Death strap
Hanging at the gallows
I feel like I'm in a death trap
Waiting for ghostly hallows

Brushing at my skin
Claustrophobia sets in
Always choking me
I just wanna be free

When I have to wear it
I wanna tear it
I throw a fit
This is bullsh*t

I always feel welted
Each time leaving a new scar
Every time I'm seat belted
Into this car

I'm ashamed; posting
these awkward poems; expecting
you'd read this and smile.

Call me a *****,
but we both know you enjoyed it.

Pretend you don't know me,
But I've still seen you naked.

Tell me I'm worthless,
But I was worth it that night.

Say what you wish,
But we still had ***.

during my worst times
on the park benches
in the jails
or living with
******
I always had this certain
contentment-
I wouldn't call it
happiness-
it was more of an inner
balance
that settled for
whatever was occuring
and it helped in the
factories
and when relationships
went wrong
with the
girls.
it helped
through the
wars and the
hangovers
the backalley fights
the
hospitals.
to awaken in a cheap room
in a strange city and
pull up the shade-
this was the craziest kind of
contentment

and to walk across the floor
to an old dresser with a
cracked mirror-
see myself, ugly,
grinning at it all.
what matters most is
how well you
walk through the
fire.