The door locked behind me.
So, sorry for that.
I don't know this world.
Or what is expected of me.
I'd go if I could do so without dying.
But you see,
there's this cat.
She doesn't look at me the way you do.
And despite me feeling the same way about you as you do I.
I have to stay.
Because, I can't trust you to feel the same way about her as I do.

I'm just not sure I trust it. This silly mind of mine. It's not without it's purpose though, as it helps me tow the line. I'm still not sure I trust it, this silly mind of mine.

It's an ever evolving, problem solving, slowly dissolving, mass of electric jelly. And they tell me to trust my gut. Isn't that part in my belly?

Nope I will not trust that thing. Nor this illusion we share in kind. My perception is askew in this silly mind of mine.

Look. I'll be honest with you.
Somewhere between that first Push-Pop and that last hit. I kinda lost track of the game.

Typically I try to lounge about on a big fluffy pile of I don't give a ****.
I can write you off on the premise that I can't prove your existence. So nothing really matters.

In all fairness. I didn't choose the game. It's the only one y'all had when I got here. And the rules are easy.

It's a good thing I don't have anyone in my life to worry about me.
I've been ******* a crazy amount of blood over the past three days.

We can explain almost everything.
Except the spark of life.
The consciousness of a living thing experiencing love and strife.
We don't know what it is.
Explanations are aplenty.
At best they're merely guesses.
Hence why we feel so empty.
So here's what I'm suggesting.
To help you figure it out.
Take a big step back
And literally f your own face.

Would you meet me by the Red River?
Robertson County, Tennessee.
Would you find me beside the black oak?
It's there I'll wait for thee.

"Ole Jack Bell" she called him.
Ma heard it and so did Jesse.
But the one who got it worst of all.
Was my lil sister Betsy.

That witch would hit my sister relentlessly.
She would curse her and call her names.
She could barely rest. Let alone do her chores or play some silly games.

The spirit says it's name is Kate.
And she often sings to mother.
She'll stay up late and have conversations with Johnathan my brother.

General Jackson had heard the tales about the witch.
And of course he came a calling.
His horses stopped up on the ridge,
a neighing and a ballin.

He spent the night and met our guest.
She **** near killed one of his men.
And just like other witnesses,
we'll never see them again.

My father he had taken sick just after Betsy left.
Our witch would torment father, she secured him to his bed.
Then returned to laugh and sing when she learned that he was dead.

That is I suppose all you need know of our family's witch.
That retched hag, who put our family through some awful fright
So beware of what you shoot at, lest it be a demon.
Or it could be you who hears the screaming, of a starless winters night.

The mathematical probability of your existence is so excruitiatingly improbable. You'd have a better shot at winning the lottery everyday for a year.
So.
With you being proof that the impossible can happen.
Why not?

So there I was.
Just as I am,
though perhaps a lil higher.
Despite that fact, this story's true.
For I am not a liar.

Anyway, where was I when?
Ah yes. The devil in the shower.
After sorting all the deets I sold my soul within an hour.

In exchange for my soul I got her time and undivided attention.
She has to join me when I shower and submit to my detention.

Using a bar of soap she'll wash my back in circular motion.
Then I'll make her do it over because I prefer the lotion.

I'll ask her to use her powers to turn the water into whiskey.
Then I'll have her wash my feet and ask her if she missed me.

I'll laugh out loud while I **** on her and tell her it's the water.
Then I'll have her dry me off while reciting the Our Father.

She curses me and recites these spells I guess to end the deal.
But I'm washing the devil's ******* so come on let's be real.

Sometimes I don't even wipe, I just hand that ***** a sponge.
She'll make that stupid angry face just before she takes the plunge.

Ah yes I have to say it's been quite fun for me so far.
Who else gets to start their day with the ******* Evening Star?

And yeah I'll have to pay my dues one day and yeah it's gonna ****.
But the devil washed my ***** this morning so I don't give a ****.

I don't know exactly what it is that I'm looking for.
I just know it's not here.
My gut.
My guts are telling me that I have to wait.
So. I'll smile for you. And if you play your cards right.
I might even write you a poem.
Just know, understand.
I'm not here for me.
I'm here for you.
If it were up to me.
I'd be anywhere else than here.

If, if you should ever see me.
You'll have seen more than I.

It's, it's dark.
There's a light.
Only she doesn't know it.
A warm breeze waltzes by.
It smells like jasmine after a spring storm.
The air settles into a lull where it just wants to hang out for a spell.
I'd swear I can feel her sometimes.
Though it could just be gas.

Between the sets and the rises. In those shadowy parts of the world we take for granted.
I can lose myself between the tone of your skin and the realizations that cause ones heart to pause.
I'd like to shake the earth like a snow globe and see where I stand in the ashes.
Better off then than now or at least now and then.

I remember the moss. It looked like a worn out dried up mop. Silhouetted against the moon in a puddle of rainwater in the parking lot. I wandered the celestial remnants of history. Running my fingers through starlight just to feel the photons slip over my palm. I thought about those times, the people, and the places. Bytes upon bytes of useless data. I understood in that moment. As the smell of raspberries filled the room. That I alone can't even determine my own significance to the universe. Whether or not I served a purpose will forever be a mystery to me.
I thought of you. I didn't smile.
Then the timer went off on my toaster and my pop tarts were ready.
Oh well.

Thank you for the drink young lady. Though I would be remiss. If I were to take my leave of you without suggesting this. It may not be my place or it could be why I'm here. I suppose it doesn't matter. So I'll make this short and clear.
Some things were said, some were not and perhaps we both share some regret. So let's remember what it was lest we bother to forget.

We can share anecdotes and spit. I can tell you my thoughts on the whole Achilles Patroclus thing.
You can ignore what I'm saying, wait for me to stop talking, and then ask me what's for dinner.
But.
I can't be that guy.
Because I'm not that guy.
I'm the other guy.
The one you never think about until that one song comes up on your playlist.
And I hope you smile to yourself.
I mean I wouldn't.
I just get angry whenever I think about me. Then I leave an angry voicemail with that ***** at the library and I feel better.
You though.
I hope you're smiling.

I used to like letting you in.
The door was always open for you.
Usually, you'd just stand in the archway.
You'd go through my mind like you were looking for the thought that murdered your family.
I couldn't help but smile. It was nice having someone over.
That was then.
I didn't want to have to change the locks.
And I don't know if I knew them what I know now. Whether or not I ever would've let you in.

I've been around long enough to know what happens when.
And unfortunately I have no problem remembering now and then.
So with that being said I think it's best that I should be alone.
It is in me being me for which I must atone.

I was eating this peach while putting together a pump and forgotten I'd already lit a burner when I said "***** it, I'm dead inside anyway" so I took a hit and started thinking about you in that time and me in that place and as soon as I finished that peach it dawned on me.
It wasn't that I wasn't good enough for you.
It's that I'm still not good enough for me.
So I went ahead and settled on the Apricot Kush because it keeps me from thinking about whether or not I made a mistake when I said "Can I get the salmon with a baked potato?" I mean I could have eaten my twin in the womb, I honestly don't remember her name Ellen I think anyway.
**** the night, **** the moon, **** everything that ends too soon.

I never got the chance to........
There was this light.
Just a bulb hanging from.
It'd sway sometimes.
I don't know how.
As if it were searching the room for something it'd lost.
I used to think maybe there was a melody to it.
Or a reason.
Nope.
We're just, here.

Here I’m just floating by.
Jacked up on mozzarella sticks, whiskey, and static electricity.
I stopped there for the time it takes for a German Shepard to consume a Shepard’s pie.
And I waited.
The sun went down as it is want to do.
But here’s the thing.
Ever since I don’t have Vera to Stand By Me.
The sun never came back.

To care, or not
Caring elicits emotion
Emotions arrive in waves
Waves bring turbulence
Upsetting the quo
It's
better for both of us
That I don't care

I decided to see just how important I was to those around me.
So I wandered off.
To see if anyone would come looking for me.
Turns out,
I'm not important.
Go figure.

I get a kick out of asking you questions.
It’s fun to watch you answer them.
Because you want to answer honestly.
And I’m smiling.
Because neither my questions nor your answers, matter.
It’s like asking space how far it goes.
It/you could lie to me.
It’s not like I’m ever going to know the truth.

In line with the whole
“life is naught but a computer simulation, the matrix is real, there is no spoon” theory.
How do I know that , while I am not special in any meaningful way, I’m not a flawed line of code and you are a patch formulated to correct my supposed flaw in order to support the overall functionability of the software needed to run this particular aspect of the matrix?
So based on this revelation, your sky blue nail polish, and the fact I’m 90% sure I banged your mom in the mop closet of an Arby’s while huffing ammonia fumes. I don’t think we should get married, today.

I take my morning walk.
Through tunnels of bleached trees. Over the remains of names long forgotten by those who promised never to forget them.
I close my eyes.
To check on the multi car pile up of words in the back of my mind. A twisted burning wreckage of things left unsaid, things I’d like to say, and things I wish I didn’t know.
It’s been going on for so long the death toll of ideas is immeasurable.
There’s nothing to do now but listen to their screams.

The wisteria hung like celestial waterfalls against a backdrop of splattered light. As if the sun had spilt paint across the horizon on it's way out of that day. I saw you in hues of blue standing in the rain. Strands of burnt chestnut hair clung to your cheeks like the blind hands of night had just found the most beautiful thing it'd ever touched. The moon paused and everything I once coveted fell out of thought. I saw fireflies, like fallen stars pleading their case to the heavens, flash in and out of the garden. I held this moment like my last breath for fear the sound of my sigh would break the dream.

I never knew you, I never met you, I never saw you.
I never heard you, I never touched you, I never felt you.
And yet, somehow.
I’ll never forget you.

I’ve been mired in an existential crisis for so long now, I don’t trust jelly.
It just doesn’t look right.
Bear with me here. (Barry the bubbly brown bear. See what I did there?)
What if, jelly disproves the life is a computer simulation theory?
Why would a sentient machine running a computer program to simulate life write jelly into the programming?
It wouldn’t, right?
So now that I’ve nixed that theory for y’all.
What else ya got?

I got grass all over my lil white rug. So I rolled it up like you would a body. Then I set it on fire and took a deep breath.
I lifted the eyelids of my house to see if the world had changed. I saw the coyote that killed my friend and not much else.
Another Saturday Night.
Two flames aloft in the darkness dance to a song I used to love and I need more ice if I'm to ever see through this amber haze.
I've been cold for so long you'd think I'd be laughing by now.
It's a solidifying existence here.
I made us each a plate. One has cyanide, the other morphine. It's a win win.

there are only three tangibles you need to survive
food, water, shelter.
everything,
and I mean everything else,
are privileges.
some might be afforded you.
some you’ll have to work for.
some you’ll have to fight for.
whether or not they’re worth it,
is entirely up to you.
because their only worth, is dependent on the value you place on them.

I can’t move beyond the nothing.
I’m not upset about there being nothing.
Just wishing I could move past it.
For a while, I was envious of others because I figured they’d moved beyond the nothing.
Turns out, they never reached the nothing.
So now I stand guard.
A sentry pacing back and forth in front of these gates.
“Nay! Turn! ‘Tis not the place for you here! Go over there. It’s better.”
The idea of seeing someone else here terrifies me.

I savor those spaces between those moments when I’m not thinking of you.

I don’t think it’s a linear thing.
There’s no beginning and as of right now
From my perspective, no end.
I said “I love you”
To someone else
Loss is just someone who comes around from time to time.
I heard that “sigh” before.
I was here.
And I’m back.
I know because I’m tired.  
Of knowing what you’re going to say before you say it.

I’ll be honest with you.
I’m halfway through this movie.
And I’m done explaining it to you.
You can try to catch up if you think you can.
And that’d be swell.
Just don’t look to me for answers.
Like I said, I’m halfway through this movie.
And I still have no idea what it’s about.

I had this thought while taking a dump and no that’s not at all relevant.
Just thought you should know how brilliant I am cause I was the one smelling it.
If I should ever find myself stranded on an island that’s deserted.
My message in a bottle will probably be perverted.
To increase my chances at getting rescued I’d offer incentives in the sand.
“***** native ******* here but only if you land!”
Now avert your eyes cause this is where my genius comes shining through.
Use driftwood for your signal fire cause that **** be burning blue.
It’s because driftwood is so high in salt and you can find it on the shore.
Then all you need is a lil *** and some slutty island *****.
So next time your *** is stranded on some loathsome desert isle.
You can think about my poem and hopefully you’ll smile.
Until your ***** and boiled by some disenchanted and riddled with chlymidia indigenous forgotten tribe of saggy ***** *******.

I thought I'd write you a poem. It's all I've really got. A pen, some paper, and a well of blackened snot.
At first I thought about you, though you know who you are. So that would be redundant. I guess I'll raise the bar.
A sullen somber December morning. A glass filled up with whiskey. A pack of butts and this poem in case that you would miss me.
Sweaty thighs, forgotten lies, and these things we still hold onto. Tattered sleeves, worn out knees, and rats ******* fondue.
These are the things I think about when at my own devices. Avoiding **** that could otherwise turn into a crisis.
Well I'm done. I gotta run. Truth is I'm out of passion.
Perhaps I'll come around again when apathy's in fashion.

I’m sitting in this huge theater.
Looking at this enormous picture.
It’s so big you’d think you were looking at the past, the present, and the future all at once.
You don’t need a ticket.
You can just come in and sit down.
I’d love to talk to you about it.
I know you won’t.
Come in.
I’ve been here for a long time.
Nobody ever sits down.
I guess they don’t see it.

I’d like to think there’s a time and place that suits both you and I.
Where we sip tea in a lil cafe and watch the angels die.
It’s sorta the end but not for us because we’re both just passing through.
You’re almost at the edge of me and I halfway to you.
Tipping celestial windmills while laughing at illusions.
Shooting the fools in mid air as they jump to their conclusions.
I kinda hope that they ask me what I’d like to do.
And honestly I wouldn’t care just so long as it’s with you.

Back in the day, oh I’d say about 1952.
I remember it well, as time would tell, they’d just invented the left shoe.

Me and Pa had gone a huntin, fer at least sumtin, that mama could put in the ***.
We’d done eatin every inch of that pig includin what Pa called the knot.
Pa’d just told me that he was also my brother and Ma was my first cousin too.
A **** ran by him, I shot off his limb, and now he needs a right shoe.

I won’t remember writing this.
And it’s funny.
Because I can remember with excruciating accuity everything I know about the person that inspired ninety percent of everything I’ve written.
You can quote my own words back to me minutes after I’ve penned them.
I won’t recognize them.
I can sit down at a bar and write a poem on a napkin about the girl three seats down on a whim.
And not remember a word of it or her probably.
But ****** if it wouldn’t take a lobotomy, I’ll never forget Colibri.

We're the keepers of each other’s past.
Holders of memories, long lost or stranded.
I can say that I knew you when.
That’s to say I knew you then.
Though you’re not that person anymore.
You’re not the one I knew before.
Tomorrow again you’ll be anew.
What are you going to do with you?

Pride lies slain and strewn.
Splayed out before the Morning Star.
Eviscerated Appreciation still drips from the rafters.
Ego is a writhing dance floor for the flames that eat as they sway.
Envy, Admiration, and Love cower like beaten dogs.
And Hope. She fought well.
Now she dares not leave the well.
So what’s left?
They’re all dead or in hiding.
Can I know now why I’m here?
And
Can I smoke in here?

I imagine it’s like closing your eyes to the sun on a cool November morning.
The sun places a kiss on your eyelids and you fracture a smile.
Everything fades to black.
You see fireflies and fireworks.
You want to wrap your arms around it.
And hold it till the moon comes up.
Just so you can tell her all about it.

There’s nothing here.
I’m just trying to save you a trip.
Become a hedonist, a pacifist, a sardonic mop.
Just don’t bother going any further than where you are now.
I’ll send you a pic.
Don’t bother thanking me.
It’s nothing, really.

One thing it seems a lot of people can agree on is just how much we hate people.
Why? Well I'm sure you already know the answer. But just incase you happen to be a cocker spaniel that's just become hyper intelligent.
It's because we're horrible.
We will inevitably do something terrible.
Singularly or collectively, it is an inevitability.
It'll be for selfish reasons no doubt.
If I were to list off reasons.
You might assume that I was victimized in a way evident in said list.
But I won't. I can't.
Because I'm that cocker spaniel.
P.S. Y'all ****.

We spend our lives emotionally counting coup on one another.
Hoping to get away unscathed.
The trick I discovered.
Is to slit the throat of everything inside that they could touch.
Don’t move the carcasses.
Leave them as a reminder of what could be, and what was.