On my 15th story balcony
the view constantly captures my eye
the city lights reflected
like factories
in the sky

Can you see me now, mom
like a beacon in the night?
or does it pain you to see
I lost my way
and made it right?

On my 15th story balcony
if I lean out to the left
I see a home thats home no more
on the south shore
that I left

Mother, I can see you
on the couch where you
bear your load
of children who outgrow you
and a husband on the road

But its hailing mommy,
Can you see?
Things have gotten rough and you can call my bluff..
i still need you
so set me free

I guess what I'm saying
is I have no plan of straying
from what I've chosen for myself...
but that ache that you feel
i can tell you its real;
you can see it displayed on my shelf

It plucks at my heart strings
every day
a bittersweet lullaby
of what my youth knew
only yesterday

Kick me
Eat me
Laugh me
Impale me

I am dust
And smoke
I am mere fragments of who
She used to be
I have assumed to be
This body which
I am using
And abusing
With my purges
And my urges

Because nothing is perfect
But regret, ah regret
Now that I can feast upon
And Lost faith?
Now that is just a buffet of emotion
That was once good but is now discarded
Thrown away like your empty stomach and your yellowing fingers
AH and the remembrance of HIS fingers.
The way no matter how hard you try,
His touch still lingers
All the way up your thighs.
You can’t escape it; for you didn’t escape it then now did you?
You didn’t even scream!
You LET him ****** your mind
And pulverize your childhood
With one hand! You LET him give you years of disgrace
And an unrelenting NEED for cleanliness
For purity that can never be found!
So you scrub and you rub
Your hands till their red,
Why not give up and leave your mind
To me instead?

You are not strong
You are not bold
Always doing whatever you’re told!
You think I’m ruining you?
I’m helping you, helping you go exactly
Where you should’ve gone the minute you betrayed yourself
By not helping yourself.

So you see
I’m here because
You can’t face a mirror
You can’t face your own TOUCH
There’s just so much
I can watch without recoiling in disgust
You make me sick!
So ill make you sick.

And now you see,
I am everywhere inside you
Let me invade you
It shouldn’t be so hard
You’ve been stepped on before,
On that day,
And it seems only fair
You should leave this world
In the very same way.
Because your gravestone is marked all
That’s needed is your final date
Don’t try and deny it
You know it’s too late.

You can’t hide your despise
For all you see
Behind the redness of your eyes
IS ME!
Does that scare you?
It should
I’ve done everything
All that I could
To lead you here.
For you hold TOO MUCH fear.
And that’s not acceptable.
That’s what makes you so forgettable.

So you see,
Everyone knows
They know you’re a coward
And they see right through you.

So ill smoke this body
And pop it
And blister it
And cut it
And mutilate
And supply it
Yet never satisfy it
But I will always comply
To my will
And I will purge every ounce of you that is left
Until there’s nothing left.

Ill throw you into the gutter,
Where you will splatter
And eventually...
Yes eventually the whole of you will be reconciled
Flushed down the same way your life went,
Because this is where you belong

It shouldn’t be very long
Your time is up


All hail Mia!

I am nothing, nothing but oblivion,
a vast emptiness within a breathing host.
If you were to rip me open,
cut me down the middle,
crank apart my ribs,
there would only be a numb void.
Maybe the world would be inhaled
into my stomach,
for me to regurgitate,
stripped of all it's essential beauty.
No more stars, I will keep them for myself,
let the moon shine it's dull light
in the spotlight, with no one to share it's empty
stage.
Let the sky be dumbfounded with loss
and void of illumination,
and maybe with star-filled guts
I will shine again.
Everything I am,
everything i touch,
is robbed of love and joy,
for I am nothing but an afterthought
left by the shadow of death.
I'm surprised I can be seen at all,
for I am transparent to myself.
My dreams and goals seem a whisper
from the past,
warm and inviting,
their words tickling my ears
with skeletal promises,
concrete at the touch, but
with no deeper substance.
Filthy liar, tease.
I reach and grasp and tear my limbs,
praying to feel even the vague
memory of hope upon my fingertips.
I long for escape,
escape from an insomniacs dream,
the lines of reality and ficiton blurred into one,
for only nightmares and goblins await me
in my bed of anvil pillows and maggot ridden matresses.
Escape,
for even the stroke of my pencil,
once so lively as it romanced me into a verse,
paints a tragedy.


But mostly,I want to fly into the night sky and explode,
burdening the world with all the negativity I've gathered over the years.
And release all the beauty and potential I've stolen and hidden away.
With the anarchy that is my psyche, I will restore balance.
I am everything.

I wish I could wake up
In a display case

No wood but my
Limbs
Nothing wet but my
Paint
Flawless
Smooth Razor-******

No searching
For caverns
To plunder
No caves to protect
From thieves
Gone asunder

I wish my canvas was blank
Androgynous beauty
A creation of
Choice

But I think I used to have a voice

Characters danced in my esophagus
And played my cords
Like a
Cello

They shouted on a
Page
And longed for the
Stage

But struggled against
My front
Teeth

After years of neglect,
Too cruel to forget
And too torturous again
To repeat

They forwent their "adieus"
But muttered "**** yous"
As they went to turn tricks
Down the street

Clumped claws
of supressed dirt
reach from
sunken ships
filled to the
brim with swollen
tongues and
bulging
with the bubbling breath
of voices drowned
in death
clinging to my
every step;
soiled bubble gum,
like mosquito bites on
my scalp..

They itch

The minute I set foot in the place,
a rush of emotion overwhelmed me,
every new one a contradiction of the next.
Familiar.Strange.
Friendly. Hostile.
This place was everything and nothing all at once,
my mind could not comprehend it
and my heart shied from my sleeve.
“Nice to see you again.” Familiar strangers greeted me with at the door,
smiling faces with something different in their eyes,
the teeth echoed there but with an underlying undertone.
Naively I wished to see love, and somewhere I did.
Not love, I reminded myself,
conditional love.
Not the same thing,
not one bit.
I gathered strength.
I crossed the entrance into the main part of the building
and immediately wanted to turn around and run.
I’d been in churches before,
been amazed at first by their beautiful decor,
high ceilings and the way the priests
convincing voice traveled through the room.
But just as quickly as I had noticed the beauty, I noticed what it
cheaply concealed with crayola carvings
and thrift-store folk-lore.
I saw through the supposed messenger of God
and the way his dramatic gestures
and loud attire
drew attention unto himself rather than the message,
that his words were the unfolding of a play,
merely theatrical.
Most of all I noticed the absence of the very thing said to be celebrated in this place,
this building said to be its home.
I recoiled in my seat instinctively,
not from the collection plate,
but from the absence of god.
But this was like no church I’d been in, not really a church at all.
The decorations simple, bright but not gaudy,
the preachers many and seemingly without a need for individual importance. Chairs in rows, comfortable but not overly so,
instead of the wooden pews.
Hues of serenity hug the walls, warmth hovers.
This place, where I’d learned, conquered, crushed, played, cried, mourned.
Grown.
The images seared.
Every one of these people served as mothers and fathers of sorts,
referring to me as their sister,
making me feel so included that they became part of me,
literally.
A family, a growth, a friend, a tumor.
They locked themselves in my every cell,
rooted in my genes.
The blame a disagreement, the loss a limb.

And there she was,
the Queen of the Faithful,
dragging my severed limb behind her as she is warmly welcomed by my family,
into my home.
They flock her with smiles and love,
pure love,
although still conditional,
there are no lies in those eyes.
They cherish their own,
shun the rest,
and she will always be one of them, she was born to play this role.
And she smiles with the same teeth she sank into my gut when she threw me away,
grin stained with my blood.
Had she ever really loved me,
were we ever truly friends, so close as to honestly be pronounced sisters?
Yes, only conditionally.
I miss her,
but the Queen must not mix with the world,
a world I now belong to fully.

Does she bear any of the responsibility
for my retreat into
the dark abyss I had always been warned about,
the sins that seemed as sweet as sugar,
as sultry as silk?
Or was my dwindling self-control and my secret,
impulsive longing for the unknown too strong,
a spiritual suicide waiting to happen?
Rejection lead me astray,
and the world showed me belonging of a different sort.
A place my spontaneity could dig its claws into,
somewhere my talents could be used.
Misused.
As I sit in the room and look towards her,
meeting her eyes, I instinctively look down,
guilty for daring to look at her.
The Slave of Indulgence staring down the Queen of Purity?
It is unacceptable.
This sign of defeat so unlike me,
but my minds been misty on the subject of self as of late.

The one thing on my mind throughout this meeting of worshipers is not god, but of this:
Is the Queen burdened by the ****** limb,
as the Slave is left empty without it?
Forever Draining and
Forever Straining.
No relief.

And that’s it.
They announce it.
I’m cast out, rejected, excommunicated, disfellowshipped, forgotten.
Free.
Dead.
I walk out, out of the door, the parking lot.
Out of the search-light, the prison, the circle, the family. Out of their lives.
I run, lungs tangled dusty plastic bags,
heart begging to collapse.
My body always screams, curses, whines, ******* when I use it.
So I abuse it.
I crawl, I claw, I fly down the street.
To a bench, an oasis, a shelter.
I roll, I light, I exhale.
I wonder what they would think of me now.
I pop, I grind, I inhale.
I see in numbers and feel in colors,
the world equals nothing and my corpus is pumped with cold, black, but I don’t care.
Because the world is uncaring and cruel and the Arcadia promised to me, the one that heals, has marked me unfit. So I quit.
What is it you want, why is it I’m here? Does God love us all, or thrive on our fear?
Whatever is out there, here my plea.
No more illusions or tricks of the eye, show me, unmask reality, strip its disguise.
Flames, smoke, and nothing.
I see me, and my sanity,
and the universe speaks back,
“Conditionally.”

Nothing
I tried as best i could
to call forth
even the vague whisper of a memory

(like words that only reach the
back of your tongue,
a phantom thought
teetering
on the tip of remembrance
above the abyss of
a deeply buried past)

but even those shadows seemed to hide
in the deepest recesses of my subconscious;
teasing thoughts
that played with my conception
of reality
saunter no more
about this playground,
the landscape for my most wild
and torrid fantasies:
my imagination.

For it seems,
without the light touch
of times past,
this darkness,
that i feel
must have resided in me
since the beginning of time,
would never again lift
its heavy shroud
upon my soul
for the much needed
moments of peace this allowed me.

Despair permeated each particle of air I inhaled,
for who am I
if the whole of me
remains intact
only in the scattered minds
of those whose faces
no longer inhabit my dreams?

Truly, I believe the nightmares of this paranoid mind
have succumbed to reality


                                                       ­ for i fear I have, at last, become nothing,

Happiness
is more cruel
in juxtaposition to
Sorrow
than Sorrow
itself

End,
The True Tip of my Tongue,
(Enchanted Bronchial Tree),
holding out the
Cavern of Soft Sultry Silhouettes
that hug the walls.
Clinging to their influence able nature,
tendency to allow pink purity
to fall
to the black blistering blasphemy
of *****-watered bongs.
Inhaling the Damnation of god
And Magic Meal of
Those residing in Gehenna,
Limbo,
And those scouring the pearly whites of
heaven for their 72 ******
***** Calls.
The desperate stench
Of religion
crawling down
my needy trachea
to attach its
sticky suction cup sermons,
trying to trick
My larynx into
Hallelujah’s
And
Hail Mary’s.
Hoping repetition
will etch it into
our subconscious
like a gravestone
set in stone.
So repent,
saunter back into your pen little sheep.
False Anarchic Prophet,
Pretend Goat.
Throw your brain back into the box,
The Individuality Dishwasher,
They built for your mind from the
Start.

I've seen my
path in the
haphazardly strewn hazel
galaxy, enveloping your
ocean black pinpoint
pupils,
streaking your opulent,
iridescent irises
with whimsical
stars from years ago,
dead by the
time they grace
my gaze

Tell me anything,
Anything but Reality.

Tell me I’m not made of skin and bones.
Humor me.

Tell me it’s not flesh
That you see
It is a rare substance
Made to hold a mass of creativity

Tell me I do not breathe,
My vitality, air does not sustain.
It is only pulled in constantly
To give rhythm to my brain.

Tell me my heart does not beat
That the pounding only
comes
From a billion butterfly feet.

Tell me I do not bleed
That what pours out
of my veins
Is only liquid speed.

Tell me I do not fear
That it’s only a mechanical
misunderstanding,
Or a malfunctioning gear.

Tell me I do not cry
That the moon simply controls
the water
That spills out from my eye.

Tell me I’m not helpless
That my emotions do not reign
Tell me I’m not vulnerable
That an illusion is all pain.

Tell me Love
I’ll never miss
That the cobwebs of my heart
Can be whispered gone by a single kiss

Tell me I’m the One,
That such a thing is real
Tell me that the sun
Rises at my will

Tell me I am constant
Always on your mind
That another girl like me
Is impossible to find.

Tell me there’s this puzzle
And only I can fit
That I’ll always hold some part of you
At least a little bit

Tell me I’m indispensable.
That no one can take my place
That you’ll never let yourself forget
The details of my face.


And if it’s not too much to ask
Tell me one last lie
Tell me I’m immortal
Until the day I die.

I can't wait to live
so I do,
Yet i can't wait to die
but I do.

Kiss my cheek
go slaughter some sheep
I don't care
just get me to sleep

Time is a vortex
turning into its pinnacle
the moment of now,
not linear,
but cyclical

I live for the now,
the present
for my experiences
that i pre-sent

The blue eternity of my soul
turning in on itself
no longer striving for money
just supplying a common wealth

I'm lost
but may be resurrected
If I can find it
in me to admit
i'm beyond
Infected

and your Hold
on me, ya, I'll lift it
as long as this rebel yell
keeps the embers lit

I learned to listen
By playing your
Words
On repeat

By lapping the taste
That your anger
Morphs into when
Under a sheet

Tonight, tonight,
This rumble won't
Take place in
The street

Rocket in your pocket,
Shark boy, little Jet,
Do you feel pretty?
Or have I not relieved
You yet?

Now something's coming,
Checkmate, game and set,
But maybe you'll indulge me
With one last cigarette?

Boy, Boy,
Crazy with regret,
Let's sing a song to conjure
The evening that we met

How suddenly my name
Became a sweet refrain
That you could not
Forget

It's only you,
Everything I'll ever be,
Don't matter if you're tired,
Come refresh yourself in
Me

I’m upset,

there is much I want to say,
want to explain.
But I can’t explain

anything with words,
I can’t explain
Anything

with thoughts
or beautifully stitched sentences,
twisting and turning and etching
until they become something recognizable,
something special.

But words are just dressed up;
at the core they are interchangeable.

Nothing is concrete about words,
nothing unless you count the
tic tic-tic-tic
of the key board,
lulling my frantic mind to rest.

Nothing concrete,
words are never concrete.

But actions,
you can’t dismember them into something else.

What you do,
you did,
and you can’t undo it.

So no matter how many words you write to me,
no mater how much I reply,
no matter how much your silence bears down on me,
I just recall actions.

Because words mean nothing,
truly they don’t,

                                       except my words did.

I know everyone can say this,
for again these are only words,
except they are at the core,
concrete in some way.

Although words never are,
believe that mine,
and only mine,
are.

Because maybe in this world,
this world where everyone
manipulates and twists words,
maybe for every person,
there is one person in the world who,
for all their misleading words,
will never mislead you.

They will never twist,
or dismember their words;
they will show you with actions and smiles,
and with their eyes,
that they mean everything.
And it
will turn all their words into concrete,
into fact,
into not only words
but actions
in themselves.

Promises in every word,

untold promises,

but there none the less.

I promise you I mean it all,
for I can’t fake sleepless nights
and the way that my heart shatters,
almost literally by the feel,
when I wake up to me,

                                                               ­        only me.

I can’t explain how it feels,
to wonder if it ever occurs to you too,
knowing that it has and still does,
it must.
Because maybe if you believe in my words enough,
and if I bear through silence,
heavy and mind numbing,
then maybe we can prove our words concrete one day.

I honestly wish for that day,
every first star I see in the sky,
every dandelion,
every 11:11 strike of the clock,

is thrown out into whatever is out there,
whatever ocean of wishes.

Maybe even the ocean we were on,
maybe we even sailed right over it.

Maybe it’s so big,
that only a lucky few get picked from it,
an ocean so vast and full of hope. ..
I’m almost sure that’s where we sailed.

Or maybe not.
But we were lucky once,
I believe it can happen again.
I believe I can see you again.
I believe.

I pull out words
As if they were
Teeth

Exposing the gummy center
And tarred lies
Beneath

The extraction leaves some
Ragged
Others
Broken

Empty socket waiting to be
Filled
Its other half
Stolen

Can lethargic scribbles
On a porcelain
Sheet
Lift this leaden heart
To dance to a swifter
Beat?

Maybe tomorrow,
But not Today.

So don't focus on results
Instead train yourself to
Say:

**** these thoughts,
I'll rest this weary
Head

Inspiration may be
Waiting
Sound asleep in my
Bed

Slowly, Slowly
Time trickles by
like hot sand atop the sunken chests
of the ****** about to die

I've felt my fingers
withered to the core.
Wet chalk on a broken blackboard;
my words powdery prints
yearning for
a string of thoughts
that doesn't screech at night,
or that age old rhyme
that would surely make
the worst of my burdens
light.

Yet words that held no meaning,
leave me empty once transposed
from their coddled womb of inspiration,
to confined sentences in rows.

A thousand locusts inciting
itching urges
to scratch my mind across
a page,
but try as hard as I may
my rhymes betray
my age.
No wisdom pours
from out my lips, nor
knowledge
that is deep.
For all I ever held
with any depth,
I've dwindled in
my sleep.

Listen:
Despite my clingy nature,
and as unlikely as it seems,
I swear to You,
those **** locusts
ate my dreams.

Inhale
Inhale
Inhale
I can’t breathe right anymore,
Ever since I've found myself
Beating down the Devils door.

“Beelzebub, Satan!
Let me in
I can’t keep running,
Father of Sin”

Trip
Trip
Trip
I can’t feel my feet touch the ground,
I’m only aware
Of this insane
ripping sound.

Barren
Barren
Barren
Looking up to the sky
I can’t help but cry,
“Lucifer what have you done
It seems heaven’s run dry!”

Empty
Empty
Empty
“Oh no, you Old Serpent!
I’m afraid my insides are out,
How can I proceed
With my intestines strewn about?”

Slip
Slip
Slip
I can not take this,
My head is pounding,
Every sound resounding,
This head ache is a killer.
I only complain
About this tension in my brain,
Since for organs
I've already found a Filler.

As the ground cackles open,
(“Look who finally answered the door!
Antichrist, you Tempter, did you not hear me knocking before?”)
I see one small problem,
A phantom tickle, a teasing *****,
For in all of my life
I've never been this famished, that I can assure!

Inhale
Inhale
Inhale
The world into my now vacuous
Gaping hole of a stomach,
A true bottomless pit.
For I will not leave this life
With nothing to show for it!

No more stars, I will keep them for myself,
let the moon shine it's dull light
in the spotlight,
with no one to share it's empty stage.

And maybe now,
Converter of Angels,
With the universe stored safely
Within the wormhole in my body,
My gaping wound,
Personification of ******,
Maybe now,
With Star-Filled-Guts
I will shine again.

The fiery sparks of hell
Will be no match for the likes of me,
For all who dare look
Will be blinded instantly.
I’ll be so incandescent
You’ll see me from afar
For haven’t you heard, Fallen Angel?
I’m Hell’s North Star.

I guess I might have lied
when I swore
to forget
that the price of freedom is
a *****
we've misleadingly named
Regret

and I think I
must have meant it
when I cleverly defied,
"Your gods voice is most deceiving
and his fountains are all dry!"
But I may have stretched
the truth
the moment that I said
I wouldn't miss your presence
until they pronounced you
dead

And as my life unfolds me
a broken stream of starts
it tickles my heart oddly
to know your days grow gray
as mine begin to
spark.
But maybe I still see you
in the corner of my mind
and your whispered wisdom
from the past
sneaks in from time to time

Umbilical chains
rooted in nostalgia
tether us to this weight
but maybe mutual understanding
will not evolve too late
And though you are my
anchor
the skies my spirit found
but how I wish that
you could see
this high above the ground.

I try and try
but no success,
I truly think I've used my best
of all my gifted creativity

on a counter-productive advancement ploy
vaguely disguised as a replacement for joy

But you see the industry
looks fondly
on a paper that solely
proves
you sold you soul and imagination
to teachers guidelines and
a heartless administration.
Cookie-cutter cinema class
excluding geniuses who
changed the past,
with controversial means no less,
I truly think they did their
best

Tick-tick-tock
Fingers dry as chalk

Merrily
ignoring the tear soaked
V-key..

Anyway,
who needs a V?

I do,
He telepathically
replies
As he tells me that he
loVes me
in a tear soaked string of lies

Above the wanderers footsteps
I soar

                                                      does he see me, can he see?
Were he to look beyond
                                                          ­          Himself
perhaps he would steal

a glance of truth

                                                reflected­ like gold upon my wings

but he shrouds himself with
thorny leaves of pine
and the shadow ridden caves of his              home
will never be neighbor to                               mine

and as the wind ruffles my feathers
                                                        ­   can he feel it?
no, not like me

with all his trekking and searching he
has not yet learned to
let life's whispering breath
                                            lift his weathered feet
                                                            ­                    to higher depth.