"child! you are

so beautiful!

in your waves by the sun

standing like architect pillars—

waiting for time

to tear you down"

Oh, my God, who did
Scare. I turn upward my eyes,
Walk, and faith my fears.

and i am 0912 minutes of wasted breath and second guesses
longing over the lost 0814 days i searched for in other months.
i think of the 0601 seconds i were happy in—
replacing them with 0722 heartbeats trying to scrub the coldness off my fingertips.
0126 lifetimes pass and now i am warm again but unhappy.
reality left me for numbers and birthdays
and now i am alone with my thoughts

There are skeletons in my closet
And monsters under my bed.
My ears are ringing,
with threats, unsaid.

Voices whisper,
but never caress
my body, no.
My mind they adress.

A thought that always
grinds with frustration.
Is this all real?
     or imagination?

There are skeletons in my closet
And monsters under my bed
But none of them compare
to this demon in my head.

My ears ring.
My mind vibrates.
I answer the call of

another life.

It happened again.

I can't remember the last time it happened because my mind
doesnt exist
between milliseconds
I wrote this today
Posted it yesterday

I think of you. Your ******-touch that crosses my eyelids
with chlamydia fingernails accenting in all the
wrong places. The white powder trail leading like a
highway to your right nostril—the unemployment rate
like a dropped lit cigarette in the ******* apartments available. I think of you.
I think of you.
I thought of you.

this sickness isn't just a word better expressed in latin, this
coldness isn't something you can wash off of your hands

You were the kind of weird
That said hello to strangers
Who did not want to be said hello to
And the kind of weird that
Sat in your mouth for a week
Under your tongue while you stewed the decision
Do I introduce you to my normal friends?
And the kind of weird which
Sat on the couch and stopped talking to me
On our first night together
Just to stare out of my window
In a melodrama fashion that I am guilty of hating
But guilty of once enjoying on you.
The kind of weird which
Intrigued me enough to let you in to
My bed—as well as other things—
After your eyes returned from the window on
That first night together.
You were, however, the kind of normal which
Took me in and never talked to me again. Not kind at all, but normal, very normal.

III
your third eye opened when you stopped telling people to align their ******* chakras

II
if you only ever stopped to look at me, if you only ever opened your two—

I
never loved you.

When I was young, my mother told
that "Gods are born in iron molds"
Peers caught hold and then controlled,
they told me I was only stone—
cold.
But I see the now—the lies they hold.
The skies turned yellow for all to behold
and I was born
from liquid gold.
Living without a form to hold.

I met a girl at a house party, once,
whose boyfriend I had slept with
the previous semester before that.
We looked at each other—never
met—and the gaze held for just
a single second too long than it
should have. I knew, and she knew.
Sometimes you have a secret and
you can see it reflected in the eyes of
someone who knows. Who also knows.

I have been sharing a secret with just myself but
I saw that look in his eyes last night.

i wanted to say "i love you" last night (more than once)

but you are fading, i am opaque
and words will slip through you
like water in butterfly nets

You yelled for me to
get the **** up off the floor
and smell something other than white powder roses.
I looked up and you had an 80-Watt halo—

*"All I wanted was to breath you in"

love a bit
love a bit

you look so good,
look so good,

the eyes relay to the mind

*** was a card game—
and you were the player
holding three other queens.

Tropic trips are quaint but..
I would rather be in your skin.

Loneliness or luckiness,
Mean or meaning:

I don't know anymore.

I
saw the stars move in circles last
night. Bright sight with thoughts like no
other. My mother did not
exist. The grass kissed my lips but the only words I could
recite—*I saw the stars move in circles last night.

pretty white ******* a date
with a lonely man
whose father's funeral
only had three guests:
him, his brother, his uncle.

i can't even pretend
to know how to feel.

i      have      lines—      i      have     a     title,
i      had     a     head—      i       have     a    body,
but            i     have    no   structure  and   no common themes    to   me
no    hook  and    no  conclusion
i    am    a mess  of      l e t t e r s     and   run   on  sentences and  no       commas      and       no     periods        and       no       pauses
people       like    purpose  and       i       am  a    waste  of    your       i  n  k

once red, once blue,
once faded through to you and then white.

and now

i'm black—
only black.
and even i
can't see
through
these
shadows.

Oh, whisky and your hips:
Hard as stone on my fingertips
I would put my lips to them both.

you did not fill the hole
you were the hole

"Originality is dead."
Said the boy with life inside his head.
Lead to spread the word,
needle and thread it into the verb.
The unsaid is misread.
You're not ahead of your time.
You're behind.

And if you find me
(fingers red)
holding onto the side of your
no-vacancy boat—

please, step
on my fingers because
the pain of that is less than the
hope of hanging on.

I've always loved to
float
alone.

Letters left me last June
and I soon found myself sticking my finger into the flame
and even touching fire I still don't feel that spark
It's not the same.
It's not the same.
So I stick my head, my shoulders, and my name
into fire.
But still
No desire.

My mom gave me $30 for a taxi as a plan B
in case you couldn't drive me home if we drank.
We drank and I stayed the night—
but I still used the $30 for plan B.

A boy in the field,
By the age of eighteen.
A flag for a shield,
And a crowd he's never seen.


The boy whose life was ruined by war,
Passed down a hate he has no use for.
A country scarred by the recent recession,
Houses todays funeral procession.


The boy looks on at his father's new bed,
So many questions, housed in his head.
"Why are we fighting?" he thinks to himself.
His father as fresh as the frame on the shelf.


Hours run by, but the boy is still standing.
Visions in his head of planes crash landing.
"I have nothing against them, but this I must do."
Chasing after his unchangeable view.


He won't stop, until the war is won.
Feeding the fire, like father like son.



Generations of hate, forever to come.
Like father like son,
     Like father like son.

what words?—she stands
behind me, come out
from there. next—waiting—watching
what words?—gazing—what
random
collaboration of lines?—come as language—he frowns—
it is not your best*


my gift, my time, my blood—
yours.

halfof   the appeal   isthe f o r m a t    !
         ((cold blood doesn't bleed
         if your
         heart doesnt beat))

when
the    snow
is falling—

(my blood runs black_)

oh—when
the snow is
f a l l  i   n     g

Even though the touch of your skin will fade away,
Wrapped in mahogany curtains,
Your mind will linger on in mine.
Like the smell of gasoline
In the city we were raised by.

The cancer girl who wrote about the boy who wanted to throw his life away.

in the middle of the road,
you said you wanted to be a canary—
"because God doesn't have eyes
in the coalmines"

Oh, look at us
who have burned entire cities
just to hold the sun in our hands.

you turn around
and my eyes
traverse your spine.
your love touches
mine. life is fine.
life is fine.

Perhaps.
Perhappiness.
She asked what my
"SPH" was?

*(Smiles per happiness)

Little slow suicide boy
Has lips tainted frozen blue
From threefold the norm amount
Of ecstasy's strong hue.

Little slow suicide boy
Has lungs of ravaged tar
*** combined with cigarettes--
Mind gaining ground on a star.

Little slow suicide boy
Finds sunshine in the rain
Happiness in depression
Places the needle to his vein

Little slow suicide boy
Scorns the girl with a slashed wrist
Scorns the boy who is dying to exist
But one fall into a lifeless choke.

Takes another drag, blows out smoke.

for a year all i knew was
cut knuckles against torn cheeks
your blood in my blood
*you told me we
were becoming
one

Your found your wings
passing the forty-third floor
but (like a baby bird)
you couldn't figure out how to use them yet—


and you used them, then
on your way to
the heaven that you had never
believed in.

Sitting, I
see a spider married to air. I
wonder what it'd be like—
creating something only I
can see. And then I
realize. I
already know.

Looking over my course guideline for philosophy 100 and all I can think of is how I could combine you and documentaries on Plato and Leibniz to cover both love and homework. My mom always told me to "work smarter not harder." The thought it always turning to you like (hour) hands on my (clock) face.

Fighting was beautiful while it lasted.
Appreciation stems from things contrasted.

german cologne still lingers
on the buttons of my collar.
funny, i don't remember
wearing my shirt when we embraced.

i didn't wash you for
five days. i didn't wash
you for five days.

"Munro, one day you're gonna hate the world"



For a reason you never told me, you always called me by my last name.
Maybe you were avoiding the same name of the girl before me
(who loved and was never loved back)
And saying it made the truth so much more real.
You're a murderer.



"And it'll all be because of me."

bite my nails and blow my nose
forget my name while forgetting yours
all for you
oh, all for you.

Love faked his name,
and past but not personality.
Heart-splitting talks of sentimentality.
In the shallow depths of my heart's sea,
Your voice is merely a memory.

Entrapped in your thoughts so discretely sublime.

You told me,
*"Love is the only conqueror of time."

Threw
my hand to my heart
fingers on the needle.
Plunged it
down.
(My hand
hit yours
on its path!)

Oh,
Intensity.

Do you not
feel as good
as I do
right next
to you?

When I tell
you of how
I feel, you
say, "shut up.
You're not
sober."

Yes?
Does that have
something to
do with this?

I love you
still in the high.
In the morning
after.
In the crest of
waiting for my next
dip.

If I were sober
for a straight amount
of the little time
that we have,
I would love
you then
like I love
you now.