I'm bleeding, I'm bleeding
I'm feeling, I'm feeling
I'm tossing, I'm turning
My stomach is churning
My face won't present it
I'm sitting, I'm writing
I'm feeling, I'm knowing
My eyeballs are dry and
I'm blinking and breathing
My mouth tastes like chalk
And my hair is all falling
In front of my face
My eyes aren't working
I'm floating, I'm jumping
I'm spitting, I'm running
I haven't left my seat
But I haven't lied yet
My scalp is crying
My ears are ringing
But no one will know it
If my face won't present it
And through the slit in the window
The world is presented
On a concrete platter
Partially hidden, as worlds often are
But the truth is still out there
Waiting to check
To see if you're still looking
To see if your seeking
As hide and seek goes
I'm losing, I'm losing
The truth always knows
The truth always goes
Away- but comes back
For round two, and three and four
So long as the pen never leaves the paper
I'm *******, I'm *******
I'm using crude words
To break out of a shell
A mold- Imposed
All the world knows it
They come out at night
When no one is looking
And judging and staring
Or so they think and
Hope and pray
But the truth (that we've found)
Is simple and clear
We are crude
And I count
The number of men,
and women,
I've ******
Tick them off
Little checks in a list
To-do list indeed
To-done
To-day
It makes me laugh
And I pretend not to care
****! *****! Frank. Honest.
Synonymous?
For me
They are
I am
Dispossessed.
Do I belong?
Can I belong?
Will I ever belong?
I pretend not to care
But I'm bleeding, I'm bleeding
I'm feeling, I'm trying
I'm crying
I'm dying.

Stubs of lead
He scribbles quickly
Reinforced by the dead
Their cries muted thickly

Thoughts racing
He is forced out
The General pacing
Crying, he shouts
Quick men, to your ranks!
Flanks, flocks- marked men
Hurry now, we soon begin!

Clattering stub, you would deceive
His thoughts still on your child
The seed he planted on that eve
Will grow and mock- he’s going blind

Judging eyes, they reprimand
That well-worn, aged hand
That moulded that once young thing
How it’s grown and had its fling

He didn’t look before he leaped
And threw himself into that blessed heap
Of disfigured helmets
In avoidance of his debts

My neck is cricking and so are the crickets outside.
The bike rack shuffle, the dance of the bars and wheels.
The knuckles dancing- mini solos and bold duets?
Cars driving by, up in my room, so fluid, so loud.
Hard to swallow, gravel chunks bouncing off the waterfall throat.
Sticky fingers, itchy ears.
No similarity- just parts of the process.
The marriage.
The system.
Massive zits and oddly placed hickeys.  
Misplaced zits and famous hickeys.
Hickets.
**** water, stubbed toe.
NO MORE LISTS!
No bruises, no needles and pins.
But what is poetry without listing?
Words that work and form and portray, nothing gray-
Light and beauty and all that is write about the word.

I seem to have misplaced
My cheerful disposition.
It's flown right off my face.
The angry world will opposition
Those who won't pretend.
Can't be bothered to amend,
I intend to make a difference-
Be that bright lit star.
But the great wide space
That stands between
Is oozing abuse,
Sorrowful pus.
Falling down,
For far too long.
My knees have grown so weak.
They won't support
The heavy mind
That leads those long lost sheep.