I was 15 years old with trails
of white powder dripping from my nose.
I was 16 and never saw a sober day of my life,
I hid behind bottles of whiskey and ***,
bags of molly, and vials of kitty.
I was 17 and growing tired
of this life.
I was 17 and knew this
wasn’t who I was meant to be.
I was 17 with friends and
a pact to move to California and make
something of ourselves. I was 18
and kicked out of my mothers house.
I was 18 and living with a best friend.
I was 18 and found out they
were doing ****** and ****.
I was 18 and sick of
all the lies so I left.
I moved to Socal where
I surfed couch to couch till I
climbed my way to the Bay area.
I was 19 and lost.
I was 19 and went on a 2 month
road trip with my best friend and a guy who tried to ****** me.
I was 19 and
looking for myself. I made it
to New Orleans and back with only losing myself
more. I was 19 and fell in love
for the first time. I was
20 and met a boy whom I never
sought out to show me how to change myself until he broke my heart for
the very first time. I was
20 years old and let him enter my
tunnel heart   like the yellowbird  he is.
He made it out alive but for a second I didn’t think I would.
I did. I was 20 and
finding myself. I was 20 and getting myself
together after a broken heart.  
I was 20 and I found myself for the first time.
I was 20 and no longer wanted death for my birthday
I am now 21 and fearless.

Last night I felt the alcohol and darkness slither in again.
So I buried myself into a blanket burrito
and tried not to let the cold take over.
Soon however, it felt suffocating,
tightening around my arms and hands
whenever the night demanded blood and pain.
"I'm protecting you on his behalf," the blanket whispered,
as its warmth imitated his arms and lulled me to sleep.

(glow in the dark stars)
A pack costs two dollars
But the joy it brings is worth manyfold.
They laugh,
Calling me immature, childish.
But have you ever been afraid of the darkness the way I am?
When the dark arrives, so does isolation,
and emptiness and hate and pain and self-loathing.
That's all I know of darkness,
so leave my packet of stars be,
they watch over me when no one else will.

(dreamcatchers)*
A bit of string, a few feathers,
and perhaps a bead or two.
Call it superstition, but I believe.
Because nightmares aren't just bad dreams to me,
they are possible glimpses into the future, where desolation dominates,
where the monsters in my head are as real as you and me,
and they tower over and hunt me.
Be sure not to break the string,
for they say all the bad dreams
will be released into the real world.

Gaunt and ice-pale,
Ivory fingers delicately linger on
His oak casket.
Red-clad, marooned in a
Sea of black ties and dresses.
He had liked red.

Civilized hands, gentle on
Her back, elbows.
She startles at each touch,
Eyes wild and afraid.

Frozen soil, in shovelfuls
Falling against wood
Which answers with
Dull, muffled cries.
New sod, eerily green
Against woolen snow.

They never heard her cry--
Her black hair her shroud--
Only her breath,
Cold and hungry.

I always saw
or seen
the vein underneath
my skin as
green

till it turned
black
and blue

then I remembered
this was all about you

the silver steel
needle
that promised to make
me feel

something that wasn't real
just like you

I became addicted to that feeling
you know

I guess
I don't remember now
why I bought that
silver steel.

I look back on days when I didn’t care about anything
And each moment was an opportunity for adventure
I saw beauty in everything
Childhood was a wonderful thing
Now I stand on the line between being boy and man
The child in me fights to survive
And you draw the man out of me
While I struggle to grasp what remains of my childhood
I watch it dwindle away every time I’m with you

A waif on this earth,
Sick, ugly and small,
Contemned from my birth
And rejected by all,
From my lips broke a cry,
Such as anguish may wring,
Sing, — said God in reply,
Chant poor little thing.


By Wealth's coach besmeared
With dirt in a shower,
Insulted and jeered
By the minions of power,
Where — oh where shall I fly?
Who comfort will bring?
Sing, — said God in reply,
Chant poor little thing.


Life struck me with fright —
Full of chances and pain,
So I hugged with delight
The drudge's hard chain;
One must eat, — yet I die,
Like a bird with clipped wing,
Sing — said God in reply,
Chant poor little thing.


Love cheered for a while
My morn with his ray,
But like a ripple or smile
My youth passed away.
Now near Beauty I sigh,
But fled is the spring!
Sing — said God in reply,
Chant poor little thing.


All men have a task,
And to sing is my lot —
No meed from men I ask
But one kindly thought.
My vocation is high —
'Mid the glasses that ring,
Still — still comes that reply,
Chant poor little thing.

Love is universal migraine,
A bright stain on the vision
Blotting out reason.

Symptoms of true love
Are leanness, jealousy,
Laggard dawns;

Are omens and nightmares -
Listening for a knock,
Waiting for a sign:

For a touch of her fingers
In a darkened room,
For a searching look.

Take courage, lover!
Could you endure such pain
At any hand but hers?