A planet of trash,
I lay underneath.
The filth runneth over
to where I sleep.
In humanity's discarded
roiling heap,
a toll of their sins
is what I keep.

-

On Planet Trash,
I live beneath,
a most revolting,
and glorious heap.
No one can see me
where I sleep,
but my acquaintances,
they soon will meet.

-

My Planet of Trash,
I give to thee,
more than I
could ever keep.
You know now where
my secret sleeps.
Take all
that's left of me.

I used to paint.
I used to leave the house.
When the vision stops,
that's when the words come out.

So much to say,
So much to doubt.
What is a craftsman without—?

This morn,
instead of nails,
I added to my
breakfast gruel,
three raisins.

Their sweetness,
I would enjoy,
were my mouth
not full,
of lacerations.

It's just how life goes,
tip-toeing about.

A friend here, a friend there.
In my heart they've not gone anywhere.

I may see them next Tuesday,
or perhaps, never again,

but in my heart
I will always call them friend.

Hello.
I am ready.
(Teach me a new delusion.)
The mind is so full,
but the heart is so empty.

Perhaps,
it is time to accept,
any old myth
that I used to reject.

Fill my emptiness
with delusional bliss.
Give me an enemy
for my bullets to miss.

I'll fire my gun,
rife with belief.
And drift upon
pillows of doubtless sleep.

Knowing that I,
for once, am right.
Having chosen to follow
that arbitrary light.

Tired of the
People
Rapping
on the window.
Running through
Room,
After empty room,
After empty room.
Where
did all the people go?

I've searched all ways
but behind me.
I hope
they never find me.
Do Not Turn Around.
I run through empty room,
After empty room,
Do Not Turn Around.
After empty room,
I Am Found—