cigarettes
****, all gone.
ash trays
empty
**** it
side of the road
empty
******* trash can
full of garbage
Marlboros?
I don't care
American Spirit?
Why would I care
filtered unfiltered
why should I care.
I'd smoke out of a elephants *** to stop this scrath
this headache
this yearning
****
get me my fix
get me my ******* cigarette.

With your mouth
you allowed me to feel your love.

With your teeth
you left your mark upon my collarbone.

With our legs
we ran through the corridors.

With our hips
we became one, if only for a night.

With your lungs
you sang a song to me, never to be repeated.

With my ears
I listened attentively, never to miss a beat.

If I hold the blankets close to my body,
and close my eyes,
with enough imagination and yearning,
I can feel your hands on my body,
your lips on my neck,
and your legs intertwined with mine.

Whisper softly,
I'm all ears.
Kiss my neck
and baby, I'm yours.

Stay inside,
a little longer.
We have yet
to satisfy our hunger.

I can't stop
and take time to think.
No, it ain't my nature,
would you like a drink?

Just sit back
and rewind
to all the nights
when you were mine.

I remember the moment I fell in love with you.

You were sitting on a red couch with a very drunk boy,
and you had a cigarette with red lipstick stains on the filter.
Like the couch and the lipstick, your cheeks were red.

I went up to you and looked at you.
Your eyes were dilated that night,
and even though I couldn't see it, the shade of blue in your eyes will always be my favorite.

Your hand grasped mine as you stood up,
and the grasped my neck as we fell back down;
A heap of good intentions turned sour by methamphetamine cut MDMA,
and kisses wet with passion and rain.

In the darkness you whispered yes to every question I asked,
but in the light of the following days
your eyes would not even chance upon mine,
and I've only heard your voice with the subtle undertones of contempt.

You laugh in the same way you did that night,
and I bet you look at the stars in the same way
but your eyes never seem to shine like them.

November brought
rain,
snow,
sweaters,
and kisses.

We discovered what our lips could do as we lay huddling together.
Under blankets,
in a house,
in a tree,
we discovered the sensation of
excitement in places we thought to be unexcitable.
Like our lips,
our tongues,
our fingertips
and our eyelashes.

I can't remember how many times we watched Harold and Maude,
I only know that we never got through it.

You told me I kiss like I'm in a hurry.
Like I need to catch a train
but I also need to kiss you,
and nothing on this earth can stop me from doing both.

And you kissed like you knew it was a good thing.
Which must be quite a sensation to have.
Just like those we felt in our lips, tongues, fingertips and eyelashes.

Today, I had an urge to tell you that I will write a poem about you.
I told you and you embraced me. I held you tight, careful to not get my burning cigarette in your hair.

You make me happy, which is something I haven't been able to say to anybody in a long time.
And it's constant, it's everlasting. It's beautiful.
I'll giggle and I feel like I'm high.
I am high, but I have not smoked.
Yeah, that's corny and I do not give a single care.
But I give two cares about you.
And I give three cares about holding your hand, not squeezing it too hard.
And I give four cares about holding your body close to mine.
And I give five cares about kissing you.
And I give six cares about us.
And I give seven cares about your hair, not lighting it on fire, or touching it too much.
And I give eight cares about nothing. I'm just not capable.
But if I could, I think they would be about you.

We can live
only to the extent
of which we love.

Let's hangout,
old friend,
you, me, and Ellis D. Martini.

Let's roll in the grass and pretend we're six again, let's release our imaginations from responsibility.

I once saw a black widow
so I killed it.
I found its eggs and killed them too.
I found its sister and brother, mother and father, I found its lover and I killed them all. I used a broken broom handle and woke with bites on my ankles, the broom handle cared not to be used for ******.

Let's drink all the orange juice we can find,
and call me Nancy from now on, you can be Shirley.

Surely, Shirley, I'd love to hangout;
You, me, and Ellis D. Martini.

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.

It's
             a sad moment.

Looking

              into the pack and finding it empty.

What

             am I gonna do?

Without

             them life *****.

Quickly

             look into your wallet.

Three

           bucks, ******* *****.

Oh

           Well one night won't **** me...

...

            ...

Somebody

            **** me, I'm ******* dead.

The sun shines upon Earth, and upon me.
It looks down on me, from blue skies of hope.
It says "Why do you destroy yourself in this way?
Why do you pollute yourself, and myself, and my Earth when you can be protecting us?"
"Because," I say, looking up at the white clouds of smoke, slowly drifting towards the sun, from my lungs,
"Life is too long, and too painful."
The sun sighs, as black dots begin to appear around the sun.
"Life is just long enough, my friend. You have all the time you need to find love, happiness, and yourself.
You have just enough time to do all of this, and then die.
There is no reason to be upset, no reason to harm.
Recite the three virtues as was told to you, by myself, by all around you."
"Eternity, happiness, true self, and purity. These describe the true nature of Buddha's life and of my life and of the life on all around me."
The sun smiles as I put out my cigarette, in a wastebasket.
"Good, my friend. Do you feel better now? Do you wish to recite them again?"
"No, my friend. Thank you, you are a true source of guidance when myself is lost."

It was a victory really,
leaving this town, if only for a few days.

The drive was long, seven hours long,
but it was fun, an ounce of *** fun.

****** and in the dark
we set our tent up next to the beach.

When the moon rose and the waves grew louder
we opened our bags and procured brown mushrooms, which we ate.
A mile down the beach the mushrooms took effect
and I looked up at the stars
to find them looking back at me,
and it felt as if nature slapped me in the face
and I had to sit down.

We continued on,
stumbling and laughing and pointing at all the beautiful things we saw.
After a few hours, my brain took me in a direction I was not prepared to go.
You see, a beautiful girl appeared in my mind,
and I wanted nothing more than for her to spark the gas in my chest,
and allow me to shoot up into the stars,
the stars we have so often talked about.

But I could not feel her warmth,
and I could not touch her skin,
and I could not see her eyes.
And so I sat,
swimming in my mind,
observing burning cigarette after burning cigarette,
the smoking flowing in one ear
and out the other,
changed,
woven into intricate patterns.

Everything was beautiful,
and she was not there.

I remember the day we met.
Not the date, but the day.
Your best friend was dating my best friend and considering they were our only friends in the sixth grade, we spent a good amount of time together.

I haven't seen that friend in years and I doubt you've seen yours in just as long.

Please don't let that happen to us.

On the first day I noticed nothing but your hair.
How it caught the sunlight and reflected it tenfold.
How it swayed around your neck.

On the second day I noticed nothing but your lips.
How they individually felt between my teeth.
How they left marks upon my neck and thighs.

On the third day I noticed nothing but your mouth.
How the words flowed out, powerful as an ocean.
How your teeth would bite me ear, drawing blood.

On the fourth day I noticed nothing but your hands.
How they held mine, always eager to calm them.
How they pulled the needle out of your arm, quivering.

On the fifth day I noticed nothing but your legs.
How they powerfully allowed you to stride great lengths.
How they were ever in motion, even in your deepest parts of sleep.

On the day sixth I noticed nothing but collarbones.
How I wanted nothing more but to crawl in to them and rest.
How I could gently **** on them, causing your whole body to palpitate.

On the seventh day and for years since I have noticed nothing but each individual hair on your body.
They each have a name, Kassandra, Jared, Peter, Ryan, Falyn, Jacob, Hammed, Caroline, Audrey, Yo-Landi, Diane, Khajjitt, Daralyn, forever and ever and ever.

On the last day I noticed how I never noticed your eyes.
But you were gone,
and I could not tell you what color they are.

I dated a girl who emotionally abused me for months and when I finally split things off I cried everyday for a couple months.

I split things off with a girl who I loved with all my heart, I continue to believe I would cross oceans for her, yet I have not cried.

I'm an oxymoron, a lesson in irony.
I'm an upbeat jazz number, played in a minor chord.
I feel the world for those around me,
and only bitter disdain for myself.

I'm attractive, I've got a strong jaw line,
and a nose most guys would **** for.
I dress better than the guys I run with,
and my hair does exactly what I want it to.

I read French existentialist authors
and consider myself well versed in modern jazz.
I've got a steady job, and I've never been late once.

When I think about who I am,
and the jealousy I feel towards the happiness I am not providing you,
I get sick to my stomach.

All I've ever wanted is for you to be happy and you appear to be so and I'm upset because I'm a jealous ***** of a man who has the emotional capacity of a child longing for his mother's teet.


I don't know why I feel the way I do but I'm out of *** and I have to deal with how I'm feeling and that will be a first.

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.

It's dizzying how much misunderstanding there can be
between a father and son.
He thinks I'm out having ***, smoking dope, getting in fights, stealing cars and shoplifting.
When I all I do is chain smoke with my friends and ***** about our respective fathers.

So much trust has been lost in such a little time
and it's not him, it's me.
Coming home high, smelling of cigarettes, two hours late,
that'll do it.
I can't tell him that I was two hours late  because I was trying to sober up,
finding it disrespectful
to be high around my own old man.

He's afraid.
Because I'm just like him, and he sees it.

"I'm seventeen already sniffing blow; Tell my friends it's asthma every time I start to itch my throat."

When I cough it shakes me and I cannot stop.

Sometimes phlegm comes up.
Yellow, and brown, and gross.

My teeth are yellow, even though I brush them twice a day. I even floss.

My fingers nails crack and my left eye droops when I smile.

My teeth are too small for my mouth and my acne is inconvenient in all the wrong ways.
My eyes that were once dazzling and electric-blue are just a shade of gray.
My hair is starting to tint gray, mostly in the back; that's why I cut it.

My lungs ain't what they used to be.
My knees are knobby, misshapen and sore.
My vision is less then perfect, especially in my left eye and I drink too much soda and not enough water.
My **** is always yellow, my throat always soar, and my head always aching.
My tonsils are swollen so much that they block off half of my throat.

My shoulder hurts when I lift it above my head and my back tells me I always slept in a weird position.
My dreams are always nightmares and my thoughts are always self harming.

My cigarettes are always smoked too quick.
I'm too stubborn to smoke ****.
"No, I don't need it man, that **** is stupid."
But, it really is stupid.

My neck pops when I look up and locks when I look down.
My feet become soar after walking from one class to the left.

My heart hurts whenever I think about The Girl I Once Had.

I cry when I watch One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest.
(I'm only human.)

My life has been going on for only a little while, but my strings are frayed.
I mean, Jesus Christ, my back's sore.
What kind of old man garbage is that.

I mean, shoot, I even complain like an old man.

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

She remind me of a flower.
In that she's pretty and makes me happy.
I want to pick twenty thousand flowers for her
and litter them across her room where they can dry up and get ground into the floor.

Everything takes time
and time takes everything;
Flowers, feelings, people.


I'm not sure why I've been thinking of flowers so often recently.
Perhaps I've been using them as a means to forget you.

No, not forget. I could never forget you.
To take my mind off you.
To take my mind off destructive things
and instead onto something pure
and calm and not sharp

**** 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.

You ask me what it's like to hate a human being.

You're so sweet and innocent and you need to be punched in the face.
You where your cute fall clothing and smile your deceiving smile.
I shove my fists in my pockets and shove my anger down my throat
whenever you speak.
You may have friends but they're as fake as you.
When they push the knife in your back they won't be able to twist it as much as the one twisted in back.
You're just a liar; and I guess I've always known this much is true.

Hating a human being is stepping in a puddle and getting your socks wet.
Hating a human being is having your shoe lace untied in a busy hallway.
Hating a human being is finding your pack of cigarettes empty.
Hating a human being is me thinking about you.

My wine is on the top shelf of my closet, inside a suit case.
One pack of cigarettes rests inside of my nightstand.
My Vicodin lies in the back of the same nightstand in a small red envelope.
My **** is in an Altoids tin sandwiched between my two mattresses, by the window.
Another pack of cigarettes is in the front pocket of my backpack accompanied by a lighter.
Another lighter is in clear view on my nightstand.
Three 70 mg Oxycontin are in an allergy pill container underneath my bed.
My tobacco pipe and tobacco are in an old medical kit on the second shelf of my book shelf.

I love you mom.
More than all these things
and the fact that I feel that I have to let you know that makes me very, very sad.

The bed was rocking so,
the movement of our bodies
caused my Rosary to fall on your face.

I'm not sure all that I want for you,
or all that I want from you,
but there are a few things I am certain of.

From you I would like a thousand more kisses,
two thousand more hugs
and maybe three more thousand kisses.

For you I want happiness. I want you to not have
to worry about him, be it your father, your friend,
your could-have-been lover.

But I understand that you need to figure out
how to not worry about these things on your own.
I can only wrap my arms around and hope to help.

For you I want happiness.
I want to be there for you
and for you I want happiness.

I told her I loved her
because it seemed an awfully grand thing to say.

As every phony girl would say: It's time to look on the ******* bright side. I had a good day today. I have the most amazing friends who I love and who love me. I have plenty of good music filling my ears and plenty of yummy food in my stomach. I have a nice comfortable house and my room isn't as ***** as it has once been. I have an awe inspiring family that is very diverse. My hometown is beautiful and the people aren't as bad as they have once seemed. Maybe it's just that Friday night jazz but I can really dig it. Maybe it'll last to next Friday and the one after that and the one after that. But only if I make a conscious decision to let it. And I love you all and I love myself more than I've ever had in my life, right at this very moment.
And here's some wise words from Dumbledore: “Happiness can be found, even in the darkest of times, if one only remembers to turn on the light.”

We walked,
we smoked,
we talked,
we choked.
We skipped,
we spoke,
we enjoyed
each others company.

You did my makeup.
A friend of ours said 'Kiss him!'
And you laughed and said no.
I wanted you to.
It scares me.

"Life is weird" I said.
"I know, it horrifies me." you reciprocated.
"I think it's beautiful."
I think you're beautiful.

Feeding bad habbits with love,
and rotten tree stumps with alcohol mixed ***** and *****.

Gasp for air,
breathe in poison,
exhale C^02
and bad dreams.

******* with death
and disillusioned junkies desperate for one last hit.

Fall forward,
catch yourself,
repeat until you have
and reached your destination.

Breeding hope
and sadness until you're not sure what you're hoping for
and what you're sad about.

Sleep alone,
wake up alone,
and spend all day searching
for someone to be alone with.

Two words,
that don't mean much.

Put them together and you
gain a little more meaning.

These words,
nor any other i could write,
would ever be able to describe
that which i feel for you.

You make me happy,
and adding a title to our happiness
makes it all the more sweeter,
and i could not tell you why.

But i don't need to,
because i can feel it,
and i try my best to make you feel it
and ******* it, i think i do.

I can feel it.
Falling into old habits.

I don't know how to feel.
I can actually feel the depression.
I can feel the self hate and the angst.
I can feel it all coming back.
And it scares the hell out of me.
I might just as soon be in hell
than be here.
than be me.

I once heard that "One perfect night's not enough"
and it's really ******* coming true.
It will never be enough
I will never be enough
this will never be enough.

I can feel it.
I can feel the depression pooling behind my eyeballs.
Maybe a bottle of brandy will chase it away.
Or maybe a few pills will cover it up.
Or maybe it will stay there forever
until mixed with a pool of blood
it seeps through the floorboards.

God forgives all trespasses,
but can I?
What do I have to forgive?

I'll not forgive you because you have nothing to apologize for.
You've been absent, but you have your reasons. You have your struggle and I have my love.
For you, for her, for my little sister, for everything around me.
I'll be there for you always, I'll spare my bitterness that has so often been flowing out of my pores. You don't deserve it and it won't help.
Help?
If you need some, just ask,
I'll not pass judgment for I wish none to be passed unto me, God knows one could judge me, least of all you, for the way I've treated you.

I'll be there for you,
although it's hard for me to look you in the eye.

The party, although there we only 9 of us, 12 at one point, was very loud.
People seemed to be forever in motion.
The bottles, shot glasses, and cups went soaring into the sky, only to crash into our moths.
The love swirled, the fun was endless, the memories will last, and the bottles, shot glasses, and cups went soaring.
The envy magnified, the arguments broke out, the memories will last, and the bottles, shot glasses, and cups went soaring.

I was down stairs watching a game of drunken pool when you came down, boyfriend in arm.
I was enjoying myself, laughing when the tip of the pool sticks missed the cue ball.
I laughed until I cried when Dylan knocked in the 8 ball, two shots after the break.
I laughed until I ****** when Fritz attempted to shoot from behind the back only to fall over.
Now, I've heard rumors that he, your boyfriend, treated you like ****. I didn't truly believe them; he was a nice guy.
But when I saw him with the pipe, smoking and smoking, ignoring your begs for him to stop, I got very made. Now, it might have been the Barcardi or it might have been my life for you, but I hated him.
He started to pack another bowl and you told him you would leave if he smoked it and he told you to get the **** out of his life then.
You looked like you were about to cry.
You continued to beg him, plead with him,but he just continued to tell you to shut up.
This was when I stood up and crossed the room. Tyler said "Nolan, you look really high."
I just nodded to her, my eyes intent on your boyfriend. I stood right in front of him and asked him what kind of man treats a girl that way.
He laughed and told me to shut up.
I looked at you and you told me to stop.
I looked at your boyfriend once more and began my walk towards the door.
Before I got their he said "God, your almost as much of a ***** as my girl."
I had enough.
I turned around, socked him in the mouth and preceded to have the **** kicked out of me.

I took my hands of my eyes and looked up from my day dream. He was smoking and you were trying to take the pipe from him.
God, how I hated him.
God, how hot I felt on that cold November night.
God, How I love you so.

Run down the stairs
(Superfast, and just in time
for breakfast.)

I hadn't been to a party in about a year.
I prefer what I'm comfortable with,
my friends, our routines.

I drank more than I should have.
Bodies
(Sweat)

I watched her shake her ***,
I watched her take off her shirt,
I took a shot.

I felt her heat.
I soaked in our sweat,
we were never under the sheets.


I woke up.
My head hurt,
she was gone.

She was never there

I'm so excited!
I'm growing up!
I'm so excited!
I'm throwing up!

I pay taxes!
I have a job!
I pay taxes!
I'm no slob!

I'm looking for an apartment!
I'm finishing school!
I'm looking for an apartment!
Being an adult is cool!

I cut down to two packs a week!
I have a savings account!
I cut down to two packs a week!
I smoke a healthier amount!

I get high!
I can't sleep!
I get high!
I'm in knee deep!

I get high!
I can't sleep!
I get high!
The ***** deep!

I get high!
Or else I can't sleep!
I get high!
Or else I can't eat!

I'm an adult!
Life is great!
I'm an adult!
I'm full of hate!

**** me now!
The stars are bright!
**** me now!
My head isn't right!

I hate myself!
I love you too!
I hate myself!
I love you too!

I'm full of stress!
I can't rest!
I'm full of stress!
God ******, I'm doing my best.

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.

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.

Lie naked with me.
Forget everything, we are
the most important.

The Coldness brings hate
and sadness. The light is going out now
how much time is left?

1
The water crawled up
her legs like an angry fire.
Stop! For she likes it too much.

#2
Franny and Zooey
Speaks to me like no others.
Happy, yet so sad.

#3
It has been said, when
darkness comes light lives. Yet, all
joy dies as love leaves.

#4
Sound is a constant.
It is always heard. You can-
never unhear sound

#5
Up above the sun
it does not rain nor do they
cry for there is no sadness.

#6
I live again yet
The best part is yet to come
I feel beautiful.

Unlock the door, I
know not life, yet do please
lock the door: **** me.

Lost love, where are you?
How long must we pretend (lie)
that we are happy?

Two Lucky Strikes. One
for now and one for the ear.
Can not get enough.

Chance upon my hand,
may hap we shall forget the
bottle for just a moment.

November parties
last longer than all others.
Yet they always end.

Two celestial beings destroy each other over a petty argument.
And two cartoon characters live happily ever after.
An actor is playing an insecure caricature, while a despicable tyrant commits genocide.

I am talking to a girl who flirts with me and it makes me happy.
I'm allowed to be happy.
I lay awake at night with guilt.
I'm allowed to feel guilty.

I drink and I smoke,
but I haven't touched an ****** in so long I lost count of the days.

We continue to talk,
I hear nothing but meaningless small talk
and speak likewise, if only to prove a point.

I thought having a cigarette break
would allow my heartbeat to return
to a standard clip
so I stepped outside
and had one or five smokes.

The winter night was
crisp and it was cold
and the air I returned to it
was polluted and poisonous.

Noticing a star in the sky
I decided to follow it
and it took me to Greenland
and there I met
a beautiful little boy
who told me it was time for him to go home.

He invited me into his home.
standing on the doorstep like a
succubus, his mother greeted
me with sanguine lips
and rosy cheeks.

After dinner
they told me it was time for me to go home
and so I followed the first star that caught my eye
and it brought to the place where we
fell out of love
and there on the ground
I found a circle of wine bottles
that sparkled, containing their dry fluid
they beckoned me to sip
and harshly I did.

The trees barked
and the bark whispered
and the willows
never wanted to be alone again
and so I drank and I drank and I drank
until my body was full
of heat.

I followed the smallest star I could see
and it brought me to your back porch.
Covered in snow and *****
from the winter clouds
I stood, not ready to knock
but more than ready to see you.

I sent out an invitation to you,
via the wind
and you answered with a demonic growl telling
that all is well and I should not be treading here.

Softly
and solemnly I returned inside
to the place I was before,
smelling of cigarettes and apathy.
Distraught,
she asked me where I had been and I told her
I saw an old acquaintance outside
and just needed to recollect.

I will open your mouth
and I will devore you.
Love will pour
out of each of your
pores
and you will drown in it.

You will be exhausted
and filled.
You will be distraught
and emancipated
your soul will lay
in the dirt.

Devoid
of anxiety
and surrounded
by creatures
summoning you,
you will lay
in the water
sputtering
and sloshing
and gasping for breath.

I will fill you
and I will heat you
and then just as the last
drop of human essence
drips from you,
I will consume you
and you will fuel me
as gas to a star.