Fills you up with carrion,
And leaves you to marinate,
Merely Marionetting movements,
Jerky and unfamiliar with the phlegm thick,
Cement heavy,
Consistency of your limbs.
Tires you out,
Until you sit a screen zombie,
Nonplussed,
Having your scalp pulled back and skull
Cracked,
Like a jaw breaker

I resent many of my own works,
And I resent who wrote them.

But It’s what I feel and my hand writes,
As a suicidal turtle,
Though may place his head underneath an elephant’s foot,
Cannot stop himself from pulling back under his shell.

I’m ready to have my heart broken today,
Though perhaps this is simply the impact,
Of the slow-mo hammer that’s been coming
Since the Rube Goldberg machine of life started,

Not so long ago

The sun bolstered my confidence by,
Hiding behind morose bloated clouds,
Only giving half light support,
And then leaving completely.
Yellow bellied good for nothin’…

I’m ready to have my heart broken today,
My flippant flying exterior trying to calm
My Red October sinking sub soul.
But this isn't all her fault,
Granted she’s breaking my heart.

My chest hurts,
And I feel like a *****,
I want to complain and sulk,
And other people make me wince,
And I thought I should be grown,
And I thought I shouldn’t care,
And I thought I’d made up my mind,
And I think I want to die.
But then again,
I’ve thought, felt,
Regretted,
Times before.

Despite myself I find myself,
Thinking about you again,
You don’t make sense to me,
But the rhythm of your thoughts are predictable now,
Someday will never come,
And my dear,
Someday we'll be together again,
Perhaps I say that just to leave you happy,
To leave you in power,
Because I can sustain most damage,
Or at least I've yet to meet my maker,
And maybe then I can play the victim,
And maybe then that means I think you are fragile,
And maybe then I'm a cowered,
And maybe then I’m a sexist,
But I can’t control why or what,
With you
With you,
Never again.

Jellyfish clouds in drift,
Their invisible tendrils,
Zappin’ n' trapin’ air,
Leaving the sedentary dead weight,
Directly on my shoulders.

The nostalgic Sahara heat,
Travels through time and space to Ohio,
Where a younger me swam in the,
Not actually cold but cooler pool.
Ten years but two seconds later,
I work there, Date there, Talk there, and eventually
Leave there

The dinner din of a hip open-air restaurant mixes with the judging whispers of the serving staff,
The smell of arid red wine filtering through the winter window pain air,

One tanned-over brick accents the grey spackled background walls,
The gold plated ceiling tantalizing our peripherals,

The light beech wood floors subvert our attention from the painted dark oak chairs

Portions of food designed to satisfy, not over stuff, guests
Glide out with mysterious but pleasing quickness.

Not too full but an obviously profitable night with diners and servers leaving, with full stomachs or pockets
But not both,

Each believing they got the better deal