A scene too obscene to be believed
when it's seen
Like an acid trip intersecting with a *******
Where reality becomes a second thought
And you and I were caught
or maybe lost
in the crossfire of hungry hearts
I breathe you in whenever you're around
there's a code to my heart that unlocks with the sound
of your voice in a humorous shout
through the crowd
But what once was so loud
it shook me to the ground
burned so bright it may have burned out
the Chaos is Dead - All is Quiet now
And where there once was great noise
as joy did abound
is stricken with silence
like A Forest of Frozen Clowns

like an injection between your toes
she's the highest rush when she's there
& the most sickening pain when she's gone

i never knew cold was a color
until i saw your eyes
a pair of globes that once
displayed my home
but now they look like foreign planets
and i dont know you anymore.

we chant that winter is coming
every night in front of the tv
but i was so stupid to realize that that was a subliminal message
for the emptiness that you'll soon offer me.
you said you're with me every step of the way
but why are you taking the opposing path?
you always spilled flowers
out of your mouth
but lately all you ever grow
are mold & bugs
and i just dont know you anymore.

and i'll slip & press
the flowers that you gave me
into the notebook infused with poems you caused
then i'm gonna hold on
to every bit of you
that i still have.

After a summer of tree-nut allergies, you close your eyes to cross Merrimon Avenue, mouth full of sips, trying to prove that you can stay empty. If your job keeps scheduling you full-time hours for minimum-wage compensation, you will show your gratitude by eating handfuls of walnuts, hollowing your desire to spend a night on the street, with another person, eyes closed, a bed-lump for a passing car.
You spat out everything, when you saw two children running down the double-yellow line; they reminded you of waking up.
Doesn't this feel a bit tedious, some work you don't want to do?
Why have you been practicing winking, started brushing your teeth with a spirit?
You were going to buy a bus ticket for an answer, held a conversation past the minimum. Your job gives you free meals, even if it's killing you. You have places you want to go, people you want to lead away from empty.
They make a peanut-butter alternative, out of roasted soybeans, and it tastes good enough to remind you of everything you can do with a summer.
Get some rest.

HR told me I look
like **** and sent
me home. I was supposed
to give up the drink
but I couldn't think of anything
else to do.
I am good at my minimum wage
job but I'm
not good at life.
Maybe it's quitting time.

plucking poems like plucking flowers
could be misunderstood
plucking poems like plucking chickens
can be a hell of a job, when your hungry
and for your poems-
you will not even make the minimum wage.

we clock in, out
every one of us--that has ALWAYS
been the contract

the Tyrant has us all working
at minimum wage; some complain
others don't think about it

though at one time
or another, we are all grateful,
and terrified, we have a job

beggars, billionaires both
servants to the hours, His strange
circular command

but I will be dead ******
if I'll give Him a minute more than necessary
watching the hands spin on a timepiece,
eternally there to remind us, we are
temporal slaves, every minion
under His reign