When calls come in the middle of the night
I should know by now to expect them to be
Either ****** invitations
Or suicide threats.

No good art ever came from people
Who had the world's admiration hoisted
On their shoulders
And no great piece was ever penned by a human hand
While the creator was holding society's *****
Tightly in the other.

Have you ever suckled the breast of humanity
For all it was worth?
With unfathomable disinterest,
I have.
And with distress painting and lapping at my innards,
I have found what Lennon searched for
Even as he clawed for his last discerning breath.

Have you ever seen a kid,
Your friend,
Impaled on a Chevy's radio antenna?
It's **** near impossible to do,
Lest it pierce your eyeball
And thinking place...

I scrounge the earth
And I come up from the deep recesses
More spent than revived.

I am at a loss for words.
Why do I feel like a corpse
Day in, day out?
Today I am famished.
Not with a hunger to be satiated with thought
But with a candid urgency
And a hankering for vengeance.
I boil, I seeth.
I teeter on the brink.
I kiss with tongue
And spit out my entrails.
They say your ******* is just the end of your mouth,
But that's common sense.
Have you ever felt terror strike and shine
All down your spine?
Have you ever been unable to breathe?

Sometimes when it's cold outside
And you blow cigarette smoke from your mouth
You can't tell where the smoke ends
And your chilled breath begins.
This is what it's like to completely lose yourself.
Where do I begin and, more importantly,
Where do I end?

Am I just smoke on the end of your cigarette?
Or am I the glowing ember?

(This poem posted in tribute to the life &memory; of Robin Williams...Rest in Peace)

Whenever Richard Cory went down town,
We people on the pavement looked at him:
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
Clean favored, and imperially slim.

And he was always quietly arrayed,
And he was always human when he talked;
But still he fluttered pulses when he said,
'Good-morning,' and he glittered when he walked.

And he was rich - yes, richer than a king -
And admirably schooled in every grace:
In fine, we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place.

So on we worked, and waited for the light,
And went without the meat, and cursed the bread;
And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,
Went home and put a bullet through his head.
(Edwin Arlington Robinson)

she's the girl you meet
when you're young and reckless

you meet her when
you were expecting another pack of cigarettes
to add to your chain smoking addiction

everyone leaves her
because she is the epitome of
fuzzy blankets
reckless abandon
hopeful sunsets
long terms
unconditional love

and after they realize
the depth of the scars on her heart
they're gone
no explanation

"someday you'll find someone who deserves you"
"don't give up on love because of me, they're not all this bad"
and the worst,
"you're still my best friend"

until someone realizes
she is content with imperfection

she will always be alone

I remember the sweat
Clinging to your war-torn back
Like rain,
A succulent, torrential downpour
Of fury and lust.
And in that moment
I knew myself to be much more
Than I had ever at any variable point
Thought before.