some people drink
to remember

others drink
to forget

I drink
water

a ******* story does no good
"illustrate the pangs of loss"
why don't you illustrate my pangs of knowing you

stories only serve to accentuate
my failures I resent it
I resent you

my father, he was good
but not
exceptionally great

poetry was his forte
and even the poems
were not that interesting.

instead of being a genius-freak
he was a freak-freak

& with a beer in his hand, he would deny that
he drank because he was afraid of life
and said he was
disgusted with people like you

he was a walking catastrophe
rather like me actually

as I grow older I'm turning into him
I wish to vanish
he will never

there is nothing more that I can do
but wait I can wait

if hell is this chair what is heaven
I wish to be free but i
have no idea what freedom is
a shadow of an idea that our
fathers fought for mistakenly

sitting down is much easier than standing
though it does not allow movement

I wish to burn the books of my panic
see me reach for the stars but come back
empty handed

my hands are stained
with the blood of my consciousness
but so are yours
and so, so much more than mine

every now and then I consider murdering someone
just for the fun of it
a thought invading my brain and then it's off
to the graveyard of hopes & dreams
or wherever that **** goes

I once considered murdering the voice in my head
it belongs to the man who lives across the street from me
I'm one side of a magnet and he's a *****
if you get what I'm saying.

once I bashed his ******* head in that was nice
snot and blood and bile and
who knows what else dripping from
his smashed eye sockets
I had good dreams that night

if I had the chance
how would I go about it?
a slash to the throat maybe
frame his ******* toddler in her tricycle
a club to the brain is quicker
but so last week
maybe cyanide in his soup
his lips turning blue and convulsing before me
or ******* on his throat
squeezing and squeezing
and ******* squeezing some more

but you mustn't think I'm mad, per se
I'm working on dismissing my thoughts
and I've only ever truly killed one person:

Me

In the graveyard of dreams
fog whirls around your mutilated carcass
I have been in this state for too long
brittle nails & worn hair, my drawn-out smile

I open your grave to find Pandora's box
your words choke me
turning my teeth a deeper shade of red

scarabs escape
they bore into my face
infiltrate my deepest memories
I surrender

my torment is one of clouds and flowers
freckles upon sun-kissed oranges
like roses through honey
& vivid eyes like the abstraction of Renaissance pieces

oh butterfly how you make my heart melt
chocolate brownie wonders with giggles on top
your effervescence brighter than a summer's day
entrapping my purity within your oppressive interior

our silences are filled with images of my creation
a cornucopia of passion for even the loneliest of wordsmiths

I leap into our pool of nostalgia for old time's sake
only to find your words transform into serpents.

whirlwinds of emotion now whispered into the ears of another
burning adorations into scarred remains