All of this time, I felt so claustrophobic;
The walls are caving in on me.
But, I’d never tell anyone.
No, no…
My home and chest and mind and
Sanity can all cave in,
And I won’t say a ****** thing.
I am sick of missing myself.
I’m right here, I’m just…
Asleep.
I stumble over my own two feet
Like some blind traveler,
Lost on these same roads I’ve walked
Forever.
And maybe, just maybe,
This time I’ll actually wake up
On the count of three.
Maybe then, it’ll finally make sense.
The walls were never caving in.
They were floating away.
They’re gone.
There is no four corners that I will
Allow to define me.
I am nothing and everything all at once..
I am whatever the stars
Wish to see me as.
I am only worth the thoughts I leave
Here on this planet.

I can’t breathe-
But I can wear long sleeves.
I can’t look
To the tumbling leaves
Without being reminded
Of my cracking psychiatric state
That his name leaves me in.
I can’t smile,
But I can blame it on
Being “under the weather”
Like it’s some sort of
Dizzy spell that disintegrates
My fake smiles and
Social interactions.
Another year I watch the leaves lose their hair,
Being stripped completely vulnerable
In public,
Just the way he left me.
Another year I spend my birthday alone.
Another year I don’t have a date to the fair.
It’s unfair…
Another year I will be purposely outcast
At friendly functions.
Another year I’ll be questioned
As to why I stay at home all of the time.
Another year I’ll spend alone in my own mind.
Another year;
Closer to death.
Happy ******* birthday.

I’m suffering.
Tears of gasoline, beaded down my cheeks.
And Darling, your kisses are the firepower.
You want to see how long I can stand to suffer
Without speaking?
Honey, keep preaching to the choir.
I refuse to speak,
In fear that I will choke on my own words-
Infused with negativity and
Melancholy blues you used to
Sing to me.
That subtle, lackadaisical smile
That got me to fall so hard in the first place
Means nothing to me now.
You’re artistically numbing my creativity
With those vacant eyes…
I used to see the sunset in them,
And now,
I can only see your
Tilted and twisted views on society
And the love ones who surround you.
You may be blind and wounded,
But at least the old dog can smell
That I am indeed,
In heat.

Falling out of flight,
Falling into night;
These wings were never meant to save me…
They’re just a faulty accessory.
It’s surreal,
How much the stars remind me
Of your skin.
Pale and porcelain.
Out of your lips, called ugly.
Seen by my eyes, beauty.
You shine against black canvas.
But the stars, they’re burning…
And yet,
You’ve always stayed so frore…
So completely alone.
You are such a magnificent specimen.
It’s viceral- I want you.
I want your stupid opinions,
That nonchalant, aloof and lackadaisical attitude you host,
Your soft, sweet lips,
Fleshed out into reality,
And pressed against mine.
But it’s too dangerous.
A love like this is far too dangerous.
And your eyes have yet to meet mine.
I’ve yet to exist.
I’m not here.

Heathen cat,
Atop my Mac.
You’re feral
And losing teeth.
A fever from your scratch,
A heap of furry black.
Flicks his tail and tongue to greet me.
Meet me
In the chatroom.
A real cat-fish
I presume,
The squawk box amuses me.
Yellow eyes and painted ears,
He types away at all his fears.
I fell in love with a stranger;
A true online catfish he’d been
For years.

Portable Carnival.
You pack it up and roll it away two weeks to the day that it arrives. The lives of these carnies have never mattered. They exist only as a part of the traveling freakshow. Something we pay money to stare at, to laugh at, to mock. It’s degrading, but it’s how the freaks have to earn their living. It’s how Two Toe Toby affords his next meal. But he doesn’t have a favorite sit down restaurant, because they keep putting him back on a bus and sending him to a different city to manage the tilt-a-whirl; And all the hurling ***** from children's’ stomachs that are full of corn dogs and cotton candy.
Portable Portajohn.
A traveling **** storm. Citizens come and give us their paychecks in return for cheap thrills on rinky **** rides that spin their minds into oblivion. Just so they can say they’ve tasted the clouds and all of the pollution that surrounds them.
And just like that, we leave again. Vanishing into our next city, for a scheduled two week period.