Meticulously making milestones,
Don’t chase me,
Dripping dropping side roads of thoughts,
My train is racing,
Until it's up ended by life,
Hum’or’catastrophe
The beat and time I’ve worked for entirely,
Dies

Writing is very cathartic for me,
In the same way,
Which,
Bleeding is cathartic for plague treatment.
After drenching a page,
I sit,
Corpse-still, Catholic cathedral still,
Feel!
Echoing off my abandoned adorned walls.

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

I've got no buttons on my pants
And my shirt is on backwards

I still think
I can climb into the sky
To find God hiding up there
In all Her mystery
And tug on Her sleeve
And whisper my fear and my hopes and what I'm thinking
And She'll listen and they wont be bad and
Then She'd remind me of the times I've shamed myself
Help me laugh at my own serious reflection
At trying to not make mistakes
At saying I did something
So bad
So monumental
It was and is worth my shame

Before pinching the back of my shirt
Scruff of my neck
Lowering me back down down down down down down
Until im plopped back onto the hilltop
I dared to call my own

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.

The back of my eyes feel wet,
And the hot-cocoa after sledding,
Warmth in my chest wont go away.
My head feels magnetized to my stomach,
With my nose pulling my head downward.

My hair irritates my skull,
As the clammy underside of my skin,
Grips who I am,
My very essence,
In a death vice

Marvelous mysterious moments,
When your Mad Max brain,
Can’t open the intake valves of your nostrils,
Far enough to **** up enough oxygen,
To fuel your head fast enough
To process your thoughts,
Well enough to reach
Your, “Eek’ah!”

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.

Sitting next to a girl as unknown and distant as Poe’s old wife,
The elegant back road curves of her figure alluring,
Her hardened wit to rival the stone she studies,
Hands close to soft affection,
I scarcely believe our mutual attraction,

Leave your treasures,
Forget to listen,
To all of your peers and their sayings,
Your cash can’t help you here,

Killing lies,
Till death do us apart,
Killing lies,
No care can be too much,

A field of lies,
Truth mines,
A tragedy,
Serine oblivion,
Pure bubbles of treachery,

Killing lies,
Tonight won’t end ever,
Killing lies,
Get “A”s you’ll do well in life,

Death in jubilation
Of truth’s explanation

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.