I take a walk into the parkour graveyard,
looking for Polish dealers and cellphone halos.
I heard Thoth resides in sobriety,
but words fail me
whenever you are near.

I let my tongue run in endless stutters,
disguising 'I love you' as some off-hand request.
I could take you to dinner,
I could show you a longing
without the need for ***.

This late-night food has lost its flavour.
This ******* never picked up.
All that is left is to dial these numbers,
and wait by the window
for any car but yours.

Let's take a walk to the railway bridge.
We'll smoke a joint by the open forest.
You'll push your breath into mine,
make me high,
and forget why I ever
felt so low.

The night is darkening round me,
The wild winds coldly blow;
But a tyrant spell has bound me
And I cannot, cannot go.

The giant trees are bending
Their bare boughs weighed with snow,
And the storm is fast descending
And yet I cannot go.

Clouds beyond clouds above me,
Wastes beyond wastes below;
But nothing drear can move me;
I will not, cannot go.

I'm a ******
I don't do drugs or drink
my only flaw is how much I think
I don't believe in God but I believe in me
And I don't know where I belong on my family tree

I don't propose that **** is based on a girl's clothes
I suppose I'm dumb or brilliant but who really knows
You could say that I'm narcissistic or have low self-esteem
with a girlfriend with a pocketless pocket and a head full of dreams

Whoa that didn't flow, that last line
Imperfect effort seems to be an attribute of mine
Look at this rhyme scheme, it's so diverse
I guess I can get away with this; I couldn't get any worse
One favorite, three favorite, fifty-four
Give me validation, I could always use some more
Hello, Hellopoetry! You've been so forgiving
of my beautiful poetry that reflects an ugly way of living
Tell me, tell me: Should I write more?
What if my sadness is gone, and my melancholy no more?
Will you still love me if I write about crinkle-cut fries?

"****. No more suicide poems, does this kid still try?"

Is there still a Josh Haines if he no longer cries?
Is there still a Josh Haines if he doesn't wanna die?
Is there still a Josh Haines if he starts to fall?
Is there still a Josh Haines if he gets it all?
Is there still a Josh Haines after every kiss?
Is there still a Josh Haines after he writes all of this?

Eh. Maybe, baby. Maybe.

We are our addictions
If not we wouldn't be willing to
Bleed so quick
On an endless search to find like minded companies
When we are successful we dig in
Casting out whitty barb edged hooks
Exotic, ****** verse to shock and ensnare
I can feel yours just as easily as I feel myself sinking into you
Our chaotic experience of the waking world
Leaked out on paper, line after scathing line
Consume. Saturate. Devour. Paralyze.
We soak up the mysteries.
The miseries.
And everything in between
Sharing and tearing
Scaring and airing
Naked. Open. Bare.
Our soul fire burns up quick and bright like coal
The smoke often just as *****
Eclipsing preconceived notions
You know nothing of our dark pleasures
Aching secrets that have us wandering into the night
In search of something.
Thousands of words but never enough
Always searching for something
Our indulgences outweigh your pride
We will air your laundry too, uncaring
Just enough to shame and cower
Our only vulnerability is our inability to succeed from our talents
For it is only in death that we find **immortality

i hate him
        ih a te hi m


i HATE HIm





                                            I h a t e h i m



i ha                             te           hi                  m

i h a a a a a  a a a   t e e e e e  e e h i i i i i m m m m m


i hate him

i  
  hate
              him