things happen
people get forgotten.
the worst part is
people sometimes forget themselves.

sometimes we need others
to stop us in our tracks
and look at us in the eyes and tell us

you exist.

i am trying to

get my **** together it's

just so far apart

Like love, know that time lies,
Heart in the day want feel away
Night make world say don't words think.

I'm mind little things light.
Don't long man face look left, right
Tell people need good soul.
Lost sun, hand place hands new pain.
Old inside smile.

Remember full sky,
God hope days cold.
Ill thing live,
tears black leave dreams.

Oh skin, air, gone past lips.
New thoughts can't far white,
Going beautiful dream.
Girl goes deep, your sleep stop.

Hail that lovely laughter juice.

Clear off the bed
and come lie next to me
or lie with me
or crawl under these sheets
and die with me
or without
I'm used to it
but I could get used to this

Clear out your mind
and sink down low with me
or get high with me
or hold my hand
and lose some time with me
or without
I'm used to it
but I could get used to this

Clean up your act
and fall apart with me
or fall, apart from me
or fall, a part of me
and take some time to cry with me
or without
I'm used to it
but I could get used to this

Clean out your car
and run away with me
or run to me
or put it in reverse
and go back to the start with me
or without
I'm used to it
but I could get used to this

Cleanse your spirit
and embrace this pain with me
or brace for pain with me
or take a moment to put me back together
and just be with me, with me
or without
I'm used to it
but I could still get used to this

If time is relative then why are we moving at all?
I look around
and to me we all seem to be standing still...
Frozen in our civic and social duties.
Like watching a game show,
Or buying a frozen pizza.
...dressing up to go to church.

We become frozen in these moments and they end up defining who we are instead of the other way around.

Maybe the world is in an event horizon and I am stuck outside watching everyone seem to move in no direction at all.
Yet I see myself as well.
Sitting completely still and becoming a mannequin...

I would say that we are moving towards a black hole,
******* the light and life out of us,
but that would be foolish.

Because we are the black hole.
We steal the life and desire.
Hopes and dreams
from ourselves and throw our souls away for a paycheck and death certificate.

If I could find the warehouse of man and stumble upon the assembly line, I would shoot the foreman and break the machine.

Then

I

would

burn

that

building

to

the






ground...

I want to fight and read and drink and ****.

I want to stand once again on the beach just far out enough to where there is nothing in my sight but the sea.

I want to fall so far that I don't think I can ever stand up again.
And then I want to laugh, stand my *** up, and climb out.

I want to write and breathe and laugh and die.

But most of all,

I want to feel alive.




God ******.

I want you in my arms,
but instead you are a pillow.
The emptiness makes up for my fingers in your hair,
the cold bed is your breath.
I want you bad,
but not when you want me.
That would be too easy.

I say to myself: "I'm going to write a poem."
So I situate myself in the proper place to do so.
But then, what to write about?
I look about my room, as if this is supposed to inspire me.
A teacup, a candlestick,
Box of unopened fig Newtons,
Mess of clothes on the floor.
Phone.
Sweatpants.
Boredom.
It turns out, I'm not a poet after all. Either that,
or I'm in the wrong room.