nothing ever made much sense to me
until the first time
i heard
a punk song
and nothing ever mattered much to me
until the first time
i heard
a ska song
and nothing ever felt right to me
until the first time
i heard
a folk song

I've toed the line between sane and absurd,
I've held on to your every last word.
But the day has come, and you still aren't here.
And this was the sum of all my fears.

The thoughts I had would make a saint blush.
I honestly hoped this was more than a crush.
I went out on a limb, but under me it broke.
I became the punchline to your elaborate joke.

So here I sit, alone in my thoughts.
Trapped like prisoners isolated in their cots.
Watching the world crumble beneath me.
I gave it all but you refused to see.

Never have I ever wanted it to end,
But that was the message your absence would send.
So now I'm here, back to square one.
Left alone to bask in this hollow sun.

In the burning right hand of the bald city,
denizens frame calories and count instagram blessings
while beacons of hope refund inspiration in USADA *** cups.

Abyssinian maids wail over yesterday lovers
who wore Ginsberg’s skirt with less  pizzazz
and watched bedbugs **** blood off knee caps
wondering, what if Jesus Christ drove a Nissan?

As bullets of paragraphs fall Vietnamese pesticides on my head,
The dusts off my breath sing homilies
With letters of broken leather whiskey,
For even in the most dishonest jest,
clandestine toothbrushes are overrated
and every first false lie is the only truth.

Beauty is an empty cage that shakes the world anew-
Yet, falters at the slightest rage, or faintest sickly hue.
A sweet yet poisonous embrace, it slowly clogs the pores,
Of lonely men of a pious race, slumped against heavens doors.
A heavy weight upon the back of those cursed enough to bear it,
Turned to salt for looking back, now eternally doomed to share it.
The elegance of poise and grace send shackles up the palms
Of the amorous eyes of a lover's face- the most perverted kind of alms.
Oh, Aphrodite had her laugh, her poor afflicted soul,
And now she revels in the past, as penance casts its toll
Upon her sweet reflection, the sole source of her empty joy-
As her heart cries out dejection in the name of Helen of Troy.
Ah, fragile bird have you no cause- to hide your face with shame?
Does happiness subdue your flaws- or is humility to blame?
A lepers skin can hardly hold the burden of an empty nation,
Yet, still the world has bought and sold innocence for infatuation.
There's a subtle pain beneath the ring of a mother's sordid song,
Still she bites her lip as she's forced to sing,  while the audience treads on.
The ****** Mary cast her lot among those new and pure,
Then temptation came from Camelot, and knocked her to the floor.
It's faith that holds her safe and whole, a figurine atop a shelf
Alas, her eyes so bright were smeared with coal, for love has lost itself.
Yes, virtue finds her strength in those too weak to carry further,
Doomed to bear a thorny rose, eternally sworn to serve her.
She's rattling her bones again, in hope for something hidden,
Beneath the glistening shards of glass, twisting and churning within.
How sweet it is to stomp the ground of all that hides the eye
From righteousness and morals sound- is beauty but a lie?
Rituals and good intent lay stagnant at the feet
Of Cleopatra's testament, too indifferent for defeat.
Heaven thrives as the world recoils, collapsing crumpled to the floor-
A rotten corpse of ancient toils, too tired to implore.
I've heard the sirens sing their alms, with intentions pure as snow-
As sailors mindlessly follow along, cursing the maidens as they go.
There's something to be said about a grace so bent on fate
Of that which crafts a sultry face: vanity in its purest state.

I stood in front of the mirror until four in the morning. I counted the imperfections in my face, multiplied them by ten & called it the imperfections in my head.

I wrote to you until eight in the morning. Counted every "I'm sorry" scratched in red pen on white pages, multiplied them by ten & called it the guilt scratched into the blue of my veins.

*I listened to your album until two in the afternoon. Counted every mention of her eyes, multiplied them by ten & called it suicide.

i remembered the rose
in the vase on my desk
dried up but, somehow, intact
and when i picked it up
to toss it outside
a few petals fell away
drifted to the floor
and all i could do was sigh
and say
i know.