MRI, or the stickman’s

first
snowstorm.

a telephone called depression.

we can no more save
the alien
that died
for jesus

than we can write
the dog-whistle
bible.

I’m sad because I’m circumcised.

the scarecrow
has dreams
of becoming
a surgeon.

I’m no expert on sleep. I’m being followed

by a coat hanger.

ask my hand if it’s true that all the babies had to stay in their mothers to survive.

when i say i want it all
i'm not sure what i mean
living like an artist
but struggling like a fool
painted your hand in mine
because i wanted to be led to a sign
i don't know if you truly exist
and i'm not sure if i even care
at this point
blame it on me, blame it on you
i stopped asking for your help
a previous entity ago
i drove off that cliff and died
but a part of me floated upwards
into the clouds, was saved
my echo was here to stay
the circus clowns stopped laughing that day
this was a serious matter
more serious than losing a leg in an accident
or giving birth for the first time
but i never uttered your voice once
when i did the decision making
no one loves you for the right reasons
so why love you at all?

They said we can't be together  
     because our stars don't align
They said our temperaments simply
     can't be put together
They said you're a constellation and
     I am nothing but a comet passing
          by

You said we'd show them that our
     stars do align
You said we'd show them that we
     can manage
You said we'd show them that I am
     not a comet but a meteor shower

But you lied

And that's when I realized

I was indeed your meteor shower
Keeping you happy for a while
But you left when you were no
     longer mesmerized
You left when your eyes fell on the
     Northern Lights

You love with your eyes
And I die a little every day knowing
     that you never loved me with
          your heart

You’re detail oriented,
Always noticing the small things about everyone
How they hold themselves,
The difference in their laughs and smiles
How their smile is around certain people compared to others

You’re detail oriented,
And you notice how she smiles around you,
Only ever doing the same smile around her boyfriend
How she doesn’t check her phone
She laughs like she’s genuinely happy
It makes you feel like you matter

You’re detail oriented,
And you share the same enthusiasm over music and books,
Scouring the shelves of every bookstore you find
You feel at peace with her there,
You feel at peace with her anywhere

You’re detail oriented,
So you immediately notice a change in her
She’s taken up the habit of checking her phone
She seems distracted when you talk,
As if she’s somewhere else entirely
You wonder what’s going on,
It’ll surely pass though

You’re detail oriented,
You can feel a familiar emptiness creeping in to your chest,
It comes around when she’s glued to her phone,
She doesn’t seem to realize you’ve circled the same bookshelf three times now,
Make that four

You’re detail oriented,
Now she feels more like a shadow than a friend who once stood by your side
She’s giving her phone small grins,
You notice she’s texting someone,
It’s not her boyfriend
This will surely pass

You’re detail oriented,
She’s been mentioning this girl a lot,
Apparently they’re growing close,
You decide to ignore that emptiness that crawls into your heart

You’re detail oriented,
And you’re not one for jealousy,
Something isn’t the same anymore though
She no longer smiles as brightly when you’re around,
She’s always texting now,
And she’s mentioning that other girl
You’re not one for jealousy,
But you’ve never felt more alone

You’re detail oriented,
So you see how huge her grin is when you meet this girl,
They talk as if you’re not there,
You insert yourself into the conversation and suddenly you don’t feel welcome
Hopefully this will pass soon

She’s detail oriented,
Yet she hasn’t noticed how you become quiet when she mentions the girl,
Or how you no longer speak up first to vent
She doesn’t notice that you walked her around the same bookshelf seven times
Or that you just told her it’s been a year since major depression consumed you
She doesn’t notice that your jaw clenches when you watch her walk into that girl,
Or that you’ve suddenly become preoccupied with the hem of your shirt as they talk
She doesn’t notice your silence,
That girl just sent her a text and so did her boyfriend
That emptiness is suddenly filling your lungs and you feel like suffocating

You’re both detail oriented,
You want to tell her how you’ve been feeling,
But you know how she’ll react
It’s best to just stay silent

You’re detail oriented,
You feel her slipping away first,
Before she even realizes it
She just got another text,
And you’re getting tired of circling the bookshelf

i've been desperately trying to find
a piece of you,
in everything i have left.
in the inhalation of salty air,
behind a camera lens,
through someone else's eyes.
you're missing in my heart,
and don't want to be found.

It's loud.

Violet, Blue, and Green lights
scatter across the floor,
across a canvas of house music,
echoing back into itself.

She crawls towards me,
wearing only poorly inked tattoos
and the lights that kiss us all.

I touch myself,
wishing it was her.

- I leave the room,
the music fading away,
like retreating from
sound-carrying-birds -

The smoke that comes from the cigarette
forms a skeletal web, reaching for the moon.
With rain slapping the dark brick walls,
hugging and creating an alley reminiscent
of a salivating, crooked-cement mouth,
I stand drenched in silver forgotten.

I drop the cigarette in a petrol-colored puddle,
watching it sink, become hard to distinguish,
and fade away.

- I reenter the room,
the song has changed
and is more mechanical. -

It's loud.

The lights are now
Bubblegum, Aqua, and Tangerine.
She lays supine, watching dollars
drift down, slowly, almost frozen.
Then the splitting of the air.

Fat-Man's body does a half-spin
as I lodge a bullet into his obese shoulder.
The music still blares, almost meaning more, now.
Regrouping himself, Fat-Man is weaponized,
drawing a greasy, inky blaster, desperate to spit.

A supernova erupts and quickly disappears--
like the aftermath of blowing birthday candles--
as his black speckled, crewcut scalp peels back,
letting fragments of chalky skull and pink penne
***** out of his square, boxed head.

Blood appears black under these lights
and instantly whips across
Samantha's still supine body.
The remaining people in the room
scatter like light exposed roaches.

Haunted, she is a toppled statue.
My steps move with the rhythm of the song.

Fat-Man's leather jacket
holds more meat than some mouths.
I plant my hand inside all pockets, find $6,480
in greasy, bloodier-than-usual presidents,
and move towards her, with the music.

Crouching beside her, I wipe the blood.
I clean her pale, tense torso
and help her up.

On two painted feet, she looks detached.
Silence exists, now, despite the music,
while she studies me with the same brown eyes.
Her lips quiver, she remembers
and wraps me with much thinner arms
that used to exist in nothing but memory.