Which came first; A.D.D./A.D.H.D.,
or a subconscious unwillingness or perhaps even inability
to give half a genuine **** about anything going on?

I believe social, media, technological, and habitual programming
are at least some of the antecedents to these Modern chemical scapegoats:

Bureaupharmipseudocures, baby!
Causing more problems
justifying more Pharms
making some people rich
depriving and inuring the rest
almost as if depicted in
BRAVE NEW WORLD

Beloved, distracting, ubiquitous Handheld Devices
with cameras, speakers, headphone jacks and microphones
which, at any given moment,
can just as easily be used by you
as be used by Big Brother to keep tabs on you
through GPS, recorded sound and video, transferred and stored data, and company records
almost as if depicted in
1984

"HOLY ******* ****!"
I practically hope you're saying
(ideally, this is old news)

"FOLLOW THE MONEY."
I hope you're realizing.

IT ISN'T THAT HARD, FOR NOW,
THANKS TO THE INTERNET.

Without the internet being a public, secular (in terms of politics) entity,
it would be neigh impossible to follow the money
without extensive efforts made by very brave and hopefully cunning *******.

i think i have finally found myself, in between the cushions of
crumble filled and beer stained backseats of his car. through the spaces
of his fingers, all i taste is *** and lingering
regrets.
i think i can finally disappear, among nights that never end,
with tongues that never parch.
a little touching never hurt nobody, and i think my veins
are nothing but fire tonight.
i had lost myself in his red car with a stupid license plate,
and eyes that held me, shut me, locked me up.
i had lost myself in this idea that you can’t be alone too long,
for your own fingers can only do so
much.
i have found myself, while stumbling and purging through
crisp nights, touching car doors, fur, strangers hands.
i have found myself amid his arms, but i’m still looking for the other
pieces,
i think they might be inside you, you,
you. let me take a look, darling, we have nowhere to be
tonight.

the serenity of suicide is intoxicating,
drawing me in.
like a moth, willed to light.
the way i once got caught up in the world of ***, drugs,
and sad teens with nothing but happy faces.
as a throwback begins, i am whirled back into
the adrenaline of fake happiness.
if only it was that easy now.
i am now nothing.
an insignificant girl
in an insignificant world.
let me be whisked away, away from it all.
oh the temptation.
who will save us from this labyrinth of suffering?

Outside still clouds gather
Here inside I don’t understand
What hole I am
And what it means
On the leaves and grass the mist clings
I hurt
And try to find
What reason I have
For this anger
I hold
Shaken by the breeze,
Drops of water fall
I want it to leave
And not say goodbye
I have no love for it
Here it hurts and eats away

At all I have made
Of my heart and soul
But now this anger
Deep and awful
Rumbles along
With approaching thunder
Haunts
And I try
To rid myself of the pain
Look away from the quick flashes
But without a source
A reason why
I cannot solve
This mess inside and
Lightning slashes, branches bow and
I hurt

Cause it won’t go away
And I feel as if all
I have to say is
To hell with
Everything and everyone
As precipitation swirls and clouds darken further
Because all that matters
Is the tornado that holds
All my organs and emotions
Crashing and churning
In one same whirling vortex
But I know that it’s wrong
To me so self-righteous
As wind breaks and takes

I cannot stand
The ones who seem to
Indeed share my own fault
For the ones with whom you share
Are the souls upon whom you are the harshest
And I do not like to admit
To the things that make me
Like all the rest

I am cruel
I do bad things
I am mean
I hurt
I am human
I am caring
I am soft
I hold
I break
I am ashamed

To be who I am
walking a two way street
I attempt to hold my head high
Because I know what is right
But other minds won’t agree
The trees who’s leaves the storm has taken
Yearn for them once more
My head chases me in circles
So to confuse me
And I begin to cry out
But the storm recedes
In frustration and fury
At my own head’s distaste
And demure
I am not who I want to be
This storm has changed
And I am not the perfection
That is trained into the lines
That wind and rain have worn

On my personality
Perfection for me and all is impossible
As the definition of human is
As it may be imperfection
Created as rain falls
Only to be replaced by sun
As fate would have it
And so my anger flows slower
The pound of the thunder stole my force
In naught but words
One might read
And empathize
Although I do not ask it
As this is what I have brought
Down upon the back of myself
With all the things that I have done
And through this rambling anger
And broken chaos swirling leaves, water and dirt
I find my answer
And no longer feel the sick
Stone in the pit of my soul
That a flash and rumbling boom removed
Perhaps I am no longer as angry and sick
Or perhaps I just cannot feel it as strongly
For I fear that I am angry
With myself
For my own imperfection
As I have moved from the clouds
For that is who and what I am
As fate may have it
I have been centered
In the eye
However, I am human

Like love, these words
are just a means to an end.
Writing cryptic phrases
beneath the guise
of beautiful colors
and sun-stroked flesh.

These words are just
dark matter, from
an empty head.
Senseless chatter
in a poet's bed.

I watch you turn away,
as if you can't remember
how we got here.
I watch your hands
for a sign- there is
nothing but godless regret
and cold fingers
stroking my ego.

These words are not
what I meant to say.
Blue smoke curls and folds
and it is more than me;
More than this winter note,
I wrote for you.
My hands shake
and the walls murmur
with disapproval.

There is love in these words
but they come from a place
that transcends darkness,
where sorrow bleeds crystalline
and fills up every groove and sulcus.
These words are no good,
and my lips tremble
as apologetic syllables
go tumbling across the threshold.

These words are finite,
the end of an era.

I had chewed up lips and a consciousness that slipped between your fingers and my thin laced skin. I was fifteen, in love with you and pointy objects and the desire to one day feel alive.

Nights were our favorites. You held me high on your shoulders while I spread my arms and screamed. Your fingers pricked my thighs and I could feel your molecules forming with my molecules and when I saw my breath coming in little puffs of cotton ***** in the air all I could think of, Is this what life is?

Sometimes you would run with me on your shoulders and I had to latch on for dear life. My nails in your gold speckled hair, “Don’t you dare close your eyes,” you’d say and I’d cry from the wind, from the adrenaline, from the thought of you ever letting go. Little crystal streams ending nowhere.

But eventually, you did, you dropped me hard and fast and I fell upon the cold frosted grass. No warning, no squeeze of assurance. The wind knocked out of me, tears freshly stained upon acne scarred cheeks. I tried to lift my head to see you, but you were gone. All I had was the tethered swing set, the stars. And this is what life is, I thought. It’s flying until you can’t. Falling until you cannot breathe and then it’s over.
With a thud.

sometimes i just want to chop all of my hair off and dye it a deep purple,
but i know even then i’ll still like the
sound of spoons clinking in mugs
and i’ll still cry when i hear styrofoam
squeaking past.
sometimes i just want to buy a ticket for nowhere, anywhere,
leaving no letters, no goodbyes, but all my things neat
intact. and i will have nothing but the clothes clinging to me,
ten piercings, three tattoos, and a body too sluggish for someone
so young.
sometimes i just want to wake up at four in the morning and see what color your eyes are
when the sun hits them a certain way, with bursts of gold and specks
of pixie dust.
how do i always end these with you?
i don’t know what i want, but it always seems to be
you. you. you.

Some people are poisonous, keep at a distance.
Drain your soul, and consciously watch your body diminish.
They'll secretly sting you when you let them in the door,
and smile while you try to scrub them out of your pores.
Your quality of life can be heightened and restored,
but first you must do away with Lucy Ford.