Make me bleed,
dig in,
shards of ancient revenge,
words of Christmas mints,
eyes of cellophane.

If I scream,
tell me I'm the last of my kind.
Sympathy is a joke,
the fire is stoked,
my misery is going for broke.

Make me believe,
the love in your eyes is earnest,
stamp it out with your apocalyptic brows,
tell the four seasons
have not been cruel enough to me.

If I bite back,
muzzle me, baby.
Tell me I'm a silent movie lost in the era of talkies.
I'm in your woods, traveling with a broken walkie.
I'm the prey your hungry mind has been stalking.

If you don't destroy me,
how will I ever create?

i won't hurt you
unless
it's in self-defense.

I saw texting girls
collide with semi-trucks,
and though they lost the fight,
well, they left their mark.

I've kissed a wrecking ball,
and as my building fell,
I felt like a petal on the wind,
I hope she misses me.

You are an angel,
wading through a drunken hell,
and I have called out,
but you are afraid of listening.

I've seen true believers
spend lifetimes bellowing about regret,
and I've seen the nomads write
laws in understanding sand.

And when our haste comes to claim us,
don't pull your hair out
or place ash upon your brow,
cling to the love on your serpent's tongue.

The pure are always proud, stones in hand,
us ***** ones perpetually bleed,
and crawl upon the worn ground.
Sister, if you remember me, why haven't you found me?

I overheard that the watches are tired of ticking,
the calendar hung itself,
your mother's eyes are dry,
and all our crimes will fall from on high.

I was borderline batshit,
I hadn't slept for two nights,
and every time I closed my
eyes, my desperate mind
sent itself into R.E.M.

The hallucinations
were only fun up to a point,
as soon as I saw monkeys in
gas masks, I fixed another ***,
drank three or four cups,
I promised I'd wait up,
and Ms. Gloria had promised to come by last night.

My belly began to roar,
I ate a saltine, one **** packet
left, and then no groceries.
I opened the freezer,
a couple trays of ice,
half a fifth of *****,
"Ah, hell," and ****** off
the remainder in three or four hits.

I turned on the tv,
I forgot their was a war going on.
It didn't take long for my mind to bite.
I took a front row seat for the
viewing of my ego's defeat.
I was holding up well,
using the gunshots as a
backing symphony to
some poetry I was clumsily
penning.
It was something about
texting girls and semi-trucks,
but I lost the ******* notepad
I was writing it on,
I stood up to go take a ****,
and my head fell to the soles,
back met carpet quickly,
monkeys and gas masks,
I heard my phone ring,
I rolled on my side,
in an attempt to crawl to it,
then woke up 6-hours later,
to someone pounding the ****
out of my door.

With every kiss I cast,
I hope I hold you right,
my little wishing well.

You told me my sad eyes,
cut you like hot knives,
I buried my head below your whys,
did that make it alright?

My pretty one, of you, I'm terrified,
my monstrous actions you pacify,
sweet words fall from your sweet heart
and warm whatever purity is left in me.

All our barriers broken,
the secrets gently spoken,
all alone in my room,
I took some time
to resurrect with you.

I was suckling the barrel
of my grandpa's favorite gun,
when Gloria strolled in,
head held high,
like a 12-story *****.

"What the **** are you doing?"

"Nothin', sweets, I was just wondering about the taste."

Gloria mixed herself a Mt. Vesuvius,
unplugged the telephone,
turned on the tv,
dug her nails into my weary couch,
over and over.

I didn't ask how her day went,
she didn't call me babycakes,
we didn't touch,
I just watched as she changed channels,
sunk further into oblivion,
I traced my kneecap with
grandpa's gun,
it was something to do, I suppose.

"You know you got to get out," she finally said.

I looked like a suicidal *******, baptized in cobwebs,
and every word I threw at every guest teemed parasitic.
I hadn't left the apartment for awhile,
it seemed like every time I did, I would collide with
some enemy, and my bloodlust was subsiding.
I didn't like it to be so awfully one-sided.
"Hey, look at me," she demanded.

Maybe the neurons are crippled,
can't cross the synapse,
or perhaps it's this culture that
listens only to the false priest in its head,
but when no one else around you is living,
it makes the whole gig seem a bit pointless.
"Gloria, sometimes it's better just to die."

In that black dress,
you look like a million bucks,
and soon within my hands,
I will hold every dime of you.

I'm a rich man,
and elated that
this wealth corrupts.

I ****** on the tips of your fingers,
you pinned me hard,
upon my chest you bit me,
"Keep it like a memory."

I will, I will,
I hold you up,
my divinity,
my epitome,
my tv screen,
my future enemy.

I undressed you in blitzkrieg,
you made it even with one blink,
upon my back you scratched deep,
"Keep it a secret."

I will, I will,
curtains always,
my prescription,
my cancer,
my ****,
my favorite season.

fancy-smancy,
monkeys hobbling with
their rye,
and i stare clean through
stain glass eyes,
and i stare mean when
they don't get confessional.

secrets in turn,
secrets for the sacrifice
of my time,
no sympathy,
that ain't going to
help you one bit.

shards of glass,
shards of memory,
slitting wrists
and broken kiss,
through the fall
of sanity in sheets,
in monkey fevers,
in worship or
whatever.

i'm dressed up in
a fish bowl of time,
you look from the
outside,
and you laugh,
tap on the glass,
and i act like i'm
going to show you,
and i act like i'm
going somewhere
but you will pull
me out when i
go belly up and
that's that.

that's all there ever was.

The view from you
may be a lie,
but it's one I subscribe to.

You told me they were cogs,
and I deserved to only
watch from afar.

The view from you
has got me dizzy, woman,
but it's a worthwhile fright.

You told me to turn me on,
plug in to higher existence,
I asked, "god?", you said, "nah."

The view from you
is going to send me to the ground,
howling the whole way down.

You told me I'd enjoy the journey,
"it'll be brief, but sweetheart,
you'll never taste of grief."

sign me up.

We put the dark light in,
turn the stereo on,
we've kicked out all the chairs,
and I'm complimenting the suit Tyler wears.

The summer sun, the breeze,
all your trees,
that stuff is for the bees.

Here it's intensely personal conversations,
with brown-eyed girls we've never seen before.
Here it's slow dancing to early Tom Waits,
and leaving bread crumbs of shameless hints.

The freedom is found
when we under-sleep
and over-drink,
when we fall on the carpet
and laugh because it
shouldn't bring us this delight.

Tyler will make up mixed drinks,
and if he destroys himself tonight,
well, I'll be in the front row,
with a pillow and a joke.

The worried eyes are limits.
An unbridled gravity
keeping everyone down,
and tonight they aren't invited.

Our minds will spiral up,
as our bodies cling to the couch,
we'll talk of old friends and
dying relatives,
we'll swear forgiveness,
and be surprised if the
sun decides to rise,
we only live for the night.

He spat acid,
left you defaced,
******,
misplaced.

I sold lovelessness
to myself, left sweethearts
in sorrow,
in madness,
in a fury to find good arms.

And here we are,
your cold, detached facade
starting to melt,
and I lap it up,
hoping you never
find it again.

You wrap your arms around mine,
as we cross seas of parking lots
in the middle of the night,
and I don't know where the hell
we're going, but it feels so fine.

Your laugh
is the song of angels,
your touch is soothing,
and all your mistakes,
and all the exs,
and all the gods,
led me to you,
whether we bloom and burst,
wilt,
or ride the wind forever,
I'm just thankful to have found you.

Every ounce of grief
was in your head,
not your heart,
I know it was different,
but it didn't mean
we were dead.

"Honor him,"
you said,
implying I needed
to repent,
but I told you
that isn't my bent.

When you don't have rules,
you don't break rules,
no remorse,
no wallowing in regret,
no seek-out of redemption.
It's all a circular charade,
I don't have the time to stomach.

You make the rules
so your life plays like cinema,
so you feel like you are fighting
for something,
knowing at any given moment
you could retrogress.

I don't want to taste retreat,
there's no "honor" in that.
I'm straight. I'm progress.
I'm not digging trenches,
I'm not holy,
I'm not unholy,
I'm areté.

the movements
      well-rehearsed,
                the dialogue
                                      forced,
the breath heavier than necessary,
but the sheets were still sweaty, your fingernails still digging,
                       the movements
                   felt alright,
       exhale love,
inhale war.
our eyes sewn shut, as we'd vision trip for some foreign bed,
we'd bite our lips at each new venue, deeper, faster, finishing,
crash at each others' side, look at each other for the first time
                                                            ­                                             since we began
                                                                                                                            the night.

spilled blood,
spilled milk,
not tears,
no repent,
"boy, get right!"

i will,
i will.

driftwood again,
flimsy tangles,
always on,
halfway gone,
"son, come home."

i will,
i will.

the wisdom weighs,
the sorrow gains,
i walk doomed,
you walk stupid,
"come into the fold."

i won't,
i won't.

salvation sells,
purpose buoys,
love is forever-
what a crock,
going for a long walk.

is a carniverous cemetery,
is a pacifier,
is a ******* on a friday night,
is only enough liquor to get you buzzed,
is a ****** bag cop,
is a church with splintered pews,
is sinners scared shitless,
is a two-year-old with an affinity for violence,
is my ex-girlfriend,
is paranoid,
is a blanket of all your favorite prescription pills,
is worried sorority girls in dark-wash jeans,
is unshaved,
is a cancer,
is a perpetual spell-check,
is lonely,
is my mother
and a god-awful toothache.

All these self-inflicted rules
are ripping off your existence,
making you a box, chained up,
in some rusting cage.

Anna, I know people aren't all that pretty.
I won't forget when we sketched mankind.
He was too fat to move, too drunk to talk,
and too proud to back down.

But do you really think you need the rules,
to keep yourself superfucking cool?
I've ****** on your fingers,
I've listened to your secrets,
I promised I wouldn't fall in love with you,
but of late, I decided that was a dumb rule.

Anna, we were made for straight lines.
The circles will only sink us into the ground.
Progression, constant evolution,
patterns and conditioning are for the typicals.
I want halycon evenings,
just talking peaceably under the blanket,
and if we recieve an invitation,
no matter where it's to,
there we'll go.

A collective soul isn't impossible.
It is only reserved for the least
frightened amongst us.

Unchain yourself,
Anna.

Do you remember, sister,
when mercy was a right?
I'm too tired to treat it
like a title to be earned.

Sister,
I have commited no crime,
short of high.
I have done no wrong,
that at one point I didn't see as right.

Do you remember, sister,
when love was a promise?
I'm too selfish to seek it
like a prize to be professed.

Sister,
I have seen no sunrise,
that didn't sink me.
I have told no lie,
to someone who wouldn't believe me.

Children,
all of me was all for you,
from towers I commended,
from basement I sympathized,
and god,
how I find all of me,
missing all your adoring stares.

I stood by,
I watched your birth in the garden
all those years ago,
and how your cries floated to heaven,
and how heaven answered with meadowlarks,
I handed you the apple,
I kissed your brow,
you would coo and grasp my coat,
I felt love, you felt vital.

I waged war,
with all the saints and arthouse critics.
We drank their blood by the moon
and our temperate speech
did flow from the fount,
under the table we were,
grew we did,
proper adolesence looking for
classical supremacy.

And Children,
I know the darkness was always creeping,
crippling every satellite, every sandy shoreline,
withering us in mirror,
you asked if the tide could claim us,
I patted your shoulder,
kissed your hand,
there is no enemy capable of victory,
oh, how the prophets betrayed me.

When your compliance was absolute,
when our neighbors pledged allegiance,
when I crushed the throats of Solomon, Gilgamesh, and
the sons of Zeus,
leagues made banners,
few made poison.

I gave you slaves,
girls, and sport.

I gave you a voice,
blankets, and victims.

The crowd and chants,
my pride and concubines,
the grass never faded,
nor the flowers wilted.

Children,
why did the publications turn against me?
I erased the existence of all you wanted dead,
I gave you dreams,
I gave plenty to sup,
plenty to remain drunk,
Children,
why did the prophets lie to me?

The priests carried daggers,
preyed upon me,
prayed for my passing-by,
the stares were there,
empty of adoration,
only hungry for my sacred blood.

I watched seas of my own,
pull down every cast,
my form laid to waste
on the streets I built under your feet.

My royal guards
chained my hands,
I could only stare at my blue veins,
my royal guards,
dragged my feet,
and in the senate they made me watch,
as my record was blotted out.

As the sun set,
the streets were lit
by effigy.

As the sun set,
I found myself in
the garden.

I stood straight,
back to a stake,
all eyes on me,
all shouts for me,
all the rage,
effigy, effigy,
they poured pitch at my feet,
they said prayers and incantations,
the flowers were in full bloom,
and the sound of buzzing flies buried
the cries.

I tried to be a friend to everyone.
Now history's vapor,
I tried to be a friend to everyone.

we weaklings
were weapons of warmth,
lulling, sanctifying,
losing ourselves in orbit,
in constellations of opticals,
and oh, how the voices would
rise from below us,
and my, how the fires would
fall all around us,
but it was always you and me,
wrapping ourselves in freedom,
speaking naught of love,
only acceptance in hopelessness,
and gratefulness at each others'
words and actualized souls.

If you are around me,
and I've been drinking,
start drinking,
keep us on the same plane, friend.
Otherwise all we are going to do
is draw lines,
you'll say something like I lost my ****,
I'll say something like you never live,
same circle every time.

I'm going to cut the dense night to ribbons,
and you are always invited to join,
but don't sit and criticize while I lose my mind,
lose it with me,
keep it on the same plane,
otherwise in the morning
I'll be guilty,
and you will be a friend short
of making a name for yourself.

Walked out the door,
into the God abandoned day,
night took his toll,
brought his longtime friend,
the rain.

Please, don't follow me.
I'm not mad for the reasons you thought.
I'm not sad for the season I lost.
It's the lessons you didn't mean, but taught.
Please, don't follow me.
Your words are meaning less and less to me.

Walked past my car,
stopped at Vista,
bought a pack,
watched the water war,
spat smoke, in my soaked coat, under an awning,
a teenage couple, tense as matchsticks, walked past,
staring with unknown, undeserved prejudice.

Please, don't follow me.
It isn't about emotional depths or rediscovery.
It isn't about finding happiness or inspiring sorrow.
It's the fact that my mistakes led me to you.
Please, don't follow me.
You aren't ready to help me.

whistle, call out,
bait me in,
i'm super ******* cool,
i can't forgive,
what i can't forget,
whistle, call out,
the neurons fire mad,
the adrenaline screams,
grinding teeth,
i'm super ******* cool,
whistle, call out,
taunt, bait,
think of your throat,
of your crippled arrogance,
listen,
i'd love to spill your blood,
i'd love to make you hate every breath,
but i'm super ******* cool,
so i'll watch from afar
as you spill your own,
going mad at the lack
of a response,
at the lack of an ally,
i don't have time to
pretend,
to be bait,
to be horned,
to get drawn in and *******,
i'm brando in a white t-shirt,
i'm fonzie decked in leather,
and you're a summer *****
whose season is in passing.

I couldn't get over myself,
kept telling all my friends I was dead,
and then you asked if you could sleep over.
I hadn't needed anyone.
But halfway submerged
in sheets, in white wine,
laughing your *** off,
I realized that all the
years I've been dropping
on this dangerous lifestyle,
are worth the expense
if for one evening they
bought me a few fevers
with you.

Alright, alright,
we're both alright
for the moment,
and that is more
than holy.

I could ask for you to stay,
perhaps for you to never change,
but there wouldn't be the hunt,
there wouldn't be any fun,
and I'm not sure if it's love
or time simply not spent alone,
but my breath is light,
my body heavy,
and you're falling asleep,
ear to my naked chest,
your heart
matching my beat.

Alright, alright,
we're both alright
for the moment,
and that is more
than I asked for.

Mama,
I'm growing horns.
I speak in smoke,
it fogs the retinas of
every green-eyed girl
with something to lose.

Mama,
my smile grows sharper.
I relish in rolling eyes,
discovering the enemy gene,
shooting the **** with the ******,
plotting revenge on every Shiva.

Mama,
deny my black irises and hungry crystal hands.
I'm looking for grey leaves to crush,
I'm looking for heathen hymns to memorize,
tasting bleak humanity with each handshake,
and half-*** suicide attempt.

Mama,
in kaleidoscope memories you will find me.
Distort your love in retrospect,
sell my stories to distant, dusty cousins,
lie until i had a heyday,
but don't waste a prayer or a wish upon me.

the bombs fell on my family,
i looked to god,
asked,
"is that all you got?"

no, no, i was not shocked,
for 7 years the
prophet on the
24/7 news
told me it was coming.

up to alaska,
tundra and me,
tundra and me,
spit on my hands,
shook your hand,
sharp grin,
sharp part in my hair,
you said i'd be bald,
i was a faux pas,
down to portland,
free your mind
in fish bowl,
in windowsill acid,
you said "loosen your tie",
we spent two consecutive
nights throwing dollar bills
across the room as we shook,
slid, stepped fancy, some clumsy,
until free of constraining clothing,
we called landlords
told them not to worry,
i bought you four americanos,
you pounded them out,
you bought me three bottles of wine,
worst night of my life,
across to pine ridge,
you scored peyote,
said it'd help me see,
all i got was sad,
staring at weathered, forgotten men,
and their starving spawn,
we headed back home,
spinning the only cd you own,
bowie's station to station for
28-hours,
i said i loved you,
you said i broke my promise,
bit me, stroked my hands,
said, "well, i guess we'll see where this goes."

the
    blackbirds
               have gone
                     silent,

and
    the winter
            is talking
                    of revenge,

and
     in weary
               acceptance
                    i begged,

"take your toll, make this wait end."

i made me some writer friends,
mistook the mistake,
tore the gate,
ate a ghost,
******* a ******,
slaughtered a village to gain your attention,
when you wouldn't look,
i painted myself black,
when you wouldn't look,
i told you i was a shepherd, you were sheep,
and you were going to get
eaten
by some gelatinous being
with very fine teeth.

all my writer friends,
they're all at my throat.
all my writer friends,
they sink claws, scream in my ears,
shove, shove,
tell me i need to love god above.

i made me some writer friends,
tricked the truth,
bent my back with compliments,
strung my neck with friendly kisses,
wrote all my writer friends a eulogy,
wrote a ****-all note to my mom and dad,
but i didn't buy the right stamp,
smoked a bowl,
baked a cake,
called the goat an *******,
poured a shot for a 15-year-old girl,
tickled the ivories until they stopped laughing at me,
discovered that all red-headed girls bite lips,
thanked danny elfman for scoring my bedroom scene,
continued working on an epic poem that rips ginsberg off.

all my writer friends,
tell me to stop distorting reality,
stop drinking,
stop dominoes of summer girls,
all my writer friends,
they are handing me bibles and pistols,
and i give them a nod,
a blanket,
a cup of coffee,
positive reinforcement,
and set myself on fire every night
to hear myself howl.

"*******, you got ***** by the sun," Molly discovered
as she lifted my stained, white, awkward v-neck off.
She proceeded to kiss down my San Diegan,
sun-painted spine.
"Does it hurt?"

"Nah, do you want more wine, foxy?"

"Sure, just a little bit. I'm feelin' pretty good."

I snagged the bottle from the freezer,
tore the cork out with my teeth,
as I was grabbing her glass off the counter,
I heard her unbutton, unzip, and undress
her loose jeans and her cotton *******,
I heard her throw them to the floor,
as I finished pouring.

I turned,
she was pulling a blanket over
her milky legs, settling into the couch.
As I drew close to her exposed black toenails,
I smiled in pseudo-polite fashion,
"You know these 3-4 a.m. calls gotta stop.
You're going to ******' **** me."

She giggled in a high pitch,
like a perfect 10-year-old,
it made me even more on edge,
"Oh shut up," laugh, laugh, continued,
"you know you love it. We couldn't
do this any other time."

I handed over her glass,
sat in front of her curled toes
on the ridge of the couch.

Her black fingernails skidded
along my weather-beaten skin.
There was no empathy, no exhalation,
no rejuvenation in them.
I had hit a deep low.
Not even the coast could save my soul.

I didn't dance around it,
I skipped ahead to my favorite question,
"How are things with your fella?"
My inflection made the question seem painless
to answer, and maybe it was, but it was hard
to listen.

"Um, well, we broke up on Thursday."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, anywayz, he called me last night,
asking if he could come chit-chat with me,
I said I guess so, and we stayed up like all
night, and we really worked everything out.
It felt so good to clear it up. So we are back
together, to normal, I suppose. What got me
was he told me he loved me and would-"

"Would do anything for you? Or some **** like that?"

"Well, yeah. God, what is your problem? You've
been acting like a **** all night."

I swallowed, with desert difficulty,
grabbed her glass, took a large drink,
she tried to take it out of my hand,
but I pushed her fingers away,
looked straight in her pretty, deceiving eyes,
they were getting antsy, I waited for the alcohol
to hit my head, and once it did,
I cleared my throat, and maintaining
the theme of cool detachment said,
"Molly," exhale, "you are a ******* idiot."

"Excuse me?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, I said you are a ******* idiot."

"You have no roo-"

"Hey, it isn't just you. ******' victim of your age.
Every girl I know is hung up on some *******,
that didn't really do anything special,
just timed dating with some holy moment in your life.
It all comes down to laying your claim at the right time.
When your head is still doped with that 'the one' crap."

"You have no ******* clue what you are talking about!
The first time I kissed him I felt like I would
be kissing only him for the rest of my life."

"You were 18."
I said barely above a whisper.
Molly was straining, tears were welling,
my mouth was spitting out everything,
that within a few hours' wisdom,
I would come to regret.

"Love isn't reserved for a certain age, *******!"

"That may be true, but let me just say this: if he is
'the one', then why are you here?
Your true love didn't come with a special rider
enabling the privilege of sporadic 4 a.m. *****
with people that are so beat down,
you assume them to never give a ****."
Every venomous word, stated calmly, collected,
with light cruelty.

"I....I..." her voice was cracking, spiraling,"I don't know
you just seemed interesting."
She buried her face in my arm,
I took another drink from her glass,
stared straight ahead.
She was muttering muffled things like, "I really do love him"
into my arm and torso.

She spat and moaned for 15 minutes are so.
Volumes rose and fell in cascades
of civil war. The roar dulled to a whimper,
the whimper dulled to silence.

She regained her composure,
she stood up, no nervousness,
she recovered her naked lower body,
she got the button in the loop and
the silence I tore,
"I didn't sign up to be an asterisk,
some ******* footnote in the history
of your love. I wanted to save you."

Molly laughed.
She ******* laughed.

Molly rolled her eyes.

She rested one hand on
hot skin,
grabbed my chin with the other,
and aimed my gaze toward her.

"Don't lie. You aren't allowed to.
We've been friends too long for that.
You needed a muse, a change of pace,
and I hate to say it, but you are
always going to be somebody's footnote
if you don't have any self-respect.
You never let yourself be happy.
You are too caught up in experiencing
all the lows to allow yourself to
feel high. You used to be so much
fun. You used to be so sweet.
Try to find that guy again."

With that,
Molly grabbed her purse,
kissed my forehead,
slid into her shoes,
strolled smooth and soft
out the door and into
the early morning air.
I took another drink.

I lap a bit of the water out of my cupped hands,
then splash the rest on my battered face.
Evan looked at me like I was obscene,
left the room, slammed the door, burning,
Tyler was still nauseous, buried in the couch,
talked light about being surprised at his survival.
I made him some toast,
we tried to piece together the night,
but we only remembered that
he concocted some White Russian rip-off and called
it a Grey Romanian,
I talked to Rachel about *** and respect,
Evan wasn't very appreciative of the cake I baked,
nor was he kind to Shawna or Kara when
they gave him kickass gifts,
Bobby kept Tyler from drowning in his *****,
Lauren brought me a blanket when I was freezing,
I passed out in the bathroom,
and the general consensus was we need to slow down.

Tyler told me he felt like he needed to go to church.

I felt ***** too,
but it was more from the things I have seen,
I have touched, and God never could make me unsee, unfeel.

Tyler and I sat and talked like ancient men,
men who had far outlived their time,
and were just waiting for death's hour
to claim its ****.

Pure things come and find us,
we won't find you,
not down the road we've been taking.
Pure things,
the world should hang its head in shame
at all its ***** things.
Give us a revival.

The Grey Romanians, the depths,
and the *** aren't giving the answers
we expect.

I told Tyler I loved him,
walked out the door,
the sun was too bright,
I walked past an Asian lady,
her smile was insane,
I climbed in my car,
put on some Thelonious
and mended myself with each erased mile.

I pulled myself along
the freezing tile,
leaned over the shower,
My teeth went through
the grinder as my brain
was struggling to breathe.

I vomited and vomited.
I had no water to drink.
I had no one beside me.

In the other room they
were laughing,
they were laughing
           they were laughing,
and I had no water to drink.
No one beside me.

I began to quiver,
I began to call out,
but nobody heard me,
I'm so cold, I'm so cold, I'm so cold, I'm so cold, I'm so cold,
             I'm so cold, I'm so cold, I'M SO COLD, i'm so cold, i'msocold.

So,
I pretended I was talking to Mary.
I'm not sure what made me go to her,
I whispered her questions, and answered.

Mary asked what was going on with Lauren.
"We don't talk much.
She's trying to find her freedom.
She was a kindness, and now she looks at me with hate."

Mary asked if I was okay.
"Aside from just throwing up, I'm dandy."

Mary asked if I had another girl in mind.
I laughed detached,

"I drank so someone would take care of me,
and there's no one beside me,
and I'm freezing,
and they're laughing,
and Tyler is so far away,
and this tile is bitter,
and I'm SO COLD!" I roared,
hoping someone would come and aid me
to rest.

My phone lit up to my side,
a message,
Kyri said she is moving on,
that was the fourth woman
to tell me that in the last week.

There was a shift in the movement
in the next room,
I thought they remembered me,
but they were all leaving.

There's a point when it all becomes okay,
a sense of divine clarity,
when you know for certain that no one wins,
the rules are always bent,
the good ones get away,
and summer is always spent.

There's a sound finer than your favorite music,
a voice begging for your safekeeping,
when you know for certain that at least one person,
for one spell, wants yourself, your health,
the gifts turn old,
beauty levitated by introspective wealth.

There's always a trail, there's always four walls, never an escape,
a broken heart crying for your broken neck,
when compliments wash ashore against a sea of catastrophe,
their hate proves your worth, your weight, your sting,
a perpetual feast of old, distasteful words,
your frightened mouth fired in haste.

what to do?
no god to listen to me,
just one who ***** on me.

what to say?
no lover who will stay true to me,
just brief windows of making misery.

where to go?
my brimstone parents' pattern,
is all i've ever known.

how long?
will Kyri keep my line of poetry
painted in red by her bedside window.

when will the realization hit?
the young girls chasing me,
see they are better off without me.

when will
the ones i want
succumb to the web of me.

what to do?
to pull the splinters from the pew,
to get god another Job.

how long will it last?
the states and kingdom ain't united,
all the old folks are begging for a tyrant.

will we ever find comfort?
being alone together,
staring at the maddening sky.

Come to me bruised and frayed,
bird of prey.
Death's hour can wait,
I'd like to hope for your wings,
I'd like to hope for your seams.

If you're bleeding, dear,
I'll press against until the red stills.
If you're crying, dear,
I'll drink tears until you find your will.

Come to me bitter and dismayed,
bird of prey.
Love's hour can wait,
I'd like to lift your tattered remains,
I'd like to make you holy in the eye of a god.

If you're hungry, dear,
I'll give up my feathers.
If you're lonely, dear,
I'd like to flock together.

He didn't earn the name Talk Radio
by digging on NPR,
he earned the name
for being a stupid ******
that never shuts up.

Talk wasted his physically
fit years chasing shallow ***,
and creating a seduction ritual,
requiring a lighthouse at
Lake Hefner.

Now he's grappling with his
late 20s, trying to retain what's
left of his hair,
trying to **** in his massive belly,
that resembles a pregnant lady,
more than a typical beer enthusiast.

Speaking of pregnant women,
he confessed a ****** obsession
centered around their tummy.
He asked if I felt the same,
I said,
"I guess they're cute,
but it is in no way a ******
thing. I don't want to
go to town on their
baby lump."

Spending my weekend with Talk,
made me thankful for my ability
to think rationally.

I swam in your ocean, Anna.
I drank the salt of your skin
until it gave me hallowed sickness.

I told you,
I was never good at staying anyone's friend.
I spent three weeks convincing you I'd try.
When I didn't succeed, why did you act surprised?

You keep shifting shape.
And that isn't fair.

I got tangled in your weeds, Anna.
I struggled and howled,
you talked with warmth, ran fingers in my hair.

I told you,
I wouldn't live past thirty-five,
you said,
I wouldn't make it to twenty-five,
I told you,
I was evil,
you told me,
you were eviler.
I told you,
I was evilest,
you said,
**** superlatives.

I saw you drown yourself in yourself, Anna.
Wallowing in the cold wind
of one demented abecedarian.

You keep shifting shape.
And that isn't fair.

I told you,
to keep your feet moving,
you said,
I needed to stop talking,
I told you,
I was ready to marry you,
you said,
I would never escape my
ex-girl collection,
I told you,
Anna, if I can't have you
you're going to destroy you,
you said,
you'd like to see you try.

Let your waves crash against me,
let your wind carve,
I will say I love you,
until one of us dies.

Packed in tight,
labored breathing to my front, behind, left,
and right.
There was sharp college affiliation division,
mostly clean shavens, greying womens,
a meager family of lost souls,
unified in their desire to levitate,
from the daily ties
and coffee grinds.

The airplane dragged its feet,
as we cousins stared through windows,
holding the remnants of home in our lungs,
as the plane began to recline,
the engines sang a maddening song,
our eyes widened in exhalation.

The city dissolved, landscapes dissolved,
in its stead, opaque white filled our viewing screen,
but in that sacred moment,
when we rose over the roughly hewn clouds,
when holy light, holy sky broke through,
we exhaled,
as the sun cascaded over each ridge and bluff,
the kindness of directionless was finally restored.

"What's your name, pretty thing?"

"Tomorrow, you'll never catch up to me."

She told me she had leprosy.
She hated everyone, including me.
She spoke in seas of divine prophesy.
She said her new scars were scabbing.

I told her I'd eat her leprosy.
I hated everyone, but she intrigued me.
I spoke in droplets of dissonance.
I would pick her scabs with shards of glass.

I'll make you mine Tomorrow.
You will become my Everyday.

my hands tightly clenched
the bathroom counter,
my mouth agape,
eyes rolling,
tossing hair to the side,
tighter,
tighter,
veins aching,
my vision sliding
to look into
my own eyes,
pupils dilated,
bags,
red,
my face covered in runny
black paint
on my chest
the word
"dead" written
with the tips of tense
fingers,
that way if the sirens
ever made their way
they wouldn't waste
their time trying to fix
me,
tighter,
tighter,
i was my own maker,
my own master,
my own destroyer,
i hated to say it,
but i hoped she was alone,
because i was alone,
i fell to the floor,
traced the word
on my skin,
lighter,
lighter,
my head began to fog
with dense advice,
everyone is right,
except me.
everyone knows all,
except me,
my hands tensed one
last time,
my mind faded to
black,
and i took my gamble.

The psychics were breathing smoke,
rummaging through my roommates collection of abstract art,
they told me what my favorite Modest Mouse album was,
they told me about my personality,
I told them I was a psychic,
they told me to *******.

Everyone assumes an original identity
in the self-inflicted apocalypse
provided by that old friend, alcohol.

Kevin was the smooth-talking,
drink-mixing extraordinaire.

Kara was the cynic.

Shawna was the kindhearted.

Evan was sober.

Tyler was in and out.

I was the ******* that took a party pill,
bounced off everyone with a handshake
and an apology.


We **** ourselves to resurrect,
piece together the discordance,
the chaos,
the girls.

While the psychics were breathing smoke,
while Kevin was collapsing,
while everyone was worried about me,
all I could say was,
"This is the happiest night of my life,
and that depresses the hell outta' me."

I longed for the sirens in the distance,
I took another drink,
I longed for renewed innocence,
I took another drink,
I longed for someone to lay beside me,
I took another drink,
it was finally enough.

I took off my shirt,
made war with the remnants of stability,
of sanity,
told my friends I loved them,
and hoped that my time ended in sync
with the sunrise.

Sit by my side,
talk me through,
let your sweet breath
caress my swollen eyes.

I select you.

Tell me about your past,
talk me through,
each misstep and lie,
the cadence makes it fine.

Curl up next to me,
talk me through,
make sure my heart beats,
but don't let me fall victim to dreams.

Call me your best friend,
talk me through,
if I show weakness, tangle about hair,
please don't call me handsome.

If we make it past night,
if you talked me through,
I'll make you breakfast
and you will make laughter.

Will you select me too?

Let's keep the trade even,
talk me through,
I'll distract you, you'll distract me,
from all the old lovers that proved themselves typical.

i thought i was going to play the good guy,
i didn't even get a line,
an extra,
mr. passerby #7,
only a glimpse and a goodbye.

I wish I kept loving you,
when times got rough.
Memories flicker
when you sit near me,
but I'm too burnt out
for them to fully light.

When you talk soft,
I get sentimental for the slow nights.
Dusty '60s tracks,
blankets,
and couches we never could fit right.

I hope he keeps your smile wide,
I hope he holds your hand while you stroll through malls,
I hope he buys frames for the pictures you make him.

I thought I could run from us,
then it would all make sense,
everything novel,
everything pure,
and in the brief time of our parting
I have felt little, other than used.

I woke up
to a nightcalm-shattering
cell phone ringtone.

"Can I come over, baby?"

"What time is it?"

"I don't know 3, 4."

"****," eyes roll, sigh,"yeah I guess so."

"Don't sound too excited," Molly said, Molly laughed.

"Are you going to be long?"

"Nah, I'm already outside."

"Awesome. Okay, let me put on some pants."

I opened the door.
Her hair was up.
Her skin was the color of milk.
Her eyes were grey.
She held keys in the palm of her hand.

"I like your hair," Molly said, Molly laughed.

I said it was getting ridiculous,
she put her hands on my chest,
the tension in the tips of her fingers grew,
exploration, exploration.

"Do you want something to drink?"

"Nah, can we just sit on the couch?"

"Sure."

"How's your fella do-"

She kissed the words, to lock them in.
She started to tear at my shirt,
I stalled her advances,
turned the tables,
I'm done with being prey.

I pulled her up gracelessly,
I fell through her crimson shirt,
through her black bra,
I drank each ounce of her chest,
I grabbed her nape gracelessly,
her eyes briefly frightened,
turned sinister,
turned to validation,
turned to encouragement.

I mapped her stomach,
made quick work of her
cotton shorts,
I bit the waistline of
her lace,
she clung to my coagulated hair,
I laid her to the ground,
we warred atop notebooks and
***** t-shirts,
kissing vigorously in an attempt
to stay far ahead of morals, of reasoning.

I feasted on her hip bone,
she tugged at my shirt,
no,no,no.

I removed the lace with my teeth,
her breath was exciting,
I feasted on the insides of her thighs,
she convulsed,
cursed,
grabbed tight to shirt, to hair, to every piece of furniture near.

Molly's pupils, irises, all grew.
Molly's panting *******, moans all rose.
Howling.
Peaking, breaking, releasing, falling,
sighing,
sighing,
breathing.

I wiped my lips with the back of my arm,
got up,
went to the bathroom,
used some mouthwash,
Molly walked in behind me,
"Things have been going better with him, lately, actually."

"I'm ******* happy for you guys."

I ran into her briefly,
Saturday morning,
while I was coming up,
from the alcohol-laden
Friday night.

Her hair was down.
She said I looked down.
Criss-crossed her arms
about my shoulder blades,
felt them cut into her wrists,
we were at her place.

The dog kept bark-bark-barking,
the fan was roaring, rattling carrying
twenty years of noise,
I asked how her fella was.

"Eh, okay."

"Good okay?"

No response, she asked if I wanted
to watch a Disney movie.
I laughed.
Told her I had to go to a funeral.

"I'm sorry, baby."

"No, biggie. She was old. Expected."

I was sitting on the corner of her bed.
Looking at my depressing hair, and overgrown
scruff in her painted mirror, encrusted with
cheap jewelry, a sea of turquoise and islands of pink.

She put on some deep cuts by The Knife.
That's all The Knife has.
Asked if I liked it.
I said I loved it.

"Good" she grinned as she got up and flipped
the switch.
It didn't darken the room much, given
that it was closing in on 10 a.m.

She walked slowly toward me.
Ran her fingers through her hair.
Her hair was down.
She told me to stop being so down.

"That's all I know," I said with an air of arrogance.

"I'll break that," as she climbed on top of me,
planting her firm buttocks in my lap,
criss-crossed her arms,
about my blades,
told me to touch her thighs.

"I just don't have the time."

"Give me a few minutes, please."

I kissed the intersection of Molly's neck, Molly's ear,
deep exhale,
"I got to go."

"God, okay. Church tomorrow?"

"I doubt it."

i was a hermit,
and you dragged me into
the never-ending metropolis
of your lives.

i was content in isolation,
and you introduced me
to birds of prey and
astronauts.

i was an entertaining centerpiece
for a day.
i was an entertaining delay.
i was the perfect way to segue
him back to his place.

i was a hermit,
and you bled me
to see how much
was left of me.

i was glad to see,
you were dissatisfied
with the amount.

i was a writer, a liar,
i was a dreamer, a denier,
i was a scapegoat, and the angry judge at your throat.

i am a hermit
with no place or person
to go.
i am a hermit
with no individual
soul.

When sweet Sara gets to
Heaven to St. Peter
she will say,
not a **** thing,
only run her
tongue along her
full, glossy, ******* lips,
and snare his eyes
with her low-cut, cleavage
boasting blouse.

She'll get it.
*** always sells.

One look at your face
                     and you own me.
One touch of your skin,
                     and you burn through me.
One wandering eye,
                     and I say, "Yeah, that's fine."

the
last
love
poem
for
now.

when you pulled my trigger,
did you smile, lioness?

ricochet, ricochet.

did i want you?
for security i suppose.

when you kiss him,
will you think of me?
i doubt it.

feed my self-loathing machine.
it's hungry.

all the nights
are all mine.

all the girls,
they got no time.

all the nights
will find you in his arms.

all the girls
will conspire against me, alright?

manufacture fine ******* feelings,
smile quazi-sincere,
i never, you never, i never meant anything.

i fell for you fast, lioness.

that is always a turn-off.
i should have been an *******.
that's your type.
*******.

i kissed you.
but it didn't matter.
your breath went heavy,
but it doesn't matter.
i ended a relationship for you,
but it doesn't matter.

it's a fashionable game,
i fronted as a washed up bukowski-type,
and when you found out i was nice
you disowned me,
understandable move.

copingstrategies.copingstrategies.copingstrategies.

bring­ on the vultures.
i'll make them songs,
coffee,
and friendly emotions.

pick me apart,
promise i can watch.

pick me apart,
promise i can watch.

let the beautiful boy tame you, lioness.
your hundreds of miles away, anyhow.

let me turn to vapor.
don't talk to me.
don't ask around about me.
answers will frighten.
answers will anger.

i am barely alive.
you were selfish.
i am barely alive.
you were selfish.

you never paid me a compliment
only talked of all the other lovers.
you never cared what i had to say
only talked of your own experience each day.

i thought you were different in your own way.
your different in the same way.
turn to grey.
**** him and your pain away.

i ended everything to begin again.
i ended everything and nothing started.
i ended and found myself in the abyss.

hellhole, hope you aren't happy.
i'm malaise.
i'm the wasp nest.
if you ask to rekindle.
i'll douse myself,
and set myself to flame before
you ever get near.

don't anybody touch the remnants of me.
i want to die this way.
i want to die everyday.
i miss the comfort of everything.

i don't have the energy to start again,
nor do i have the self-esteem to move my feet,
i was wrong,
no dancing at my end times,
just knives,
fevers, and cobwebs.

i laughed out of irony.
i laughed out of spite for me.
goodnight everything.