I see you, as if for the first time,
and my heart collapses upon itself
a million times over. I see you, and
my tongue tastes like silver as I speak.

Words cannot contain themselves within my vessel.
Words cannot escape the realms in which I tread.
Words fall short and I bend over to pick them up.
Words slip through my fingers and burn my skin like acid.

Words trip me over myself, myself breaks habits
and creates new ones, new words to fall after, new
webs to catch opportunities to catch you to leave me
bruised.

Morning fails me,
afternoon and you lose me,
night beckons my entirety
and my self is searching.
I can no longer control my direction
as I am pulled by "fate".

I saw you again for the first time in forever.
Your eyes were sad, curious, and tired.
They were hurried in their silence, and
screaming in their wake.

"I will see you again!" they said, "I don't know when,
but soon..."

Now is forever, and I will see you again.
Now is a friend, the past an enemy.
Now is reality, and all else a memory.

I am dissolving in my madness,
having days that run like snakes,
I want to slam the breaks of my wake
and shake the feeling that I am a mistake.
Each day that passes tells me to take myself
and go, find a ride, hitch hike, **** yourself before
it's too late to stop breathing, semi-comfortably,
in these darkened days that bud neglect, and
self-destruct. I enjoy the rude and malicious
taste of nutrition after being starved of all
passion. I enjoy the pain-tattered crack
in my skull from the thoughts I collect.

I want to project something worth a lifetime.

I will soon create
I will soon abstain
I will soon.
I will...

I'm realizing how beautiful you are
without even looking at you.

If I was looking, I know our eyes
would be even,
perfectly distanced
so that no one could hear all the
whispers we share:
through what we see
and what we wish we could
forget.

I know you rearranged your
furniture, and asked for my advice
about the things you know I like
to talk about, and that you gave
me the room I needed so that I could
descend through my sadness like a
bucket of oil spilled over gravel

but there's always a something
and with me there's too much change.

I've let myself slip in and out of the rocks
and I've settled in a shape like stars and
kittens.

Darling, you're not my teacher
or my mother, you're just a woman
with a son and short hair with asthetically
pleasing walls that are good for looking at
with crying eyes.

I'll steal books and rip pages out for you
if you let me. There's only so much I can
say with this body and it's never the same.
If you're looking for a constant, I suggest
you stay away from liquid.

Thought
                w
      a
v
              e
                    ­      s
Brain
                                    w
                     a
                                              v
               ­                   e
                        s
P T E N
  A T R S.

M        i          n         e
    are      all      the

                                    same.

my skin is splintered,
it's not the wood inside of me.
maybe's are seeping through
my heart holes.
all form is out to play, I'm on
the 19th hole of destruction.

early darkness
my bed a harness
don't want to tarnish
this sacred time in space
star dust in the star light tonight
let me burn here a moment longer
not meaning to linger with my fingers
dancing in and out of your personal bubble
take me to the moon and leave me to rebuild myself

I've lost it no matter the cost of it and I lost interest in you too

with the mind of an artist you'd think that she could come up with
something to jump off the page
strangle you with her words of beauty and then bring you back to life
with every word she has written
but all she can do is repeat herself and stumble, fall, and skin her knees
with the ground at the bottom
to pull something from nothing and force it in a box, then twist it into a
riddle, that's what she does
then she looks at people, makes things sad, tries to believe in her own
lies, then kills with her artificial love
coffee breath, ***** jeans, a tired girl, and a desperate search for
something more
cornering a boy with the shadow covering his face, he's so unknown in
this town that it's almost unbearable
innocence doesn't make him blind but it makes his eyes a portal to his
young untouched mind
she looks inside and tries to find what makes him smile, she unravels
his secrets and a memory or two
everything that came out of those untouched lips made everything
shine and burst with a euphoric light
the lust she had for him was held in a jar with a tight cap and a glued lid,
she hoped it'd never be revealed,
until the day the jar breaks she will forever linger, tense and poised,
until she can somehow relax

pale
unprepared
another sunrise
waiting for sunset
the heat just wont
let up today
don't want to go
outside, just
want to
light up.

a shortness of breath,
a stiff clinging to comfort.
hardwood floor, (hiding).
stress is combining,
and it's frightening
(I wake up crying).

full, and
sick you
pull,
and shift.
forget the debt that crept in neglect.

some things are too obvious to say,
or you think them so much they begin to feel like you've already said them.

painter of dreams
living through imagination
a fragment of reality running wild
I release all my sanity for fantasy
don't wake me up

raise your standards
self-hatred is weak

he moved his body, I followed
I touched myself, his hands

such a disgusting beauty
a silent high-impact force of comfort
his anxiety traded for a poison
my poison traded for his nectar

don't let me go

not much left
it's incredible how easily one becomes jaded
how easily we forget love in the absence of presence
the top of the mountain isn't so intimidating when you're being carried
the bottom is the hard part

our purpose is to fall
building friendships, fragile beginnings with shattering ends
trying not to be so intimate

leave me alone

weird crazy stupid
there is no room for elegance
elbow to elbow, hip to hip
I'm a ******* paradox
leave me alone

It looked better in your head,
it sounded better, too.
You were out of breath and restless,
but that didn't stop you from making a fool out of yourself.
The shooting stars, the baseball field,
everything was perfect for closure.

When you got home and cleaned yourself off in the candle light,
you couldn't help but stare,
the people looked so scared,
you could feel it in their gaze,
it was like they were burning it into you,
almost as if they knew you could understand.
It made no sense
because you were alone,
and you went to the doctors,
and you got the medication.
You hadn't seen them in years
but they somehow broke through that strong wall of chemicals,
and here they were,
staring back at you like nothing had ever happened.

You sunk to the floor,
wrapping your arms around your head
trying to block the images,
they were hungry and you knew that they always would be,
it made you sick,
it made you shrink.

another day
picking at
my face
wondering
if I'm of this race
because last time
I closed my eyes
I could swear I
wasn't meant
to be human
wasn't built
for all of the
pain, inflicted
because of, or
to me. these
hands were
granted to me
by the grace
accidents
can become.

these hands
create, hate,
releasing
explosions
of alien
emotions.
that's not normal
for a person to hate
all that they create
that's not normal
to destroy yourself
because of a mistake
can't help but miss
and take,
hate for love
as a higher-up
to build your
heart up
from
where you
broke it down.

love can be so weak
love can be so weak
love makes me so weak...
what once was my power
now reeks of defeat, as do I...
yet hate makes me think,
makes me reek just as much,
there's only pain in holding a grudge...
but to be human is to feel both
and I want to feel neither
to be numb and to dissipate
before another explosion.

Is love
the true power
of a human...?
because I'm drowning in it
and the path I see out
is a shore of hate.

talk me up. talk me up. talk me up.
enter my exit
say yes turn
back around
find the next fit.
looking at me for the first time,
you're more prepared for this than I am.

you've got a heart in your palm.
I take your blade to my flesh to make sure I've still got one,
realize you've got mine and as soon as it's healed you drop it back into place.
I forgot what it was like, hearts are so heavy.
I'm a snow flake, falling onto flesh, and melting,
through my eyes, broken faucets, you turned me on,
shut me out, won't turn me off.

passion's forgetful in a whirlwind.
wrap me up in a cocoon, keep me numb.
I see you've been breaking glasses,
cutting off the tips of your fingers,
you make me nervous. beginnings make me nervous.

you let me explore your mountain
and I found caves that were brighter
than daylight so I left them to you,
it wasn't my place to stay.

you're a dark shark with soft teeth
shaved cheeks and smooth grease.

I'm an open eyed shadow looking
for sparks to dance in. If I could learn
to balance my darkness in the light
then my moves would be seen clearly
and I could catch my mistakes before I
leave my pieces on the board in places
where I'd so obviously lose them.
there's nothing left for me to do but keep playing.
although I make puddles, I'll laugh
to soak them up. it's refreshing
this feeling,
it's a wound but it's healing.
you put something into a pocket
because you want to keep it close
and see it again.
you put something in a hole
because you want to lose it
or it's dead.

I gave you permission to eat my remains
so clean off my plate, wipe off my face.
the younger you are the stronger the hunger
for flesh for adventure for change.
constant,
constant,
change.
perhaps I should have cut you when I had the chance.
then we'd both be healing at the same time.

a day of chalk
and bruises.
your strength is flexible
I am curious how much
effort I have lost in thoughts of greatness
rather than making that greatness reality.

words have me in their throat
I can't help but scream with them.

I didn't wake up last night, not once.
It was a miracle and I woke up to blood,
which was also a miracle.

I threw cotton on my back,
I got caught on the door ****,
I thought I taught myself how to move,
guess not.

I sorted bottles from lowest to highest
I sorted ideas, just the same (how useful).

Using my tongue seems inevitable today
opening my throat, I'll talk to myself while I look others in the eye.
I'll let them know how I'm doing in robotic undertones
and wish I could bring the real conversation out every time.

It's too personal to know how someone really feels. It's too dramatic.
Love & ignorance & arrogance & waiting & chasing & giving up
trying to get over what you can't change,
about others & about yourself.

If this and because of that and you should have because I couldn't
and backwards again because I keep forgetting to breathe through the stress
that I inflict upon myself, so I choose another infliction and risk an infection.
You're not a disease but this won't last forever. I'm feeling like a tug of war tease
that can't stop begging for attention, although I can't seem to hold my own.

I've got a key to an open door and yet still I stand
with my frame in it's frame wishing for another
frame to place myself in. Maybe even hang myself,
suspension at it's finest. The elevation of my image might **** me,
so I'll save that trick for the dead and wait my turn like everybody else.

Take my number and count me out
ring me out like a wet rag and then
let me try and help you in other ways.

The graveyard was twilight and the fox was silent.
I was chalk-based chemicals, caffeinated and drinking, still.
He was worried about the unborn, our talking was a storm.
Emotions running wild through my speech, I wanted to shut up
but couldn't help speak. That happiness got me laughing, and it
got him a little too.
The madness was my walk to the car
but it didn't end when I got there.  

I kept on thinking like I like to.
I kept on talking like I like to.
Then I fell apart
because the most positive fact
that I will be alone forever.
The small pieces of chapped skin
which I ate off my lips
soon became a reflection
of how although I'm not always okay,
I will be after a good amount of pain.
Something shy of heartache shouldn't fall so deeply
for someone whose attention is so easily caught by
the seemingly unimportant. Something shy of heartache
shouldn't pay so much attention to the moment when
they finally hit the bottom of that abyss they fell into.

Something shy of heartache
and I'm turning into a ghost,
a shell of a baby that has the
ability to speak with knives
even though they're too afraid
to hold them, because they know
they'll just hurt themselves like forever.

I want to shut up about forever and give myself now.

I'm feeling lonely and I'm feeling raw, keep making fun of me.
I want to crawl back into the blue from which I came,
where everything was dark.
Ever since I've seen this light I've become increasingly more blind,
I'm torn in all decisions, keeping myself weak.
I'm buried in my own self too deep.
It's time to climb. I believe in myself this time, unlike the others (which aren't important).

Success is inevitable.

treat yourself like a lullaby
soft and sweet
give yourself away to the restless
biting their tongues and twisting their bodies
(like I do, 'cause I can't help it)

attraction pulses through poison
I don't want to hurt you
attraction is deluded through conversation
I know your annoyance stems from over-stimulation
and that  maybe if I'm alone then you won't be afraid to be,
or at least if I am then you won't
'cause as soon as I need someone you're there.

here's where I jump from one thing to another
this isn't about you, I know what you're thinking
this is the problem with explaining poetry, or maybe it's just my problem
but I can't hold on to the same point, even if I were to die without one,
and if I were, I'd die screaming, "**** me!"

here is where all things I've never found inspiration in meet
where at more love than hate explains how I'm not alone,
and that after meeting a real-live-manic-depressive
(that I really hope doesn't own a gun)
can help me more than I can help them.

I had *** without love
and realized what a love meant
and the distinction between the two.

Without experience, there is no learning, for me.
without reading, there is no knowledge, for me.
without interest, there is nothing, for me.

caught up in the heart drop of loss,
I decide to learn as much as I can
and not give in to myself,
distraction is paradise, lately.

I know time is just a measurement from the way you looked at me,
the way you held my face, and kept moving no matter how tired you were.
sweet sweat tired breath repetition redemption saliva salvation
I love you, I love her, I love him, I love them
I love me, I love us,
I love all.

whoa there, you're so personal.
you're so jaded, you're covered in attention.
I'm not going to let go just because you want me to,
I'm not going to hold on just because I'm scared,
I'm just going to go in whatever direction I feel is best,
no matter what whoever thinks.
Rebellion on my finger tips
watch out for yourself and I'll do the same for me.

I'll send you sweet dreams while I can't sleep.

Lazy lines never writes
she's afraid because of what she might.
Can't seem to find her way
so she's taking a                                                break
from searching.
She sways
in and out of feelings,                                                
from the middle        
she can see the edge                                       break
but doesn't lose her place.
He wanted to hold her
as she rambled away,
kiss her cheek in the moonlight
and play her music by day.

Walk barefoot on blacktops,
backward steps, tripped in flip flops.
He's the scar on her knee, the crackle pop in her spine.
She thought to make him                                                  baked
goods:
precious berries too sweet for wine.

She feels destruction in creation
so her thoughts become less productive
and finds resonance in mistakes.
Words like hot wind
and she's depressing.
Ignoring advice from others,
*******.
Break
                  break                                          
                                      break
she needs it
break
     break
break
she bears it

cheek bruised
from loves subtle encounters,
hands shaking from
works formal banters,
today's not what she expected it'd be:
something sweet in the stomach.
A smooth something to bring out the best,
bitter rest in her breast,
she wants to get a better look.

one

we're intertwined
         in imagined concepts
and we've got the same layout.
some sections colored the same
but we still look so different.

two

I feel like a story basket
locked in a casket,
avoiding spitting on graves.
you're the foam at the bottom:
           all I have left and I want more.
I'm just a foam hound daddy,
             a locked foam hawk.
you open your face, intoxication pouring out.
too much stimulation leads to lack of stimulation.

three

through my fingertips
budding beneath my eye lids.
I see what you're saying.
translate what you're feeling through my skin.


four

slabs of meat for hands,
place them on the stove.
(I feel better with my head close to the oven).
you've gotta soak in the seasons
or they'll fry off so fast,
it'll be all chew and no taste.
all **** and no chase.
I'm simmering
let me marinate.

five

social stimulation starts simmering smoothly.

six

okay,
I'll let my body make the decision when it remembers how to move.
too much to touch and not enough to stay away.

wondering what to do:
he broke my focus like a bone.

I wonder who I am,
who I'm becoming,
and how I used to be.

I thought I was just like him
but some lovers don't know how to stop.

I'm learning:

beginnings:
your name [here]
your pen [in my pocket]

endings:
the word God melts like a spoon
in my hands,
my hands? hotter than the flames of hell.
Suicide:
not mine. I  swear [this time].
this time we're talking about you.
I know you got tired of listening to the other things,
but here's me stripping it all away.
I can only hope you can hear me,
because I'm screaming so loud you could be my mother.

My heart is beating faster than these keys and
you are the power behind the beatings. .

blueberries
raspberries
blackberries
feed me cherries
I'm feeling daring
shut out of caring
music's blaring
strawberries
peaches
nectarines
you're in my dreams
morphing right in front of me
moonlight dusted, coarse,
untrusted.
tip tap toeing
tip tap
tipping over and drizzling,
sizzling steam
let me scream
because
no one is listening

if space could translate
thoughts onto blank pages
and into color spotted images,
would you hang mine on your walls?
or would you throw them away?

you were copper.
the kind that's sticky
and melted.

you were a slotted spoon.
dripping and a mess
spilling out
all over the kitchen
floor.

you were a drain
clogged with cotton
candy colored hair.

dreams take place of memory:

I can't
:fold the way:
you do.

you're sitting across from this sharp-tongued old lady at the breakfast table,
she has odd clothes, a double chin and boots that squeak.
You don't like her much, but she doesn't like you either.
It's a mutual annoyance.
You're sweating a little because she makes you nervous,
and you forgot to put on deodorant before leaving the house,
and she's scrunching her face up and sniffing loudly to let you know that she can smell you.

You watch her as she eats, slowly, as if she'd never eat again,
crumbs from her toast sprinkle her face, you want to reach out and brush them off for her,
but you're afraid that your fingers will melt into her butter-like skin.
The thought was real, and unconscious.

The sort of way a boys thoughts should always be, if you ever get one like that,
keep him in that state as long as you can.

look at you
I'm winning
isn't that enough?

look at me
you're aching
how much is too much?

look at us
we're breaking
too much is enough

Silence is not the enemy,
the lipstick on your wrist is
and it's a good thing you
know invisibility spells
because you look way too
good for dead eyes.

I'll let you be happy
with yourself,
but only sometimes,
because your mother's socks
are whiter than yours will ever be,
and you know why:
you lived it.

she was the smell of gasoline and bubblegum
a sweet rancidness that filled my lungs
made me choke, on her
the aroma of Then
lingering even Now
more time passes
memories slow-burning
to ashes, in planters
new life emerges
more time passes
the Future awaits
patiently in peace
as Now blooms,
lives, dies, passes
rhythmic life
let me forget
as time passes
smell new roses
let me live in the rhythm of Now
rather than swaying against it.

Now.

I am.

popping bubbles
burning gasoline
moving forward
as time passes.

I learned her name
the way I learned to deal with pain
I felt her inside of you
burning fast and hard like forest fires
I knew her memory in flames
which shown through your eyes as we touched
one of my best friends spoke her name
images of you rushing through me like waterfalls
trickling down sweat from my exposed flesh and hanging hair
they ate food together, talked of her travels, proved me wrong again
her name rushed through my mind as I meditated
the waterfalls became quicksand, engulfing me
again, it's hard to breathe, it's hard to think
so instead I learn because it's time again
leave me to the rotting in, writing
it's okay to be alone again
I'll forget her name
as soon as I see her face
her face is in my head, the dread
the song of the symphony in her smile
jealousy and jam and jelly and peanut butter
and let me get fat through sweets and beats blaring
I'm done with caring so much about the little things
just another day to go outdoors, not running, just jamming
dancing along the concrete concord of my pathway
this day has been productive, building knowledge
storing knowledge and expanding insights
again, I say, I am beginning, begging
only slightly... for new beginnings
continuing forward, no delays
soon to see brighter days
no one left to show me
the way is within
steady, forward
let's begin

although, never again
t   o  g   e   t    h   e    r

I don't want to: see my reflection,
talk in riddles: see your reflection.
feel your eyes on me like tired boys
look at hot water and coffee grounds,
wishing they'd connect on their own.


I hate myself : I love myself.
All parallel and in between.

"let me get a good look at those lips,"
hands compete with tongues for beauty,
and feeling.

Like oil in water I'll pull you apart:
Together.

only a year
yet you disappear
face fading in my mind
no longer clear
all that's left
is your
reflection

silver, molten
spilling forward
out and down from
your crown to the ground
liquid lover there's no other
linger no longer filthy foe
don't care how you are
don't want to know
pillaging liar
I'm out of
fire  
     passion
                  grief
sympathy

simply entropy

I wouldn't mind kissing your chapped lips
or touching elbows late at night.

We could spin the world away
and sing about the lipless.

I'd vaccum my room to get rid of the smell
and then we could lay there until our thoughts settle,
or I could make you tea, promising not to spit in the cup.
I don't know if you like sugar or not,
but I do, so I'll put it in anyway.

I know you don't like apples,
oranges, babies, hairy legs,
stair cases, dark tunnels,
neon colors, highlighted hair,
leftovers, or gapped teeth.

I know you like milk,
dark hair, movies (almost any),
games, poetry, dancing,
singing, my hands (touching yours),
and eye contact.

I only have 6 dollars,
3 pills,  4 cigarettes,
5 fingers (on each hand),
2 eyes, and 1 interest.

porcupine, devil's receptionist,
your splinters are aching again.
manifested figure, you are alien.
more so are your actions.

I am thoroughly impressed
by the displays of your affections
boldly handing them to me,
so rudely beautiful, and my limbs
are too shocked for movement.

each layer within me shifts,
black goes grey, blue goes green,
brown goes red and gold, weeds
become sunflowers, the ground below
us begins to heave, volcanoes splinter
and split down their middles, ridges
of lava gasping for air, bubbling, black to grey to white
to blue and purple fire. sweat, we sweat but we don't catch flame.
sweat, and I am liquid at last.

sweet,
considering possibilities,
shuffling my vocabulary like cards in a deck,
preparing myself for the most difficult game life could offer,
preparing myself in tender fragments of flaky crystal.
words become thin glass in my mind, and I
begin to feel the cuts in my throat, 
climbing up my tongue trying to create some movement,
even if that movement is pain.

movement has suddenly shook my bones out of their choke hold.
I gasp for air, grasp on to what you hold out.
your outline against my insides at last, your third eye cracked open
and I see behind and through the meshing that takes place. I see so
much that I am blind, torn with black and white.

I close my eyes with good intention:
I am black.
more dark than thorn roofed ships,
smashing against waves made of shadow.
I open my eyes with impression and find you white.
more white than the ghosts in my bones,
winter shivers back with thoughts of you.
I close my eyes with good intention.

I tire more and more
my head weighs down
with all the color.
I want no more black or white.

you tire more and more
your head weighed down
by holding your colors in.

we become tectonic
and all goes grey.

ashes of what we felt that day
aches of what we did

morning reaches my empty lids,
you've taken all I could say with
your silence. a plague. a bartenders keep.
I saw you again before the moon,
I even saw you standing beneath it's reflection,
staring.

I grow inside
turned outward
peeled back
savage
flaming
tender

emotional ******
hearts mend and render
me weak to my hearts prayers
my layers wound tight
entangled with fright
of what's right
if it's just a thought
reality it's not
but the thoughts still tickle
tingle
down my spine
into my *****
throbbing
from inside the mind

what's this I find?
my shadow basking in it's pleasures
as I sit and sip my coffee
smoke my spliff
play the same old riff
inhaling the impaling
that plays out in my mind
the same old tune
we played in june
only this time it's me thinking ***** things
feeling guilty that you're not a part of my fantasies
feeling grateful that you're a part of my reality
unsure where you fit
if you fit, and if you feel nice inside of me.

thanks for ******* me
just hard enough
for me to want you back
but to never take you back

They scheme in the shadows of who they might hope to be.
Studying their weaknesses and teaching themselves how to live in solitude.
No one to worry about except for the self.
There's no weight to bare apart from ones own guilt.

Stay in the shadows,
For the light will only burn your eyes.

the sounds you made,
matched with the eyes you made
are nothing compared to
her red nails, and  the single you saw.

she thinks of riddles before she falls asleep
and every time she rolls over in the night
she hears the same lyrics that she'd like to hear you sing.

promises of bra straps peeking through shirts
and leaves tacked to the walls you'll bounce off.

he talks of color
and losing himself in upside down words.

Not sure which way he'd fall, even now,
with his hand sleeping between my thighs.

she is golden
she's been gotten
she waits, she rots in his gaze
a trap, a maze
she's chinese plates,
he takes,
he breaks.

she hides
in the cracks.

no coming back.

love is not so far away
this morning
a kiss on the lips
and a shut door

inspiration blooms in the shade
while the sun burns down
on the back of his neck
as he works
peeling away old memories
past hurt and pains
trust that was broken
each day
he gains
sends flames

writing
in this habitat
somewhat of a
solitude

sleeping in his bed
dreams run through my head
nightmares or sweet dreams
waking is breaking through the seems
what I've seen and what I've done
are comparable to none
again, today is different
but similar to yesterday

my mind is still running
while my heart still wants to play
my body isn't moving
for my soul is bound by passion

desire is an unworthy foe
who I believed to be a friend
not so long ago

love is not the enemy
such as I used to believe
I think to move is worth it

tending to the garden,
the flowers, and the trees

yes, time is moving forward
and it's my turn to follow suit
time is moving forward
and all I see
is me
and you

Holding my breath
Afraid to wake you
The words forming in my soul
Are woven to shake you

Uncomfortably quilted
Is the paradox of my hearts mending
Tectonic shifts
The impact of bending

The impact of coming together
While needing to look inward
Volcanic activity, atomic weather
My passion is lava propelling forward

From blue, to green, to red, to black
There's destruction in this healing
As these scars begin their searing

hip-hop
split my mind open,
hear me flip-flop
happily irritated
watching your
constipated
face break
heavy tears
you shake
you ache
so take
a break
and take
a breath

digging holes
taking pills
sliding down
murderin'
fillin' hills
the chills
my thrills
no bills
countin' kills
ten fingers
smell lingers
hell bringers
not singers

give me that...
bring me there...

–

shovels
the troubles
my doubles
be bubbles
black moths
white veins
no money
hopping trains
you blame
the rain
for pain
insane
to think
a drink
of water
taught her
brought her
to the edge
nothing left
to take

so...

give me that...
underground....


hip-hop
split my mind open,
hear me flip-flop
happily irritated
watching your
constipated
face break
heavy tears
you shake
you ache
so take

a breath
ahhhhhhh

give me that...
bring me there...  

we're going underground
–

your games
my flames
the names
we tame
the light
breaks night
we slide
we hide
in
the
dark
so take
a breath

Underground...


hip-hop
split my mind open,
hear me flip-flop
happily irritated
watching your
constipated
face break
heavy tears
you shake
you ache
so take

take me
bake me
shake the dirt
from my bones
love's
no longer
got me
in a
choke hold
feeling bold
stories told
so grab
a hold
as we unfold

underground
no longer bound
by fear
my dear
the present is clear
growing and sprouting
underground

–

I love you to death
And so I depart
Shattered heart
I'm sick of sorry
Being torn apart

I believe in my dreaming
Where I see you depart
Jealousy ringing
I give you what's left of me
On the corner of the street

I hope you will see me

I walk the empty road of hurried days
the dark holds opportunities that the light burns through.
Nerves have been narcissistic
in that self-loathing battering
that I promised you I wouldn't commit to again.

is it different if you're a witness?

Hiding isn't part of the agenda,
if you could call irrationality an agenda.

here's to touching upon a few points in which I don't show all sides.

I'm nervous to talk to the people who make me happy
and I'm jaded to their presence,
because I'm a modern-day gatsby
with a touch of bukowski (or maybe a slam)
and all I want is for  this romantic inside of me to give up on the struggle
and give in.

I want to let her form allude me because it's not important,
she just wants recognition for the fact that she has an education
and knows how to use it.
I'm just going to let my words smash onto the page, maybe edit
before a show, maybe not.
Probably go drink a beer on the local trail and stare at the back
yards of the wealthy and sharpie in an eye ball on the cement
brick on which I set my empty bottle for company, because
flowers don't get far in foam.

Nostalgia here we are again,
this time there's no search for meaning,
I know you completely and ever since we've met
you've refused to let go (somewhat of a curse, yet I love you).

If I want to let myself be free, then I have to let go of others judgement.
If maybe for a second I didn't think of what others thought about me
and I didn't think about them to occupy the empty space, then I would
truly return to the person I was before my self-esteem plummeted beneath
all that I knew to be right and wrong. Before it hurt to write my feelings
because of the fear that what I wrote wouldn't be good enough, or long enough,
no matter how many compliments came shooting through me.

"I forgot, you're bad at accepting compliments."

I don't want that to be true, I don't want to beat myself up
over the fact that someone else has great beauty simply
because I am blind of my own.

Self-love, here I come,
it'll help me live life without tangles.

removing the "I" from the "Self"
is a concept that I, as myself, have difficulties understanding.
perhaps it's the culture that I live in but it seems inescapable
to use "I" as a helper for description.
To call yourself One seems no different to me than
to call yourself I.

Apart from the fact that to say, "One is hungry for flesh." There could be zombies through the miscommunication.
Rather than to say "I am hungry for flesh." You are a cannibal.


I and Ego
have roles each in their own,
but I do not believe it's egotistical to say I
when describing how you feel, no feeling lasts forever,
for feelings change just as the I changes.

To open your mind, ("your": anyone who believes that I and Ego are one)
to the idea that it's not how one describes themselves or their feelings
but perhaps how one acts off of those thoughts or feelings
and chooses to live their lives and how they treat those around them,
as well as themselves.

Ego, to me, is a behavior,
deeply rooted within your shadow,
which is cast by your soul.

Then again, such as people create their own religions,
I tend to create my own definitions for words that already have them.

time slip
             p   i
               n
                        g
through my fingers.
words w   w w
o  o      o   r words
words   r
d       d    d        s
   s            s
                  pouring
from my mouth.

three children catching fish in a pond
with an empty coke bottle, annoyance
at their little voices, "Not like that!"
"Let me catch it!"

victory in death to create their own peace.

the day was too shy for me to face myself
(excuses, reasons, call them as you see them,
  even if it's hard to look at things you don't like).
unpleasant thoughts surround me, there's nothing I can do,
except to remove the things that eat away, that keep me eating:
gluttony grabs hold, depressions wits (it knows if it drags me deeper
                                                          ­     then it'll probably get to stay).
sickness finds it's way through neglected troubles.
standing up to yourself for yourself is the beginning,
once you stand up to others is when you start to move forward.
patience, love, empathy, communication, assertion, emotion, fear:
let it flow: all complimentary, opposite and in between.
thrashing does you no good,
it simply sends you under.

I want to stick my head under and get a taste,
float on my back and breathe in fresh air,
avoid holding onto anything so as not to disturb what might need change,
enjoy what is here, be thankful for what was, and welcome what comes.

shaking your hand like it's the first time I'm meeting you
and every piece of me feels like cement, frozen and heavy.
my arms find their way around your shaking frame, if you were a wind storm
then maybe you could fly away,
but you just look at me from the corner of your eye,
thinking so loud
you're afraid
I might catch
what you mean

what do you mean?
the silence
you stress
between your fingers makes me want to open my mouth
and sing.
already I can feel you
coming in and out
in and out
and out and out and out
and in
and out of my mind
my imagination.

gaining a loss, the loss is a gain
because of what you use to fill the empty space that remains
we're destroying our brains
no no no no no no
we're expanding Out out out more and more and more
more give me
less than you give yourself
you deserve
more than flowers deserve crowns
and kings deserve flowers.
I want
to                  make
             you
smile.

i cry about you sometimes but im never gonna tell you.
i don't try and hide the tears: no one notices.
try and be a little more polite, look at yourself and let the beauty you reflect absorb, rather than bounce off.
get off get up get on get in get OFF get UP get ON get IN
gimme gimme gimme gimme gimme your heart
lemme lemme lemme lemme give you mine

she thought you were desperate
but she was too needy, and she left you greedy
but the wounds that are bleeding teach us how to feel.
You drop on one knee in front of him, hoping that he'll
put his hand on the other one to tell you: everything's going to be okay.
she felt so much but it's all lost.
I'm an upsidedown cross
     trying to forgive you.

the sin in me is as bright as the sun
shrouded in clouds
as I'm crowded with doubts
if I can change,
and if I do,
who will I be?
all I can hope is for my sensitivity
to project in more positive ways
leaving me less empty
in my darkened haze

this depression is a lesson
I'm guessing from the guilt
of all the things I said and did
while running from myself

perhaps I never really left
when I was trying to disappear
instead just rumbled and rearranged
my darkest parts, they took the stage

today I feel very much different
it's just the beginning
but at least it's a start

I'm tired of being dramatic
focusing on what doesn't matter
will never set me free
looking inward instead of forward
because beauty dwells far too deep
for me and my **** mindset
the regret that holds me down
I want to look in the mirror
and be proud with what I've found

A reflection of comfort
and a humming birds sound

where have these beautiful situations gone to?
(we never realized how much control we had).

I can't write about the shadows if I'm fighting them.

These sentences seem to drag out
grow and curl
(like finger nails)
  (like hair).

Happiness can be
more beautiful than sadness,
but depression is where some of us belong.

I've dug this up from the gravel of my being,
felt this sediment,
scraped through all the layers
to find small scattered bones.
owl puke.
that's my softness,
that's childhood
               and
           a reason for wanting to destroy it.

enough fire wood
enough energy
then
too much energy
                                and
the lights go out.

a contribution of what you learned that day fed to you at the dinner table.

coffee eyes dreamed about good mornings,
sugar kisses his lips, his eyes,
his cheeks
stomach,
legs,
papered skin layered in dreams.

dreams of
                   gold shedding from the sky,
words painted beneath the flesh,
              eyes shut to see what's inside.

how are you going to see what's outside if your eyes are always shut?

there is a world beyond the window:
to remember that the window is there
and to look out of it, is to come to the realization
that thoughts are small and actions are somewhat of a promise.

I guess
a shift,
can't
help
but
feel it.

"We're killing our bodies
while they're still capable
of being killed." -Said a teacher, said a friend.

"The only good thing you have left is yourself.
It's all a matter of the perspective you have of this
life." -Replied the other.

the feeling passes
through inhaling gases

you're a chalked up lamb.

you talked me up
about him
          ham
          have
          some
           hands.
a             handsome
                              man
said something about the weather
and agreed with a nod of the head.
sure this lady was talking, but he knew she was dead.

ghosts sound appealing,
moving through the sheets,
they're under them and you're under you
falling through from raising others.

I was riding home in the car with my child,
coming home from what seemed to be a robbery.
The air blowing on my face kept jumping temperatures,
I didn't mind it, except it made me sweat on my favourite shirt.
My mom kept trying to start conversations with me,
but I was too busy imagining beautiful boys in the cars that passed us.
I started to drift off as the car sped up (I'm pretty sure she had to ***),
I felt like the car was a bullet, and I was inside of it,
the road was like sand, and we were riding it like we knew it's name.
It seems like only seconds ago,
but now I am sitting in the remains of a good night,
wondering,
when will they wake up?