i wrote a poem. it wasnt about the leaves falling or growing back. it was about a boy that was too sad to
even look at himself in the mirror. sometimes he believed that if he looked in the mirror for too long he wasnt who he was supposed to be, sometimes if he looked in the mirror too long he became a monster and thats particularly the reason why he avoided the mirror at night because thats when monsters become real and he was tired of thinking of himself as a monster.
i wrote a poem but it wasnt about summertime or the way the sand feels between your toes or the cold rush of ocean water on a hot day. it was about the salty tears that he would cry because demons were haunting his room at night. and not the demons like ghosts but the demons from within. the kind of demons that you cant run away from.
i wrote a poem it wasnt about a bride blushing when the groom snuck a kiss when the priest wasn't looking it was about the funeral we gave you. it was about the hundreds of people who stood in line just to see your face one last time before youre put in the ground. it was about me staring at your chest from afar hoping that it would move that maybe this was one of your famous jokes and maybe your lungs would start working again along with your heart and your organs and your brain and maybe your eyes would open. perhaps itll scare someone whos standing right next to you but who cares bc youre alive. but you didnt. and now now youre in the ground.
i wrote a poem and it wasnt about me it was about finding the demons. i found the demons inside of you when you were put into the ground. i found the demons because as they lowered your casket into the 6 foot hole they dug for you i saw one slip out before they closed it. the demon was dancing on your casket and as they lowered you to the ground, i jumped. i didnt jump up i didnt jump back. i jumped in and i started hitting that demon as hard as i could because now that youre gone the demon had no place else to go. the demon knew he had won but even the best fall down sometimes and i made sure he fell as hard and as far as he could.
i wrote a poem but i couldnt save you from yourself. if i could have shrunken down and fought that demon before you left me i would have. but i couldnt. i had all these words left to say to you but they started in my chest and never made it to my throat and now im sitting here with all the words that couldnt have saved you anyway because the demons were trapped inside of you. the only way for you to be happy again is to cut yourself open & rip them out yourself, so you did. the demons were trapped & stuck inside you, and i know because i have demons stuck inside of me too. but sometimes i get so mad because if im still here then why arent you? if im still here fighting myself trying not to rip out my own demons, then why couldnt you have done the same? i needed you.
i wrote a poem. and it was about my demons being stuck inside of me and theyre crawling and theyre running around and sometimes they run to a dead end and they hit my fingertips and they bounce  back and run straight into my heart. they run through my veins, through my arteries. sometimes they break my ribs in the process but they heal so quickly that the doctors dont believe me and call me crazy but i promise them that theres a demon inside of me and hes breaking my ribs and hes breaking my soul and hes breaking my heart but i can still feel the demons running inside me. and i dont know how or why or when but i just want them to go away i dont know how im going to do that but i said some day i would. and i think thats the reason i cut myself open, to try and find a way to show the demons a way out but they run through my blood stream and i can feel them in my fingertips and i can feel them
in my forearms and i can feel them in my elbows and i can feel them in my shoulders and in my neck and i can feel them going down my throat. and i can feel it in my chest and i can feel it in my liver and i can feel it in my stomach and i can feel it in my pelvis. and i can feel it in my knees and i can feel it in my shins and i can feel it in my ankles and i can feel it all the way down to my toes and suddenly its like an electric current and it flows all the way back up to my head and shock the hair in its roots. it feels like i cant say anything fast enough or correctly.
i wrote a poem & it was about sometimes i believe that why i write & not speak is because i cant say the right words and maybe if i state at a blank piece of paper long enough the right words will come out but i know, i know they wont bc the demons are still stuck inside of me and i think thats why you wrote so beautifully that night and didnt ask for help. the demons knew that they were finally coming out and sometimes when the demons come out its the best time to say things.
i wrote a poem and it was about wanting peace. i just dont have peace but rather i have pieces of myself.
i will never have peace until my demons are gone. but im trying to find a way to get the demons to leave me alone without dying im not sure if i know the right way but im sure as hell trying. but the drugs dont work and the alcohol doesnt work and the cigarettes dont work and the blood doesnt work and the pills dont work. but i have to find a way to stop them before they eat me up inside and they tear me apart. in order to stop them ill have to tear myself apart and thats why i break things and thats why
i throw things because i have to find something to destroy other than myself and sometimes i pull my hair because i cant understand whats happening to me.
i wrote a poem and i started to see red for a bit but i stopped seeing red because the curtains are red and the walls are yellow. the candle on top of the cabinent is red brown and yellow and the book on the couch is  yellow and red the couch is yellow red tan green blue. the table is brown and the floor is brown but the carpet and the drapes are red.
i wrote a poem. maybe i should stop talking about them before they come back its like a taboo its like the  field of dreams and the saying"if you build it they will come" and i promise you that if i built a bridge from my heart to my brain the demons would make their way back & i would be consumed by them and im not sure if i can deal with that so ill cut the bridge in half before they start walking towards my brain.
i wrote a poem. and it was about me snapping that bridge in half and watching the demons fall down my throat and into the acid in my stomach, but that doesnt make any difference because once one does another one is born. so as long as the demons keep walking they will die with my secrets but the new ones will find  a new way to torture me, and maybe thats worse because if they need new ways to torture me then every thing will torture me. perhaps thats what happened to you.
i wrote a poem but im not sure what its about anymore. but i do know that its not good and im tired of speaking.

the battle roared across the sky like
an epic Sanskrit in the palm of a hand,
folded tightly with a beginning and
an impending ending.

the gods were beautiful
with glowing white skin,
their hands grappling tridents
falling across their chests were
necklaces littered with skulls.

the demons clashed the tridents with their
clawed hands, fingernails the size of Rhode Island,
and bulging eyes fixed on their opponents.
the demons were grey, their skin veiny and taut,
the yellow in their eyes like lightning
in the black sky.

and the men sat in a large circle, in front of their homes
and bars and football fields,
in lawn chairs and lazy boys and stoops and bar stools,
huddled in a circle with filled coolers,
and they drank and commented on the battle
with eyes that were white,
with mouths clung to a glass or bottle,
with ears listening to each other.

“the gods are winning” one says.
“no, it’s the demons. did you see the way he
pulled out that god’s eye?”
“yeah but the rest of the gods are too strong”
“no, I would bet on the demons”
“well I’d bet on the gods”

and the gods and demons continued their battle,
the sky lit up with a war like no other,
and the men sat and drank and talked of epic war
like it was a common sport.

a man that had been quiet says,
“I hope the gods win”
the one for the demons asks “why?”
“well, I don’t want my women to be like the demons”
“well, I don’t want my women to be like the gods”
the one on the lazy boy says
“I don’t want them to be like either”
a barstool man chimes in,
“I want my women to be like the gods in the kitchen
and like the demons in bed”
and they laugh.
and the sky bursts with violence.
and they drink.

the gods grab the upper hand,
pulling demons into the sky,
they obliterate them
one by one.
“I told you the gods would win”
“It’s not over yet”
“Give it up, evil will be a thing of the past,
we can go to the grocery store without the
fear of getting robbed,
or pump gas after midnight”
“Well if the demons win you could
get a ****** and lie to your wife without
guilt, without remorse, with a smile on
your face”
“And how will my wife be acting?”

the demons stir and pull away,
they race across the sky as the gods pursue,
the tridents launched into clouds,
the demons laugh and gather.

a man on the stoop says;
“what if no one wins?”
the one for the gods says,
“someone has to win”
“well, what if they **** each other off”
he laughs, “the gods won’t let that happen”
“they may not have a choice”

the demons rally and rip tridents
away from the gods,
and use them on the gods,
and force the gods to retreat.

“I told you! the gods are going to die!”
“no, they have them just where they want them!”
the battle continues.
a violence like no other.
a sky like no other.
the men drink and look at each other.

“don’t let the gods fool you,
they won’t give up”
“the demons are attacking,
they have the tridents!”
as the battle ensues,
a man in a lawn chair,
drinking forcefully,
watches the battle closely,
he doesn’t favor either side,
he enjoys the fair fight,
he takes a long sip and says

“why should we care if they **** each other?
we may be better off,
left will no longer battle right,
the ocean and beach won’t battle each other for the tide,
the sky and ground won’t battle for the horizon,
the moon and earth won’t battle for the sun,
up won’t battle down,
male won’t battle female,
synonyms won’t battle antonyms,
employees won’t battle bosses,
classical music won’t battle rap,
democrats won’t battle republicans,
you get my point”

a man on the stoop says
“that’s what I’m talking about!”

and the gods pull their tridents from the demons,
and the demons tuck their claws into their chests,
and they both look down at the men,
then they look at each other,
and the men finish their drinks and turn
to leave without ever getting anywhere.