A quote:
if you ride like lightning you'll crash like thunder;
Through depths of despair we plunder.
Driving around and I wonder,
Why I hated the sound as a kid of thunder.
Denote

seat me next to your garbage and pickings
in the backseat of your car

you go back and forth
circling around
for the carcass to consume
preparing for the surprise attack
but you won't touch m--

"Surviving solely
On caffeine and nicotine
Hazy baby
Crazy maybe
But I am a being
Forever being."
- The way I use to describe my daily muse

Terms are the worms of the garden of expression;
Words must be chosen in the utmost discretion.
Through the rhymes, walking the lines
Between Romantic and pedantic.

Simple semantics-
There is no such thing.

In humanities we learn about semantics
(among other areas of expertise).
There's no humanities without semantics (among other areas of key).

The instructors instruct,
"It's easy, it's simple, it's breezy"
But the instructors don't conduct
How semantics can never be easy.

I saw my shadow laid out before me on the wall, and it was bigger than me, and frightened of itself. When it began to run, I dragged it back and sewed it back on in a ****** mess. Sometimes you pin to yourself the things that scare you the most, because at least fear is a black-or-white emotion. Sometimes I walk through the darkness inside my own home, and sometimes I trip and stumble on furniture edges and shoes near the doorway that were forgotten. I walk around and around, my eyes never fully adjusting to the darkness, but around and around I go. Because it is the only time in my fleeting existence where I don’t think about who I am, for I am too preoccupied with the paranoia in my head that there might be demons forever watching me. Occasionally, they chase me up my stairs on their hands and feet, growling and snarling obscenities unimaginable to anyone else except for inside my own head. I wonder what would happen if one day I made it to my room too late and they caught me. I wonder what the insides of other people’s heads look like.

As the water and suds recede,
I allow the bubbles to seep into my ears
the sound like Pop Rocks candy
exploding in my brain
drumming in my ear drums.
When it is over,
I wring out the washcloth
and watch as the water does
a tornado dance down the drain--
and my tears with it.

But the bubbles will linger on my body
will cling to me like a desperation
I once felt from you.

Do you also wince at the seeds of a watermelon
crawling there inside your mouth?
Do you also feel the bile inside begin swelling?
No way now it won't come out.

I eat only the ripest from the market
yet am forced to spit out with haste.
All the maggots and vermin seem to target
just the fruit I yearn to taste.

Life is a malicious prankster
and whatever grows are her tools.
If you're handed lemons, don't thank her-
for the only ones who take it are fools.

My routine:
Sit on the fourth step from the bottom
Stare right
through the window speckled front door
Out and beyond
gazing at culdesac concrete
Waiting for the color of the street to transform lighter and lighter until brightness
If the color made from
someone's headlights
was a Crayon color, I would name it
"take-me-away-yellow"
I wait for the color
I wait for the signal
For someone
Anyone
To save me