Your suicide was quiet.
You left a short note
And named no names,
So I was told;
I never brought myself
To read it.

You'd let the embers of
Yourself turn to ash.
You buried so many things
Deep down that dug their way back up
Through your insecurities
And doubts and fears and hate
And one day you had enough.

He found you on his bed.
He called me third,
After the paramedics and your parents.
Your funeral was
Supposed to be a celebration
Of the life you lived.
Your father keeps your dog.
Your mother keeps everything else
In her garage and finds a new excuse
Every day to keep it in there.
I keep that flower you forgot,
Upside down in the socket of the lamp
My grandfather built from
Ashtrays and doorknobs.

Your suicide was quiet;
Mine will not be.
I will not go peacefully,
I will not go unnoticed,
I will not go unexpectedly,
I will not go quietly.

I will shake the sky
With my death.
I will crumble buildings
With my last breath.
I will show fear to the gods
That you convinced me weren't there
With your quiet suicide.

Happy days are fun thing
To come upon.
They don't come as often
As they used to,
But they're still an acquaintance,
And will occasionally stop by
For tea with and old friend,
Or out for a drink with an
Old neighbor and lover.

But that was yesterday,
And now they're gone again.

I broke two bones
In my foot a few weeks ago.
Within a few days,
I'd gotten pain pills
And pity ***.

It's all downhill from here, really.

i find hilarity in our hands,
calloused and thick skinned,
yet being more sensitive
than most of the rest of us.

you'd think we'd have
a more efficient system,
but no.

our hands are built
like our hearts;
put up a shield,
maybe it won't feel as much.

The scars I left on my arm
Climb like a ladder to my shoulder,
The same shoulder
You left your own scars on.
The same shoulder
Your arms embraced for years.

The scars on my legs
Are cushioned by new lovers
In the dark
Who can't see them.
In the dark,
I'm not wounded.

Recent lovers have
Left their marks, but
Your knife in my hand
Was by far the sharpest.
Your knife in my hand
Hurt as much as mine in yours.

"Does that make you an alcoholic?"
"Well, yeah. Technically, I guess."
"Then I'm gonna stop you
From drinking tonight, to try to help."

She then proceeded to hold my arms down
and one naked, lovely thing happened after another
and I might have slammed her head into the wall
on accident and she passed out for about a half hour
and I drank all of my beer in that short window
and then we woke up and she said,

"Why does my head hurt so much,
and what happened last night?"
"I dunno, we were about to **** again,
but you fell asleep."

"At least you didn't drink."

it's hot then it's cold
then it's alright
then it's hot or cold again
then it's just "make up your ******* mind"

you're just like texas, sweetheart.

but what i've got in my glass
will either cool my nerves
or warm my belly,
so try your ******* best.

i've climate controlled myself.
Thanks, Shiner and Beam.

I've got a sandpaper face,
Burned, calloused hands,
And a stone for a heart.

You speak in velvet,
You write in cursive,
And there's butter in your chest.


You will soften me;
I will harden you.

I'm tired.
I'm tired of everything lately.
I'm tired of working everyday,
And if I don't work,
I'm tired of reading.
I'm tired of my friends.
I'm tired of the girl who
Doesn't even know I'm tired.
Tired of this blister on my palm,
Tired of the loud cars across the street,
Tired of the fights I always hear.
Of the mosquitoes,
Of the rent being late again,
Of drinking.


I'll sleep when I'm dead, I suppose.

"Why are you so soft?"
she whispered.
"I'm not as soft as you think,
My dear."
But that didn't stop her
From sleeping on my chest.

She sat up suddenly,
"I'm sorry, I'll drool on you."
"You've done worse, darling,
I certainly don't mind."

What's a little drool on your chest
To have a woman engulf you?


That's a fair ******* price.

I'm scared by stupid things,
Like when I see the moon in the sky
During the daytime,
Or by thunder,
Even though I'm statistically
Safe from being struck,
Or by being struck
So blindly and carelessly
By this dumb little heart in my chest
That drives me this way or that,
Never knowing where it's going,
And certainly never getting there.


I'm also scared of open windows
On the third floor of a building,
And of anybody who has sideburns.

Chance gave me a taste
Of a slice of a life
That isn't the one I'm used to.

So I'm going to
Hold life's bakery at gunpoint

And take the entire ******* cake.

On the porch
Smoking,
I realize that I'm
On the good side
Of the bell curve today.

Not just today,
But for the past
Few weeks.


Thanks, Nike.

Our fights are fun,
Because I get to slap you
As mediumly as I can,
And you try to hurt me.

Your fists turn me yellow
Far much longer than
My palms turn you red.


I'm pretty upset
That fighting you
Is more fun
Than ******* you
(And you're a
Pretty good ****.)

I know I should quit smoking,
But sometimes I think
I see your face in the smoke.
I don't, though.
It looks like what it is.
But, I still think of you
When I see it.

I blame the namesake
Of my eventual death's
And your parents'
Cause and byproduct
(respectively, of course,)
On the correlation
Between "ashes,"
And, "Ashley."

Maybe there is no connection?
Maybe I was
Already thinking about you?
Like when you heard thunder,
And thought of me?

Regardless, time for
Another cigarette.

She said, "I thought you liked being alone."

He said, "I also said I like the cold,

But I still shiver."

I have plans of leaving here.
I've got my passport being processed,
And job applications waiting to be called on.
I've found a basement apartment
(Which are very expensive in Toronto,)
And I know the bus routes,
But I'll probably just get a bike.

I found all of this while you were gone.
I'm not sure of the connection,
But I'm confident in claiming
That I'm only here because of you.
You left for two weeks,
And I found a new life.
You're home for a day,
And I reconsider.

You're home for a week,
And I loathe the idea of leaving.
You stayed home tonight,
And I loathed not having left.

i don't remember much from last night.
i remember going to the bar with greasy food and cheap drinks,
and flirting with the bartender, because i find homophobia amusing.
there was something about starting a scooter, and a very illegal drive home.

i woke to find an empty bottle of something or another, a case of bud ice,
and shiner blonde.

i've always had a thing for blondes.

i can still taste the fast food i must've had,
and can feel what was probably a full pack of cigarettes in my chest.
i left myself another pack, a coke, and some aspirin on my windowsill.
i'm so considerate.
i'll make a note to apologize to my liver, later.
maybe once the pounding goes away.

i've never believed in god, but if there's one thing worth blessing,
it's college night.

I wake hearing the
Dog scratch, but I hope its you
Turning the door ****.

I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU
ARE THINKING AND IT'S KILLING
ME, but I don't mind.

The morning you woke
Up and kissed me is the reas-
on I won't give up.

You make me feel like
A seventeen year old girl.
It's good to feel, though.

I'd be happy you're
Home, but instead of my fail-
ures, I think of you.

You are a vampire.
When you are near me, you drain
Me of all I am.

I wish I played an
Instrument, so I could make
You feel how I feel.

i write haikus for
a girl who probably won't
read any of them.

clouds may have silver
linings, but that doesn't mean
they don't block out stars

i woke up this morning alone.
i dreamed that there was someone with me,
but when i woke, there was nothing but a pillow.

i felt empty and upset,
like something very dear had been taken,
and that i would never feel her warmth again,

but i saw my clock,
it was already time to go to work,
and so i forgot yet another feeling.

i
lost
myself.

My roommate doesn't get it.
Or maybe I don't get it?
Drink out of the views of others,
Making sure your friends don't know.

Social drinks with friends is fine,
If they drink enough to not notice your tab.
But if they do, they give you ****,
And all of a sudden, you "need a ride home."

"I'm fine," you say, lying to them.
Get in your car, and drive drunk again.

"I'll see you tomorrow."



Liar.

you're going to take this the wrong way, i know,
but i promise this isn't a bad thing.

i'm distant on purpose.

it's not that you're not good to me,
or that i don't want to be good to you,

but i like my space.

i know you love me more than you could show,
and i want to do the same thing, i assure you,

but i can't do it.


sorry.


i'm not built like you.

icarus soared above them all,
wings spread, ready for the world
that had been denied him,
and had been denied them all.

he crossed the clouds and the stars,
crossed the skies and seas,
he'd achieved a bliss thought reserved for the gods,
and then he fell.