The truth about love
Is that there is no truth
Love is a chemical imbalance in the head
It doesn't last and always leaves depression in it's wake

I was always warned
About the monsters below the bed
But no one ever told me
About the demons in my head

I used to always run
From the creatures in the night
But the true evils I can't run from
For it's my mind I have to fight

I thought the monsters were real
And they scared me, so I'd hide
But now I know, the evils I can't see
Are a much much bigger deal

i don't watch home movies
hate them
reason being because
when i was young
i was looking for a movie
my mother
had recorded for me
and accidentally
put one in the vcr
that i'm not sure
i was supposed to see
i know the obvious response
"uh oh, ****"
sorry to disappoint
they were only marked with dates
  1991
on live television
montel williams asks my father
"how can you just throw
your child away like a piece of trash?"
   1994
i spend so much time
in the emergency room
that my parents stop
penciling in growth marks
on the frame
of my bedroom door
i always thought
it was because they believed
i would never grow out
of this sickness
sometimes i believe
the reason that they
never bought me a dream catcher
was because they never thought
i'd live long enough
to see them come true
   1996
i am eliminated
from a spelling bee
because i didn't know
the 'dad' is silent in 'family'
   2013
before i got into poetry
i used to do standup
none of my jokes were funny
one of the other comics
tells me my skits are dry
sometimes sad
he says "why don't you joke
about something like your family?"
so i say
"i never wore any sunblock
because i didn't want anything
to keep me from my father"
i say "what do you call christmas
without lights or heat?"
before he has a chance
to answer
i say "1997. better yet
why don't you
make like a dad and
leave"
   2014
every time we drive
past the hospital
my mother reminds me
how much it cost to save my life
like she'd rather
have her money back
she doesn't have to say
that sometimes she wishes
it was me who had died
instead of my brother
i can hear it in the way
she says "love you"
sometimes i imagine
that if i were to die
that she
would pick out a casket for a child
because she never loved
the person i became
yesterday i told my father
how close i'd been
to suicide lately
and he said
"that's my boy,
livin on the edge.."
and i can't remember
if i laughed
or cried

"Most people are too afraid to feel like this, and for that I actually find you incredibly brave"

she never complained
about how long my hair was
or that how it reeked of
cigarettes when she kissed me
good morning,
she never painted
my skin grey
when the sun
shined,
she never told me
that my
breakfasts of
turkey sandwiches
and pepsi weren't healthy,
she told me once that
I should quit smoking
because she did,
I never did,
she says I drink to much,
she told me that
she loved me
when I made her laugh,
her legs were always warm
and I told her she could start a fire
when she doesn't shave,
she laughed,
she told me that
she loved me when
my friend died,
she never told me
why she loved me,
she never gave
me a reason to leave,
I never told myself why
she loved me, I never knew,
so I gave myself a reason

so through tears
she then told me
to go **** myself

fixation forces your
nails to carve my back into
an abstract painting of
the way your breath
holds my face in it’s grasp,
the way your
legs tighten up as they
clash to mine.
your eyes tell stories
of how your
hair wrapped to my
fingertips pulls your head
back with eyes
blank, storylines
consisting of
the surfaced portions
screaming a crimson
cry to the hands that
caress your throat,
bearing the heat
of the constant
conflict between
your skin and mine.
whispered screams of
wanted foreshadowing
allows for bodies to
convulse at signs of
complete puncture,
vocal chords tear at
points of ******,
a sudden ******
shudder bringing vibrations
to the very being pushing
your walls
to a sexually climaxed halt.
teeth tear a chest to a skins
stretching point,
the blood
dripping down
forefront is
the morning dew
falling off an abandoned
bed frame,
tangible exhales
hit the walls,
the walls that house
the sweaty palms of
your hands as the consistent
tremors vibrate
the bed posts, expelling
tedious creeks.
waves of warmth
clash to the walls as
my fingernails
find a homaged
home amidst the
warmth of your arms
followed by nothing more
than a shared laugh and
sudden heavy breathing

well, i’m sitting here drunk again, alone
i remember when i was younger
i spewed evident disgust for those
who resorted to the bottle
as a release from their problems,
yet now I’m at the marrow of
the little boy’s vision,
another sip tightens the grip
of the bottle
or the glass
depending on whether or not
i want whiskey or beer
it’s usually both
I had such high hopes for my future
now my hopes are devoted
to wondering if i have enough
money for the next bottle
or case
             it’s usually both

         (II)

i don’t even have
any social networking
site to sift through,
the internet is down
maybe thats a good thing,
but lack of mental occupation
clutches my impotence towards
thinking good thoughts
or not even thinking at all

theres music playing and a drink beside me
i don’t even need to write that theres
a drink beside me anymore, its usually a
given now

i’ve finally altered the
definition of “achieved”
from optimistic to pessimistic
in the sense that i have
attained the task
of proving every simplistic
childhood aspiration wrong,

a 10 year old boy, looking at himself
now would only surface denial or disgust

                it’s usually both.