**** the connection & circle back - begin again at the original sin and I'll conceive another immaculate excuse to explain myself this time, I always do, trust me,
Desolation angels blazing weary epiphanies into the highway lines, viewing crop circles at ground level, knowing we should be impressed but not sure by what, and I never drink alone anymore because that holy ******* cowboy is still blocking the warped door frame - I'm ******* trying to lighten up, I don't know what else you want from me (yes I do, it isn't this)
I weep the mirrors shattered luck, I weep my mothers bitter tears my fathers clenched fist my crazed manic adopted brother's visions of inertia salvation - I weep the thrown bricks and ****** fires of youth bled dry, I don't know how much longer I can keep this up
Wisps of my ***** hair catch on sighs of wind and carry off through the trees dead of night - I envy those who can live without context
I need to take myself seriously
With 12th cigarette breath mid week mid summer mid west midnight I will whisper in cracked refrain the vows of my idle retrospect -
I will haunt this city all year, sleepy eyes holding interstates hostage in preparation for the coming doom
I will sit atop the hill, feign wisdom for the ages, and preach melancholy my fondness for the earth, but now that I've made it I'm not sure I can go back
Maybe it's for the best

I didn't mean for this to happen:

for you to make my name a habit, a safe word
when you go overboard &
no one's there to trace your scars &
kiss the memories left on your wrists.

I didn't mean to become routine,
comfortable in your mouth,
your Sunday morning
after the substances weren't enough to **** the demons.

They're branded on your eyelids,
so you never want to sleep, unless it's
with me; but I always give in
to your desperate pleas.

I just want to replace
the bottle in your hand
the lines
the bathroom sinks
the fog
those things behind the mirror the doctor said would help you
& fix you.

But you love being broken more than you love me.

Conceived in hazy agony
The path to the city of gold stretched endlessly into the mountains
My father walked it once, and I think I'll stay home
There is an eternity between each of my words
And in that space ghosts wait impatiently
For me to cave in
The American South is all ablaze
And two headed catfish swim the Ohio River
Appalachia's lullabies end as bitterly as they begin
Life comes together in fragments
And ephemeral cycles reach their waning stages
God took pity just this once, and the following day brought apocalypse
An ending fit for songs that would never be sung
So glorious they never could have saw it coming
But I'll drink to it regardless

I miss the rumble of our tracks,
we were like the thunder,
rolling over the endless dunes,
it's a tune you never forget,
stays hidden
deep inside,
like the oldies.

There is something living in me,
an anonymous being devouring my dreams
and driving me out of my mind.
I have stepped down from my position to
operate this machine,
and the creature has turned autopilot.

I wake up suddenly when I have not been sleeping.
I forget my lines.
My smile has gone into hiding.
The dark crescent moons waxing below my eyes
are swallowing my face like the night sky.
The skin that shelters these two residents
has become more and more translucent,
and still I cannot see who has moved in with me.

How can you defeat an invisible enemy?
One who always knows your strategy,
whose voice and footsteps sound like yours,
who leaves on lights and opens doors,
who gets to breathe every time you inhale,
I am failing constantly
and through this, it prevails.

If you spend enough time with demons,
they soon become your friends.
A part of you to love and defend.
But careful that you do remember,
how easily your heart dismembers.
Do not trust the darkness inside,
who feeds on your doubts and batters your pride.
The parasite feels no remorse
when it feasts on its final course.

I know it is hard to find the light
with wool pulled over your eyes.
You are the sheep, but deep asleep
a lion is ready to rise.

if girls are so good at painting their faces
i wish we could turn them loose on a real canvas
see what they really mean
when they paint those black lines
every girl is a painter
she needs a real canvas
da vinci is lurking behind those sultry lashes
trapped in the eyeliner-barbed wire
a concentration camp of cover-up
clipping their own wings
willingly
with eyelash curlers -
every girl is a painter.
i wonder what faces they would paint
if they stopped focusing on their own face
i wonder if they would still have clown-smiles
and slanted eyes

i am looking for the next van gogh
but he has camouflaged himself
and is dying in front of an empty mirror.

today i woke up to the radio,
and when every song sounded
like it should be ours, i couldn't tell
if i was dreaming or not

(and i am so gone
on you)