I will not submit to the tin foiled intellects
That I collide with on the internet
The *** and the kettle
Are as black as they are bleak
They are everything they claim not to be

You were born
For more than gradual death,
If I could
Take your credit card, and
Remove your shoe laces
I would
Instead I stare into
Your jaundiced eyes
Like a jar of dandelion jelly
The liver is failing
The vocabulary, is...
Not as easily accessible
Reaching further into
A bucket of chum
On this vessel of pain
For something familiar
I hope you find
Your reason to
Quit it all
And
Continue living

Don't you hate it
When you're talking to your psychiatrist
And you think
You've made a breakthrough
Only to realize
That you don't have a
Psychiatrist

You don't need
A Smith Corona
Or a MacBook Air
Use a napkin,
A stationary pad
From the Holiday Inn
F*ck,
Write on your forearm
If you must
All you need
Is
Passion

This is *******
This is poetry, baby
It's not all about gentle kisses, and
Sweet description
Sometimes it's about getting
f*cked

I take my coffee
Black, and
Frequently refilled
Or
Cold tea, sun-warmed
By the windowsill
That is...
Until

It's a widely-acceptable hour
For whiskey

I'd assemble
small structures
Out of the kindling on the floor, and
I'd watch in horror
Through the empty space between my Fingers
As she'd raise the small hatchet, and proceed to
Lower it with haste
Splitting the wood
Into halves, then quarters
Just missing her extremities
Before tossing balled up newsprint
Into the opening, and
With the strike of a red bird
Politics and comic strips
Caught flame
The warmth, and comfort
Of the fire takes over

It still burns
In my memory

In a digital picture booth
Seeking the Fountain of Youth
Through *** lifts & artificial *****
Or some Universal Truth

Surprise, surprise
It's just a carefully woven
Web of Lies
No one gets out alive

You can't avoid atrophy, or defy age,
Acquire knowledge and create
Everything else decays

I am
A slave to likes and reaction
To the effect of
Altering my work
In a deplorable display, of
Pandering
Should I reduce my word count?
Should I trim my magnum opus?
Lean poems are easier to digest
Should I exercise restraint, and
Cut lbs off my body of work?

Your reflection
Sits on the surface of the water
Glimmering, and still
Like an unlit oil lamp, or
The fraction of the moon
That feels sociable

Though, I know
You share more in common
With it's depth
Dark, cold, and
Full
of
Wonder
I have a strange impulse
To dive in
Dome first

Though, I fear
I would fail
To navigate your depths
Burden you
With shallow grievances
Or worse
Drain
You

Now that the algorithm
Has provided me with
Your undivided attention,
Get lost

I used to fantasize about suicide
Thought I'd save it for a rainy day
Now I wear a bracelet that says
Don't hesitate to resuscitate
I have a daughter I need to raise

Bruised, and mishandled
Like the last fruit in the produce bin
I don't know if I can
Kiss away your pain, but
I'm up for the challenge

There used to be an arcade here
'til it caught fire
Some said arson
Some said faulty wires

But nobody knows for sure
And we may never learn
We just know the machines
Lit up when they burned

Some die by their own hand
Through means of rope, pills, or
gunpowder

With a pen and a drink
I choose to live through mine

I doubt death
Will tremble to take me, but
It should stop to consider
That I know how
To throw
A sucker punch