i wander into the bathroom
and flush myself down the toilette.
i walk out
and i am flushed.

nothing has changed
it is a room still for rent.

my minds always crooked
my spoons always bent.

i look for love
when i become tired of myself
and want to share it
with someone else.

a fictional character lives on in agony

I'm a mystery..
..what am I?

everything ive ever lost
without a heartbeat
i dismiss.
everything else
was someone i loved.
theres nothing else i can say
to explain the passing
through my heart.

I hang myself
in every hammock
in which I lay..

I never understand
the vista from which I stand.

it is boundless
directionless
but hounded after by me
eternally and still.

a dead dog hangs itself
the only way it knows how-
with honor.

a head-hunter dreams
the only way it can-
in vivid colorful horror.

an assembly line designed
to pour quicksand
down the mouths of robots.

we keep the truth hidden.
the ground we walk lost.
a table top cloth.
a mind shattering meal
of silence not deafness.

an infinite distance winked at me
and i skull-****** it instantly.

if i had liquid skin
id be drowning in
what im already drowning in.

reverse engineering the heart.

when i reach that
infinitesimal space
between existence
then maybe
i will know love

elephants are absolutely beautiful

step out of the skin.

walk many miles
into the ocean
to dissolve.

it is because
my life is so large
but my eyes are so small
sending signals to an even tinier mind.

it is the intelligence between atoms.

it is something.

i think it is
a cause to find.

my soul is starving.
i must feed it everything
and do nothing.

.

The End

the tortured
entertain the slaves

built to work

built to build graves.

when the lights
come through our sky
we'll try
to leave our bodies behind.

they say your body needs to die
before you can know
but i wouldnt trust
their living mouths

"None are more hopelessly enslaved
than those who falsely believe
they are free."

the more horse meat she consumed
the more keratin she produced.
she will modify
ceaslessly
until the race is dead.
beaten and broken-legged.
panting and surfing the air
for a quick malignant breath.

people have no souls.
but souls have the people.

when the sun comes out of
her sheathe
shes an ICY *****.

but she wears it so good.

sleep is a
mortar shell.
everything is
shrapnel.

its several thousand nightmares
having eachother.

makinglovemakingkids

the light at the end
of the tunnel
is hell

it is because
my life is so large
but my eyes are so small
sending signals to an even tinier mind.

it is the intelligence between atoms.

it is something.

i think it is
a cause to find.

counting is a great way to waste time

reading is a great way to escape

writing is a great way to live

living gives you something
to write about.

the clothes wear filth.

the man wears cancer.

they wear so thin.

theres a person
stuck in the wall
of the old abandoned building.

i love caterpillars

you can look at the ground
to watch the ants
or look at the sky
to be one being watched.

they keep trying to break in
but thats not where i keep it.
i keep it down below.
and it slowly leaks and leaves me
and it gives itself away for free.

..they try to steal my love.

everything good funnels down
into the jowls of a frothing,
ill-natured beast.

the criminals
the crazies;

we love the hardest.

your mind
run away from me
on fire

then run back
and beg me
to subdue it.

a film of frost formed over everything for almost forever
but fell off fast when every form
finally felt fever.

its like a beautiful fountain
all dried up.

the spiders in my dream
crawl out through my ear
and into my shelter.

i wake
and watch them
while they sleep.

hell is where
you cant get high.

wake up, make your bed
and die.

ive made poetry.
im happy.

i am spread
over the vastest of expanses.

and the body that i cant quite use
is more moved by my wind
than from anything within.

youre in the sky
pouring everything
out of your mouth.

i was dry
but now im drowned.

too depressed to *******
I need someone to talk to.
life runs its course
and I of course
I never got a walk-through.

there is a dungeon
inside a room
in your house.
or in your car.
out in the city where you eat.
a comfortable place because
there they know your face
and you dont have to be
anybody.

they have t.v.'s there
that think for you
while you watch them
from your dungeon door.
and you think
your dungeon
brings you peace.
so you decorate it
and call it your home
and live there
until you've used
all of its air.
it is cursed by
the inhabitant
who built it
around their self.
a place for quiet
turned hostile
because eventually
the truth shines in through
the wear in the walls
and sends you
screaming into the sun.

its like a well
inside of me
that i want to
draw from you.

.

if notes deteriorate
inside you're stomache

you still walk into my soul sometimes.
and i sort of look at anything to distract me.
you might be my health but i dont want to steal yours.