Sometimes I’m afraid of being sick
Afraid that what I am has a name
Afraid that I helped create a term  
 
Sometimes I feel it
Feel the me that decays
Feel the heart that pumps the rot around
 
Sometimes I wonder if my decomposition can slow
Wonder if my blood needs thinning
Wonder if  I need a leech so as not to rot
 
Sometimes I feel
Sometimes I wonder
Then I remember that this sometimes does not matter
 
Because death is certainly permanent

You will not look at me.

Not even look at the brave face I practiced
Not look at the smile I painted
Not at the dry eyes I skillfully mastered

This mask I made for you to see
But still, you will not look at me
As if my fakeness, will mutilate the image you have of me

*I can tell you, it will.

I dream of dead people
Of maltractated bodies from the movies
Of grandmother
Of horses with their guts cut open

They are never frightening
Never more or never less
The most terrifying in my dreams
Is the manager I work for

He is schizophrenic
Like my Brother
Has black hair
And piercing eyes
Like my Brother

Sometimes I wake up
Wanting to be dead
I'd rather be a good dream
With paper thin skin
And loving hands

Than a living nightmare
With black hair
And penetrating eyes

**So I search for death

They said, I should pretend that she was sleeping
That dying wasn't so bad
And I should have faith,
Hope,
That she would wake up
To cradle me in her arms again

But she didn't.
The tubes crawling under her skin
Only grew in numbers.

This would be her fight
Struggling by herself
Her foes outnumbering her
Slithering down her throat
Suffocating her,
They make her breathe
Gliding under her soft skin,
They are nourishing her

They are inside of her!

She looks like life has almost left her,
And now, the snakes **** out the last of all that is her
Her warmth
Her softness
Her plumpness
They say it isn’t so
But I am not blind

They say, it might not be too late,
But only Rigor Mortis is late
Nonetheless, he will come
Along with his hooded brother
Just because her limbs are not stiff
Does not mean she hasn’t passed *limbo

A concept consists of a series of correlating ideas.
(The bees are on fire)
An idea is the interplay of memory and imagination.
(There is butter in my coffee)
Memory is what happens when a sense experience is recorded with language.

You can't go wrong with a song about a horse.

In an effort to feel:
Eat beets.
take drugs.
Let recordings of the vibrations of the vocal chords of strangers captured by equipment transport you.
Pete and repeat were on a boat. Pete fell off. Who is left? Repeat. Pete and repeat were on a boat. Pete fell off. who is left?

What if there were many men?

Do you contradict yourself? Very well then. You contradict yourself.
Oh and when you come back on Friday you all have to be gay.

Great white whales glide glistening gently through the sweet butter *** of my mother's voice.

Each tine of my spine like the spokes of a Fork is a notch on the belt of a God I can't know.

Every car holds a human going somewhere.

We are all alone together in the traffic on the highway.

You have your drugs but not your woman to take.

I refuse this poem.

bury me underground with your sweet talk because darling we both know there's tons of it to go around
as plentiful as the soil found in your backyard, both you never gave a second thought about
say it in a nonchalant way as if you really couldn't care less if i was caught in the storm

lie to me! let me delude myself for a moment!
give me a reason to wallow in my own ditch, the one i dug for the big bad wolf i heard that was coming this way
i was free falling, i lost my bearings on the ground as the omega and alpha diluted with each other forming a shade of indigo

indigo.

indigo reminds me of the sunsets we used to see, the occasional yet daily coat the sky would drape itself in
but as if it got tired of the same old same old shade! same old story that has just begun after it the last page was flipped.

so here i stand, tracing the sky. trying to find that familiar hint of indigo, just to have something to grasp onto
it's gone and all is lost. lost and gone like many things i used to parade around my backyard because all the eyes I needed was mine.
i didn't require permission or say, acceptance for whatever i beheld. i didn't require a panel of judges with set opinions no matter
how many times i changed the game!

i had you and that was something i lost in the storm. regretfully. necessarily.
i could search the woods once more  from treetop to the smooth bottoms of azure blue pebbles or i could learn the art of letting go.
in all my emptiness i am trapped in this sun bleached room once more


i can't ever take you there or show it to you but i can tell you what it feels like if you lean in close and just. listen.

it's like i'm trapped within an ice cube but there's nothing there to trap me, it's cold. cold and lonely you could say.


hold on,
let me just grab my suitcase full of nothing.

i’m not another ****** card for your deck
and bothering and trying is just
         another leap off a possible cliff except you have a blindfold around your eyes
you may not know this
but its cutting into your skin
and the drops in mood seem steeper each time i return to this rabbit hole, just before it gets too dark

is it really worth trying so ******* a continuous basis when your wings have been clipped ages ago



why do we even bother
      then again why am i speaking on behalf of you?
         why do i even bother
             it’s always thunderstorms and rain with an occasional glimpse of sunshine that seems to be a welcoming party for the hurricane
                   to think that i manage to mask my emotions so well i’m nearly fooled into thinking the same frightens me a bit
take for granted to an extent i’ve become indifferent despite the fact it’s still behind my eyes

close to malfunctioning but i can’t get it out of my system
it’s like grasping sand in your palms and all you can do is observe as each grain slips from between your fingers - a great descent
it’s just the reoccurring feel of never being good enough i do suppose
  whatever y’know