i pick at the sparkly top coat
and wonder why my subconscious
wants to ruin things that are beautiful.

i opened my mouth
and shots were fired
words are my choice
of weapon and i
found my smoking gun.

Drinking summer skin,
I hear the voices in the night sky
I'm a slave to the darkness around the stars,
and I can't remember why

One, two, twenty-three percocet in my soul.
Ambulance lights breathing throughout the mist.
Pump my stomach like the sawed-off shotgun
that I was too afraid to use,
because what if I 'miss'?
What spectrum of desolation to be traced with lips;
to kiss away the desire to exist.

Mirrored reflection injection causes the resurrection of my imperfection.
I see me for who I am, who I was, and who I won't be.
It's the collection of
my eyes dilating and my knees speculating their arrival
to the blue and white tiling disguised as neo-survival.
My mind is evaporating. My body begins to convulse.
I am a ghost in a machine. I am without a pulse

the world is so
small
until it’s
you
i want to run into…

i’ve put my heart
on the bookshelf
for these days,
it seems to be of
little use in my chest.

i heard your name in the
whispers of the wind,
turned around to check
if in fact it was you taunting me
but alas, twas only the trees
spinning their tall tales
and me wishing for
a happy ending.

they say the grass is always greener
on the other side
but honestly i’ve never seen
green grass
in this city of mine