now-
because, because, because, because:

You are your own lover
and you are your own daughter.
And you're left in hot water
but you stay in to try to forget
that you're cold inside.
And you drown yourself
so you can hide.

Xeroxed vitals on paperplanes
Crashing into window panes
Broken-heart blisters and voyeuristic veins
Appear and create transparent glass stains
Blue-Green grass on the other side
Laying there, our fathers died
Dreams and streams of alcohol
Run from their mouths with no control.
Shaking, breaking, no where to decompose
Skin peeling off of worn down toes.
Tell me where their love goes
Tell me where their love goes
Everything turned into gun-shy eyes
Blue-lipped Sunday surprise
Bodies breaking into waiting
This is nothing but carbon dating
Bottles breaking of ***** that's so clear
That I won't see until they're near
God and Jesus in picture frames
Suburban families with jungle brains
Broken homes and replacement Brad's
401 k's and missing ads
Finding our homes that aren't so black and white
Let us sleep in our dreams tonight
Validation through our existence
Is dead but still our resistance

i love you this morning
it's a come home safe morning
fog on the road
& no seatbelt kind of morning
the sun is over easy
& nothing's on fire
there's punctuation
where i don't want it
and extra love
in the glovebox of my car
been thinking about being honest
how these poems are all me
but they tell the story
how someone else
might believe it happened
within reasonable doubt
no copy & pasted love letters
no 'who ever says hello first gets my attention for the day'
try a little tenderness
in my ears and today
there are instruments
in the back of my head
i think you love me
because i'm sunburned
felt it in a 'come hell or high water' kinda way, that 'touched from far away' kinda way that 'if i touch this piano one more time one of us is going to break' kinda way
and i drove over 17 bridges yesterday and today i'll do it again
and i think nobody gets
what that means except maybe you
i just tell them i love the scenery
that somebody must've made
these trees blush just for me
you know how i love
to change the subject
i bet they'd love the view
i bet you would too
and all these metaphors
for other things are beside the point
this is a metaphor
for why i don't wear my seatbelt
a metaphor for why whiskey
knows me better than you
could ever try to
all the buildings seemed to sag yesterday and all the stars
are doing that cliche thing
where they talk
quiet jet noise
& some lumbering giant
made everything shake
not those hand metaphors
not another one of those
& keep the sea to yourself
i think it was a train
it's sound hugged the embankment
for a moment
and then trailed off into nowhere
and that's kind of like me
how there's a town called 'rescue'
close to my home &
it's no coincidence
that i've never been there

Monday morning vultures at your feet
Carelessly as you sleep
Sentimental weeping not without a blind headache
I imagine that you'd run away

I was carried to a burning landscape by the arms of trees
I dug my hands into the soil and pulled out the spine of the terrain
I love with the curiosity of acidic rain
And the fire that burns inside burns through the smother of pain

Floating onto too much too soon, to be without an impending doom,
and to shame my feelings to a newly familiar tune,
brings what was happiness
and transforms it into sitting alone in a dark room
muttering, "I was happy, I was carried into a heart by the arms of trees."

Being in this class
reminds me
of how unhappy
I am.
It reminds me
of all the dreams
and goals that
I want to accomplish.
The freedom
that I linger for
in my life.
The people that
I want to meet
and all the knowledge
that I want to
acquire before
I reach weakening
bones and white hair.

I want to live.