Just to lay
with the ebb and pulse
of another beating heart,
the rise and fall of empires
in a gentle breath,
the tide of blankets
being pulled to and fro
is a hope
left
h
a
  n
   g
    i
       n
        g

There is nothing
worse
than smoking a stoge alone
knowing the white paper wrapped
around leaves is a Hearse.
Dying slowly with a friend
feels almost alright
but when the smoke
billows out at night
a locomotive with no incentive
you get pensive
and wish that cancer would develope
dropping you in an early grave.
The stench of burning bodies
isn't a story
with a life lived next to a crematory
the sizzle of the cigarette
akin to the sound of
bacon cooking in the morning.
No warning signs
from a petered out mind
cracked spine causing
an acid flash back
fluorescent butterflies
peek over the guitar strings
stinging like beautiful bees
while the trees take deep breaths
singing
"Breathe child...breathe"

I'm sick of liars and cheats,
past roommates who
don't know how to be responsible
kicking me in the teeth
with bills that built up a year ago, when
I wasn't even living there,
to pay
that **** isn't my responsibility
did you think energy was free?
And do you think my minimum wage job
leaves me with the room
to throw around money and
cover your *******?
I can barely pay for my own classes
let alone your mistakes.
A day ago a friend tried to off himself,
that hits hard cause I've tried to **** myself
and I know where he is at
I can't do much
I've said my piece, tried to be there
tried to hold so many people's heads up
my arms are getting weak.
I've been keeping my car together
with duct tape
just last week I was this close
to getting *****,
followed up by six days of work
where half the people don't pull
their weight
and I just got enough dough
to put food on my plate.
I once said
"it's never that hard to escape"
I was wrong
I'm so mad I could scream my lungs
dry and ******
and so sad I could collapse
and cry with my nose runny.
I just want someone honest
to hold me, they wouldn't even
need to say anything
just let me fall asleep next to them.
This ******* pen that I put
so much of my heart in
doesn't stop the hurt
just puts it in words
so I can read them on repeat.
Hell I don't expect anyone to like this
it's a mess
a mirror image of me
my reflection in a sense
and I realize we all have problems
and none of us can stop them
fine, I'm going to drive until
I run out of gas
or crash
anything to make all this ****
in the past.

Does my name
still fall from your lips?
And if it doesn't,
do you miss
its
structure?

Scabs are always
peeled, ripped, chipped
off early
because
fresh, pink, fragile
skin and scars
hold
beauty, stories, emotions
over plain
flesh.

I haven't bought a pack of stoges
in four whole days,
that's saying something
when a full pack
could get choked down
in one,
80 sticks
of burning leaves
that didn't let me breathe
ain't it strange, but I feel...

relieved?