Slouching through the alleys
Peel around the corners
Too fast to really notice
All the dead with their mourners

Ignoring as they're walking
To different dreary places
Like grey clapboard houses
Skin peeling off their faces

Hollowing out their conscience
To make room for memories
Drenched in tears and decomp
Looking back on those better days

Fogging up the ***** glass
To peer inside the mind
**** crusted onto dusty things
They didn't want to find

Putting away shameful thoughts
As if the bad things all died with them
Locked up in a secret box
Just waiting for their next victim

Grasping, never clutching
No feeling, only touching
Amidst the timbers, amongst the weeds
Branches, limber, on which the soul feeds
Scraping the surface, water trickling in
A body of growth about to begin

Look at this     f  o  r  m  a  t  .
Does it make me seem...
             c  o  o  l  e  r    ! ?
smarter   ! ?           creativ...-er   ! ?

            more            T
                                  H
                                      E
                                         A
                                            T
                                               R
                                                  I
                                                   C
                                                      A
                                                         L
                                                            !?

Truth is: I just couldn't think of anything to tell you that didn't make me seem like the love drunk ***** girlfriend that I am...

                        


                       s  o  r  r  y    ! ?

Bad habits are unhealthy.
Breaking habits is hard.
But. Actually. In reality.
One must start a habit
to break a habit.
One must habitually try
to break their habit.
That's their new habit:
Breaking their old habit(s).
So. Is that unhealthy?
No. Bad habits are.
Breaking habits is a good habit.
So try not to break that one.

Gently remove our daytime skins.
Our fabrics, itching us, scratching us.
Making us uncomfortable.
Take them off. Into the hamper they go.
It's not enough.
Itches. Scratches. They persist.
More. More. Closer to birth than we've been since
that fatefulfateful day.
Come clean. Cleaner than ever before.
Down to skin and bones.
Our bare bodies.
Knobby knees. Rigid ribs. Hard hips.
Milky white skin. Pearlescent in the moonglow.
Tonight's darkness trapping our flesh.
Peel away the layers. The skin is too much.
Loosen it up. Slide the meat off our bones.
Tendons, muscles relax. Create slack, then pull back.
String by string. Gone. Everything.
The blood trickles to the floor.
Making a mess, but keeping us clean. Cleansed.
Free. Our bones hollow stone.
Our skeletons clanking, clashing.
Becoming brittle. We snap. Crack.
The scrapes and flakes amount.
The bones shaking and falling.
Together. 'Til we're all just
one big pile of dust,
waiting for the morning cleaning crew to come sweep us up.

A big step for me is
N O T H I N G
to others.
They'll probably laugh.
               No, scoff.
"Her?" Okay, sure...
And I'll cry. Flows of flaws.
Down my cheeks. Like plum
    juice.   Sticky.   Brown.

The sugary tears sting my eyes.

Look up lucid, write it down.
Read a book, then skip town.
Share a smile, sell an frown.
Act a fool, act a clown.

Tell stories, try and match wits.
Complain, complain, give two *****.
Catch your tantrums, throw your fits.
One hit wonders are still hits.

Shut the door, dim the lights.
Crash a party, get in fights.
Shorten days, lengthen nights.
There's no wind to fly the kites.

Watch the sky, see a flash.
Watch the road, miss a crash.
Colon followed by backslash.
A vampire weekend beats a monster mash.

But no one cares when you're human.
That's all you'll ever be.
No regrets, only lies to set the liars free.