He told me not to waste my breath.
You'll never be but second best.
Third best,
fourth best;
worse than the rest.

I'll cut off your right hand,
**** you to **** with the left.
Squeezing your **** 'till there's nothing left.

Hell yeah,
he's got swag  
he bought it from a man
who called him a ***.
In a little bag
he gave him so crack
But no! It slipped from his hands
down a storm drain
never to be seen again.

A war story is what he sold
"I spotted the ****** in a churches bell tower,
squeeze the trigger, one two, one two,
******* insurgents,
they never win,
****** to hell and all that's therein."

The devil would do anything for one last hit,
he lives in my veins, he don't give a ****.

He's a stranger, from out of town,
selling drugs to kids, dressed like a clown.
The cops chase him out but the damage is done,
but hell ******* yeah, the kids are having fun.

This isn't art,
this garbage is about poetic as the rez
I'm scrapin' from my pipe,
doing anything to get high.

The grass is greener on the other side,
you know it is,
my only question is with what they fertilize it with.
*******? GMO's? Something equally as destructive,
it's the truth, you know it is
*******, you say?
Bulltruth is what it is,
like it or not,
it is what it is.

I'm better.
Better than I was
two months ago,
a year ago.

I'm worse.
Worse than I was
two days ago,
a month ago.

I'm trying,
to stop using
people and substances.

Oh! the same old song:
Chorus:
People and substances x 4
First Verse:
Using until I've used all there is,
Trying until I've tried my best,
Using until I've used the remainder of this,
Trying until I've tried the rest.
Chorus
Second Verse:
Some days go slow
and some go fast.
So days are mellow
and some are brash.
Chorus
Drum break
Third Verse:
Using until there's nothing left
Trying hard, but it ain't my best
Stolen: Integrity!
Reward for information regarding theft.
Chorus
Repeat chorus with slowing tempo
and volume until song fades
into misshapen and misplaced drums.

Looking on the ground,
under ***** socks
and empty cigarette packs,
I found my lighter.

I need it, I told myself
to **** the feelings that are coming up.

But no.
I wasn't running from the feelings,
I was trying to get high
so I could handle them.
So I could cope with them.
So I could **** with them
and shoot dope with them

You said you crave attention.

I'm prepared to give you all the attention you could ever need,
yet you pretend you don't hear me knocking.

Why?

Are you afraid of the feelings I have for you?
You don't understand.
I have had these feelings always, they are nothing new.
Are you afraid of losing me because they are not reciprocated?
You don't understand.
I have had these feelings always, and they have never been reciprocated.
The only way I will give up is if you continue what you're doing.

You're pushing me away and i'm tired of trying to catch up.

You're too busy with work you say,
yet you go to parties with him.
You're too busy with school you say,
yet you always have time for him.

I'm not jealous because you kiss him,
i'm jealous because he is stealing you from me.

According to an article you showed me,
cats believe that humans are just big, dumb, hairless
cats.

I like to be around you and more than that I like to hear you laugh.
I like these things so much,
that I don't need anything more.
We kissed because it was fun,
we flirt because it's fun
and we are friends because we are fun.

It's so simple
and so nice
and so easy
and so satisfying
and relaxing.

It's you and me,
it's a cheesy pickup line,
and it's good.

I asked you if you would like me to stop writing about you.
You said no, you would just stop reading what I wrote.

Who else do I wish to read these words?
Even if I'm not writing about you,
I'm writing about you.
because you're here,
you're a part of me,
and I'm better because of that.

I want it to be like it used to be.

Like it used to be before you kissed me on the front porch.
I'm not sure what triggered it but
you grew distant,
and I grew needy.

And now, here we are,
our short conversation last night our first in weeks,
with me blinking away tears,
and you,
apathetic,
smelling of jasmine
as if nothing were wrong.

You hold him as if to mock me.
Wait! I know it is not so.
I know you do not spite,
you do not stab with cold daggers,
you simply love and love
and I want some of your love for me.

A night spent with beautiful people,
and beautiful decorations,
and less then beautiful music.

A night spent snorting ecstasy in a bathroom stall,
and dancing until I became lightheaded,
only pausing for a cigarette.

A night spent holding you close,
with the feel of your lips brushing upon my neck
(Oh! how I wished for them never to leave).

The inevitable heat death of the Universe draws near;
don't bother making peace with your god, he will die too.

Patience.
I'm getting better.
I am,
and the things around me will start to soon.

I just have to be patient.

"Give it 'till the summer," she said,
"things will get better."

It's hard not to believe her
when she smiles like she does,
and so I do.

Lack of balance.

The scales are tipped,
but to who's favor,
I cannot tell.

The energy and love I put out
has been matched by you
for the better part of six years.
Six years is a long time for any sort of relationship,
but more so for the likes of ours.

After six years the energy and love I put out
are not being matched by you.
It started off gradually
but i was too ****** up to notice.
Too many drugs and drinks
will do that.
But after a word from you,
and help from a friend,
and a few failed attempts
I kicked the monkey off my back.
I banished the demon OPIATES,
can you say the same of your demon.

And then I noticed.
Like a teacher looking up from his computer,
I noticed you were truant.
And i asked you about it,
I confronted you about it
and you said,
yes, I have grown distant, but I'm going to fix that.

And oh god, I've tried and i've tried and i've tried to fix it
but you are unwillingly to put forth any effort
and so I give up.

I want to give up,
I want to be happy about new friends
and sobriety
and that girl you told me was too good for me that I've been talking to.
I want to be happy about these things
but I can't
because the last thing I think about before I fall asleep is you
and the first thing I think about when I wake up is you
and ******* it, I am ******* terrified of losing you
and you don't care.

I need to pick myself up
and brush the dirt off my jeans
before I fall for you.

I'm sorry
I'm sorry
I'm sorry
I'm a mess,
and I can't be happy with you
until I can bear to be myself.

Red roses
and orange poppies.

I see these flowers
growing rampantly throughout the back yard
and I want to pick every single one of them for you.

You sing songs
of unrequited love
but you know not
on that subject.

You sing songs
of longing
but you know little
on that subject.

Oh God,
I love you,
oh how I've loved you,
oh you disrespect and belittle me.

I stole glances at you as we walked
under the moon and grey clouds.

You smiled when I did,
and I like to think you were smiling when I wasn't looking too.

whenever
people would ask me if i knew you
I would say yes,
i know her very well,
she is my bestfriend
and i love her more than anything.

somewhere along the line
i added,
but i haven't talked to her in a while,
and i thought nothing of it.

i want to kiss you,
like we've done before.
i remember every kiss you've ever given me,
because they meant more than any kiss i've ever received.
i remember every kiss you've ever given me,
because they tasted sweater than any kiss i've ever received.

i want to kiss you again,
but i'm so afraid of losing you.
i'm afraid of losing you more
than i already have.

i'm jealous,
i'm jealous of every boy you've ever kissed.
i'm jealous of that boy you talk to me about on the phone.
i'm losing you
and you don't know how jealous i am.

i kiss other girls because i want to,
i kissed you because i love you.

A girl told me I have a front,
a face I put on.
She said she didn't know why,
but she imagine it's easier than wearing my own.

I asked her what she thinks my unmasked ((person?)) looks like.
She said she didn't know but she'd like to.

He's running
a circus
casino.

Open to the ages,
smoke at your leisure.

"You can't have a circus without a tent!"
Watch him,
he got high without dope.
He killed god without faith,
and did apathetically,
because his mom wouldn't have liked it.

He throws up in the sink
because his girl is throwing up
in the toilet.

He knows he shouldn't be here long,
but *******, the dope is strong
and *******, he has nowhere else to go.

It's a picture of a cat flying a helicopter:

It's stimulating in an overwhelming way
and not dissimilar to the first time I drank spring water.

It's a riddle, Hazel Grace,
and nobody gives a ****.

How Long is a Chinese man
and I came home to find my mother passed out
on the kitchen floor.

An empty bottle of Jack hides in plain sight,
so I steal money from her purse to buy
pleasure and delusional sequences
and I can't seem to think about anything but you.

This isn't romantic,
this is as disgusting and ****** as the scars on my wrists,
this is as twisted and cruel as the decomposing corpse
of my neighbor's cat
in the parking lot across the street.

Don't touch me,
please,
I'll start to like you
and then I'll kiss you
and then I'll start to love you
and then you'll ****** me and make my hands shake.

I want you to write about me,
I want it to be blunt
and truthful
and I want it to hurt.
I want it to leave me gasping for breath
and I want to remember it
when I'm ******* that girl who ****** your ex-boyfriend.

I remember waking up very early the next morning,
maybe three hours after I fell asleep on the bathroom floor.

I tiptoed through the house, careful not to wake anybody up,
even the guy who kept telling you to drink
even though you very kindly asked him to stop.

I'm not sure if you ended up drinking,
I forgot most of what happened that night,
but I remember shouting from the tire swing
that I loved you and that I loved you
and that I loved you.

I found where you were sleeping,
relieved to find no body next to yours,
and calmly placed a hand on your forehead.
You stirred, before gently grabbing my hand as it pulled away.

Eyes still closed,
you asked me how I felt.

I feel okay, nothing appears to be broken.

You said nothing and went back to sleep.
I said nothing and sat there for a long while.
I watched your chest rise and fall with each breathe,
and I loved you and I loved you and I loved you.

After a time I stepped outside to smoke a thought,
and the thought I smoked was not of you or of the night before
but of my mother.
She told me,
after I brought home my first date, two months into my freshmen year of high school,
that just because I desire somebody's love,
does not mean I deserve it.

I loved you and I loved you and I loved you
but I did not deserve your love.

Sell your dope.
Sell the last of it
and the first of it.

No, don't rail it tonight,
you know you'll just end up
shooting it tomorrow.

Sell your dope.
Sell it cheap
and sell all of it.

Buy roses,
buy chocolates,
buy gas.

Ask her on a date,
to the movies,
to dinner.

Sell your dope,
and kiss her.
What is more important?

You know what is more important.
Your high will last 4 hours, maybe five.
The feeling of her lips will linger.

The feeling of her lips will linger.
Sell your dope,
fall in love.

Your mother told you kissing me must be like kissing an ashtray.
You told her you'd rather kiss this ashtray
than the sweetest strawberries.

Why did you say that?

I collect scars.
I show them to people rarely.
Sometimes I think of them fondly,
sometimes I think of them coldly.

I write a lot about the place where (we) met.
Where (we) fell in love.
Where (we) grew apart.

I guess in a way, my memories are scars.
I collect memories.
I share them with people rarely.
Sometimes I think of them fondly,
sometimes I think of them coldly.

I give up, but only for a day.

I surrender today over to substances
and habits.

I give today to self loathing
and self pity.

I lend today to writing and erasing
writing and erasing
writing and erasing.

I allow today to not matter.

Red flags.
This has happened before.

Turn around,
don't smile when you see her,
stop smiling,
don't laugh when she jokes,
stop laughing,
don't fall in love,
stop falling in love.

**** those people who said it only gets better.
They lied to us.
They lied to you and me
and all the other kids with tear soaked cheeks
and problems with substances/self harm/depression.

It gets better
but its got to get bad first.

It took me years of tears to realize
that things will get better.
They will.
They may get worse first,
they may stay the same for a while,
they may get better and return ten times worse
but they will get better.
They have to.

I fell in love with you the moment I met you.
And many times since then.

I remember when I first met you.
I handed the mic to you
and you nervously introduced yourself.

I fell in love with your words first,
and you second.

I fell in love with the way they rolled of your lips
and caused my heart to palpitate.

I fell in love with the way you smile
and how it caused my lips to curl into one of my own.

I fell in love with the way your words eased my anxiety away to nothing
and I how I was able to think around you.

I fell in love with you
and I have been continuing to do so every time
I hear your voice,
read your words,
or see your face.

I came to you at night,
in my dreams,
but I awoke with cold feet
and an ache in my heart.

In my mind I brought you carnations and you brought me
love.

You said you never wanted to save me,
but gasping for air
I swear that's what you tried to do.

I tried to hide the smile behind my lips
as your hand lost its grip on my own.
Falling, I covered my mouth
so as to stifle the laughter.

What could be more perfect than rain?
What could be more beautiful?

It falls and brings life to wherever it falls.
It breathes life into this lifeless landscape
and allows it to breathe.

Rain is a gift from God
and I am sorry for those
who do not drop to their knees
and thank their god for rain.
Thank nature for rain,
thank the universe,
but you have to be thankful.

Rain refreshes,
and it soothes
and it calms
and I cannot think of anything
more perfect than the rain.

April showers bring May flowers
and that is beautiful.

Everything about you is wonderful to me.
Everything.
I want to know everything about you,
I want to know what the kids called you in 4th grade on the playground
I want to know who your first boyfriend was and what your dad wanted to do when he broke your heart
I want to know who your favorite 80's synthopop band is
I want to know what you think of when you wake up at 4:26 in the morning with a stiff neck
I want to know what color you wish your softest skirt was
and I want to buy it for you.
I want to pick every single flower on earth and fill your arms with them.

I want to hear your voice when you're sick in bed
and I want to know what kind of tea to bring you
I want to know what movie you watch when you can't do it anymore
because that boy in your history class wouldn't stop calling you that word and ******* it you are not that word but this movie makes you feel better and it always has (it did in 4th grade when they called you that name on the playground)

I want to know which side of your face you prefer to have photographed
I want to know who you pray for
and if you think anybody is listening.

I want to know what your mother wanted to name you before your father convinced her otherwise because "Honey, do you really want our daughter to grow up being called that and have her know that we are responsible?"

I want to know if you like the feel of cold hardwood floor on your feet in the morning or the feel of carpet when you first take your rain boots and socks off after stomping puddles.

******* it, I want to know everything about you
so I can love every single one of those things with an intensity
the devout Christian envies.

Breathe deeply
and lengthily
so as to avoid
becoming light headed.

You are so beautiful to me
and I want you to want me
as I want you.
I want you to read these words
the way I read the ones you write about
a boy better than me.

I think I'm better.
At many things;
at being a drug user.
Hold up, you're saying, a better drug user?
How could you be better at using drugs?
Isn't the point for addicts to stop using?
Isn't that what makes them better?
Maybe.

I only buy my **** at the lowest of prices,
yet I always make sure it's good quality,
I won't buy it again if it's not.
//
I never use two days in a row,
or at least I try not to.
I don't use like I did anyway.
****, I hardly remember this last summer,
what with all the hydrocodone,
methamphetamine cut MDMA,
***, and alcohol.
I don't think I was sober for more than two days.

But it's not like that anymore.
I don't get high on days I work,
I don't get ****** at school,
I don't drink on weekdays,
I don't pop Molly anymore.

I'm a better drug user.

She writes poetry .
I'm not sure,
I'm not one to judge,
but I think it's very good.

It makes me laugh and smile.
It makes me stop and think.
It makes me happy to be in the same room as her.

She listens to hip hop
and reads J.D. Salinger.

It only takes four or five
of those little yellow pills
to make me wonder why I ever sobered up.

My thoughts aren't lingering
and piercing the inside of my skull
as they have been.
Maybe tonight, for the first time in four days I'll be able to sleep more
than three hours.
Maybe I won't wake up shivering
before having to run to the bathroom to lose whatever dinner I managed to eat.

It had been thirteen days since I swallowed, snorted, smoked, or drank
any form or derivative of opiates, and now it's been 45 minutes.

Immediately after I took half of what I had, I dumped the rest in the toilet,
contemplating purging my stomach of any narcotics.
I figured if I had made it this long without even feeling the urge to partake of that which is hidden in a gold lipstick case under my bed, that I could reward myself.
I dumped it down the toilet so I may not use it again tomorrow as the temptation will be stronger than it was an hour ago.

I'm sorry if you have read this far,
as it means very little to you,
but getting these words down,
getting my thoughts down
helps me understand them.

Just  by the method in which you breath
you create a sort of paradise for me to live in.
You're just my kind of man,
you're a stand up kind of guy.
Now yell at me until my eyes bleed
and stare at me until my ears pop.

Breath life into this breathless song
and breed the love until it is of pure blood.
God knows I'm bad with habits.
They pile up and I can't properly feed them.
So try to be cool.

The board snaps and the red light indicates the doors are secure
and the entirety of the manor rejoices when you walk in.
You're ten minutes late but you brought 4 grams of
cleverly disguised bad intentions and for that everybody is eternally grateful.
But I'll try and be cool.



I'm the only one who could ever have any fun
but that was only when I was with you.

So be cool.

"There are moments here:
only dots on an endless timeline.
All the motions of ordinary love"*


It's hard to find meaning,
but it's harder to excuse meaning.
It's harder to deny that these simple routines
of waking up and continuing
are meaningless.

Things happen.
More specifically,
today a boy told me that
people like me give him the energy to keep living.
I've thought a lot about that
and I'm still not sure why he would say that
but I am sure that he meant it
and even surer that if I all I can claim
to have accomplished in life is giving this lovely boy
energy to keep living
than my life will be worth having lived.

I am sure the endless monotony
of repetition will cease
and things will seem new and fresh soon.
I've tried to bring about these changes
by doing simple things;
I've stopped eating meat
and using painkillers,
I've bleached my hair white
and have been on dates with a very pretty, if not comely, girl.

The only way to change that which bothers me
on the inside is to change those things around me
that bring upon the molestation.

It's amazing how I can sit down and begin writing with no clear objective or outline and as I feel the energy of writing leaving me,
I feel as if i have accomplished something.
I look back on what I have written and feel
that I have helped myself achieve some sort of clarity,
I can turn the zeroes and ones into comfort,
I can turn the digitally remastered music into love
and I can feel it.

My uncle once told me he couldn't believe I could be sad,
that I wouldn't believe the things he's seen over seas,
both on and off duty, both as a soldier and as a traveler.
Maybe he's right,
maybe I shouldn't be sad,
but it's only when I'm alone I feel this way,
and even then it's only some of the time.

Three years ago I was close to taking my own life,
and I remember that then I was only happy when I was alone,
and even then it was only some of the time.

No means no,
not right now means no,
stop means no,
silence means no,
lack of consent means no,
anything other than yes means no.

It makes me sick
and it turns my face red
and I can't think
when I hear about him.

When I hear about how great of a guy he is
and how it's only alcohol that turns him into
the monster that I see him to be always.
In sobriety he makes me just as sick.
Anybody that takes with asking,
that doesn't listen,
that feels entitled to *** when it is denied,
makes me sick
and should be hung,
should be shot,
should be ****** on
and torn apart limb from limb.

Boys will be boys is not an excuse,
alcohol is not an excuse,
ignorance is not an excuse.

There is no excuse;
a bullet for every ******.

Faith falls out
of the lottery winning man
just as it is absorbed
by the cancer ridden man.

Nothing makes sense
in this world in which we live
and everything is gray in the relationship
we allow to live.

God creates man,
man creates God,
sheep live blissfully ignorant
without a need for a god.

The fastest man on earth
partakes of the green,
and the fastest man on water
partakes of the green,
yet the laziest men on earth
criminalize that which is our birth right.

Freedom's legality is a matter of discussion,
it's a matter of luck and
place of citizenship.

Depending on where you are
you may speak your mind.

I remember this awful book I read once
about a year ago.
I can't remember the title but it was one of those terrible tragedies
revolving around young love.
But of course, it's a tragedy so everybody dies unhappy
and without love.
The reason I am thinking of it is because it is snowing and the entire setting of the book is covered in snow.

I had a day dream about you earlier today, in class.

We walked down the streets of some nondescript town covered in snow.
We looked behind us every so often at the zigzagged tracks we left behind us, as if they were following us, not ready to part.
After a while of walking we wandered into a cafe and sat in the window seat.
On the window we drew flowers out of the condensation.
We laughed as we sipped our hot chocolate and from a bag you produced a very nice woolen scarf, which you gave to me, and from my coat pocket I produced a very nice woolen beanie, which I gave to you.

I hope this isn't brash
and I hope this isn't obtrusive,
it's just that I've been wanting to tell you for some time
how very pretty you are.
Every time I think I have worked up the courage to do so, I cannot.
I think my daydream is a spawn of my yearn to tell you what I think
and thus this was born.
Call it poetry, prose, or whatever you like
but the truth is that this is communication
in it's most simple
and most complicated form.

I remember now, the book was called Ethan Frome, and it wasn't all that bad.

She walks with confidence.
She's the most beautiful girl here
and she knows it.

But she is lonely.
She has nobody to touch
and she yearns for it.

She is a writer.
Her pen graces paper
and she owns it.

There are so many things to say about her.
Her confidence, her beauty, her talent, her voice,
and I welcome it.

A purple liquid drips
and with each drop the sound of discontent grows louder.
     Forming a puddle on the the carpet that grows and grows and grows
and soon I will drown in it, soon I will drown in her.
     Soon, her green eyes will be all I see and not just all I yearn to see.

The purple liquid
creates an audible thump as it splashes down on the carpet which is now covered with an inch and a half of the stuff.
     The thump makes it easier to sleep at night; it slows my heartbeat.
Her lips whisper to me as I sleep and I long for them to be upon my neck.
      My fingers grasp the sheet but in my mind they are running through her hair and down her back.

Now, my bedroom is filled with the purple liquid, only two feet of air separating the ceiling and the top of the purple swimming pool.
     As I sleep, she sleeps with me and as our fingers touch
she exhales a blast of the cool purple liquid.
     Without cease it fills my lungs and her whispers grow fainter
and her touch sweeter.

Even though I've been writing for years
(not that it's any better than when I started)
the title still holds true.

Words don't spill out,
thoughts don't process
like they used to.

Pieces need second checks for meaning,
thirds for grammar,
and a fourth for meaning.

Maybe it's the absence of physical affection;
certain chemicals aren't being triggered to release in my brain
but I decided if I couldn't keep my unspoken promises,
if I can't touch with a deep understanding of love
I will not touch at all.

It was shocking,
the impact one night could have
and so I have not had a second try
(or a six or seventh if we're counting).

I let the words of Thom Yorke
and Ezra Koenig say all that I cannot.

"Slowly we unfurl as lotus flowers
'Cause all I want is the moon upon a stick
Just to see what if, just to see what is
I can't kick your habit
Just to feed your fast ballooning head
Listen to your heart"

Orange hair on a hard mattress.
You smelt of lavender and gin
and I knew in some adverse way
that I was responsible for both
and from it I took small pleasures
all of them equally as perverse
and unjustified.

It's all the motions of unrequited love;
except it's as far from unrequited as it could be
and I'm happy about that.

A man once told me that someday I might be happy
that I didn't get the things I so strongly yearned for.

He said might, but he did not emphasize it.

stay calm
breathe in
breathe out.

do the dishes after dinner
and breakfast
but eat out for lunch.

a polish hot dog
and two lines of coke
will fill your stomach.

I never thought I was doing all that great,
I just knew I wasn't as bad as I had been
and I didn't fall to my knees and thank god
every day that I could sleep without taking a knife to my skin
and that I could wake up without my mother shouting from the next room.

I took it for granted and now it's hard to fall asleep without
licking blood off cold steal
and it's hard to get out of bed without
incessant harsh words.

I took it for granted and now I am not being held and now
I am not being held
and now I am not being held
and it's hard to breathe without being held.

So I use
people
and substances
and routines
and aimless walks .

It's hard to get on my knees and thank god for the sun when I don't want to ever see it.

I can't even write about you anymore

Blue light overlapping
a soft face.

She told me,
you are worthless.
When are you going to grow up
and stop using and stop stealing
and learn how to treat a girl right?

All with silence,
she said this.
All with silence,
she wouldn't look at me.
All with silence,
she drank,
and she wouldn't look at me.

Even though I knocked them over
I walked in to find empty beer cans
stacked to form a tower on the table.

The air smelt of cigarettes and secret connotations.

A small house filled with many beautiful people
and many different kinds of alcohol
on a cold Saturday night.

**** and bad intentions littered the floor.

I can't help but shake the feeling
that something went wrong and that
she isn't smiling the way she used to.

You pushed me down and I couldn't help the words of gratitude spilling from my lips as you picked me back up.

A beautiful face in a crowd,
with the somewhat in my direction looks.

The most beautiful face in a crowd,
with definite glances in my direction,
and just as many returned.