the world’s got a habit
of chewing you up,
spitting you out
like a bad cigarette.
it doesn’t care
how many dreams you’ve got,
how many scars
you’ve earned.

people will smile at you,
talk about hope
like it’s something you can hold in your hands,
but they never mention
how it slips through your fingers
like sand
and disappears
before you can even grab it.

they tell you
there’s always a way out—
but you know better,
don’t you?
the exits are all locked
and the keys
are hidden in places
nobody bothers to look.

so you drink,
you smoke,
you **** up again and again,
and maybe you smile,
but it’s a lie,
a desperate lie,
just like everything else
they told you.

the truth?
the truth is,
no one’s coming to save you,
no one’s going to rewrite the rules,
no one’s going to put you back together
after you break.

you’ll just keep going,
because what else is there?
and the world will keep spinning,
chewing,
spitting,
until you’re nothing
but dust in its mouth.

"What is your aim in Philosophy?”

“To show the fly the way out of the fly-bottle”
(Philosophical Investigations) – Wittgenstein
--------------------
Tell them that I lived as long as I could,
then I died, thinking this was all new to me.

If they line up at the portal from then to now,
tell them to remember, any fly can find its way.

Go on, thinking that said it all.
Go on, knowing it said nothing new now.

The way into the bottle is the way out,
flies all know that naturally…
kitchen windows, though,
those can cause fly insanity.

I severed
ties
and all I have
to give you
is a band aid
to stop the
bleeding
for I am robbed
of all my
FIRST AID KIT
of affection

I
for
got
for
mality
for
it fermented
itself
in
for
ming
years of
com
for
t

When they tell me
"we understand"
I take them seriously
because they will always
be under
the impression
that they know

Maybe my poems
have fallen on deaf ears
to a point
where
they lost
their
voice