There were
old wrecks of machines,
tumble-down buildings leaning together.
Not an ounce of energy nor a minute of time left over from the
awful,
hopeless
struggle.
Sun in the wrong place where it scorches and burns and exhausts you.
Black shade where you want sun and warmth.
No comfort.
The buildings lie in a heap, as if they'd been thrown there -- and there they stay.

It was over long ago, not with a bang,
with a sigh.

I had bulimia for breakfast.
It tasted like
hunger
and something I'd had before.

It tasted like
the broken mirrors in my room,
and something I'd had before
the hate made me like this

The broken mirrors in my room
tell me lies that take
the hate, make me like this.
These reflections make me

tell myself lies that take
the hurt, that make me whole.
This reflection makes me
an explosion, pushing all the bad, all the good,
                         all the all out of my body.

An explosion, pushing all the bad, all the good,
                          all the all out of my body.
I had bulimia for breakfast.
Hunger:
The hurt that makes me a hole.

Life is just a one-night-stand
born in the belly of a star

She was born and bred in captivity
In an oppressive home was where she grew
Every night she dreamt about the wild sea
Of whispering waves and worlds she never knew
Her reality seemed so unreal and wrong
She moved in aimless circles like a ghost
Trapped in a world where she did not belong
Always yearning for her home: the salt-wind coast
A parasitic guilt ate at my soul
As I looked into her eyes, dying and lost
At last I saw the prison of her bowl
I scooped her up - into the toilet tossed
A gentle flush was all it took to set us free.
But guilt came back when sister asked, "Where's Goldie?"

She often wonders what the past was like.
Did it feel like it looked: black and white?
Nose in a book, anthracite coal strike.

Will she ever know JFK's ghost?

Could I haunt you?
Would that be okay?

You won't talk to me anymore
An understatement really
You won't look at me anymore
I'm not sure you even exist anymore

I still talk to you,
Which is something you don't know
Don't even have the slightest idea about!
Can nonexistent people even know things?

Well, I talk to you all the time.
I used to talk to myself,
You know, little conversations in my head, to myself.
Now, it's you.

I watched a show once,
It was about the sixth sense.
Apparently we can tell when we're being watched
And we can share brain waves, an unformed form of communication

I can't feel your eyes anymore.
Not like I used to.
I would stretch my neck,
Part my lips just enough to tease you.
But you won't look at me anymore.
And you don't watch me anymore.

But sometimes when I talk to you inside my head,
I feel the words slip out of my heart, squeeze through my rib-cage and float away

Maybe they find you.
Maybe they rub up against your skin and remind you
Of how you once looked at me, how you once talked to me, how you once loved me

Or maybe they get lost,
As lost as we used to be (together),
As lost as I am now (alone).

I'm being silly.
You don't exist.
My words will never find you.
You don't exist.

Starving artist,
Hungry and cold,
Dive in a fountain
Of wishes and gold
Counts fifteen bucks
In quarters and cents
Steals wishers' lucks
To pay for her rents
But she hopes for the best
That all of those wishes
Were already blessed

And that marauder of dreams,
of wishes, of love,
She paid back in gleams
Silver spilling from glove

And those wishers?
Well, they had their fortunes
of hearts reunited
of kisses goodnight
of beds warm and cozy
and dreams taken flight

All but a handful
Remained in her pocket,
and never again saw the sun

shadow
hides him
on the dim path
towards the house,

hides him
on a quest
towards the house
towards their deaths.

on a quest:
moves in silence, alone,
towards their deaths
and his own.

and his own
shadow
on the dim path
moves in silence, alone.

I wish I were a cat
Because they live nine lives,
which is more than enough,
especially for a cat.
Meow.

I haven't slept int four days.
And today I swear I heard the wind say
bless you after I sneezed.

"So what's your story?"
He's no different than the rest.
She looks away, just
pretend not to hear.

He's no different than the rest.
The party is monotonous.
Pretend not to hear
That wheezing droning whine.

The party is monotonous.
Small-talk:
That wheezing droning whine,
Blah-blah-blah.

Small-talk:
The same people same stories, always the same.
Blah-blah-blah.
Who really cares?

Who really cares?
"So what's your story?"
She looks away, just
the same people same stories, always the same.

I just read Nietzsche:
I looked into the abyss,
and it got me wet.

When I'm small, I'll follow the sun
And when I'm big, I'll swallow it whole.

The bus starts and pulls away.
You missed the bus.
You're stuck on the curb;
the next one isn't for another hour.

You missed the bus!
God, you're such a fool.
The next one isn't for another hour.
You don't have the time.

God, you're such a fool!
You ask the man next to you for the time.
"You don't have the time?"
No. "You should wear a watch."

You ask the man next to you for the time
When you once had dreams. Yes, you
know you should wear a watch
like you used to.

Like you're used to
The bus starts and pulls away
You're stuck on the curb
Where you once had dreams, yes you.

SOME ******* TOOK ALL THE OREOS,
LICKED OUT ALL THE ICING
AND LEFT ONLY THE SOGGY CHOCOLATE COOKIES BEHIND

I WILL AVENGE THEIR DEATHS SOMEDAY