I think I'm finally, truly,
in over my head.
Might as well leave me dead
and lying in a makeshift bed of forgetful threads
                 and memories
hoping I transcend into heavens
even know you know **** well I'm bound
                  to go to hell.
Don't bother saving me.

I became too confident and complacent in my abilities
with a mindset that with limitless possibilities
I could accomplish anything
                  because I'm me...
And nothing's better. Laugh at my stupidity.

And when I'm at the gate to Hell with my back turned to
that cloud of pure brilliance and nirvana
no longer able to keep the plethora of problems that are
                  driving me to insanity
remember my past self; a visionary
who traveled the road of chaotic sanctuary
until his mind imploded and managed to obliterate.
                   Thanks.

"There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear. For fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not been perfected in love." - 1 John 4:18

a maladjusted little minstrel, rage focused in the pinnacle
least invincible principle of my environment, so biblical
i'm ti-red of the rituals habitual to assimilating individuals
like our voices and choices and self-importance, all cyclical

does your infallible tongue feel hungry and porous
like your horrid torpid fond memory abhorrence
the grossly ****** and unnatural discordance
the inorganic and unfactual that came before us
the dissident power of your bodies' diction in a chorus

swear i'm fine, it's just your eyes, inflected with disinfected distance
a forest of imbellished distrust, derealized with disinterest
making me feel like my lungs are full of fumigated insects
and that's fine, i swear, trust me,
i don't need to convince you of this
i don't want to climb into your mouth and wrestle the truth out
i want to go home smelling of wine and pass out on the couch
and your actions are latent, this is stupidly freudian
stop treating me like a ******* patient,
you're supposed to be my friend

coughing up horrible insincerities meant to be favoring
stop and listen to yourself giving your secrets away, wavering
like a white bible page ripped from the spine of glue on your mouth,
you gave in, balancing on the edge of a risky display
disobeying social conventions and being made prey again today

you’ve got dictionaries of fiction fidgeting with the infectious insecurity ignition
stop and listen
and a thesaurus that can’t arm you with the proper vowel consonant friction
to out-enamor their derision when you pout as you fit the description
never feeling completely comfortable in someone else's kitchen
i wish you would scream and shout but you just keep playing cards now
wish you’d unlock but it stops between your lips slow scowl
swallowing your tongue, the key, he cut out when you kissed
not hateful but afraid
afraid to let it out, ‘kid’
afraid the words would fit too much like a slit smile on a spit
afraid they would just flow like this

an unspoken conviction for viscious fulfillments
and dereliction of indiscriminate sauve depictions of riches
of addictions to princesses and affinity for infinitely angering insistence
of what she represses
expected on the table in an instant

the constriction of the snake in her belly
makes ******* and planning things
seem insanely oppressive
she was getting too old for things to be like this
but they all like it that way
this is why she hates yelling and kissing
always the same old
merry go round

you say poet as if it means perfect
when i know enough people with the bruises to show it
to realize it really means nervous
and i have nothing to show see
except the mosquitoes who ****** my blood
and would be delighted to tell you
what ugly things they know about me

liturgies of lethargy
lull their sleepy tongues,
and run among my stumbling dreams
towards the visceral setting sun
keep the soldiers’ safeties off and order no retreat
you can’t afford to chip your teeth for the price of being numb
stay glassy eyed and leave your pride
behind the backs of bus seats
with notes, sharpie, and lies
these men are not what they seem
this world is a messed up dream
while the elite claim to delete the supposed deadbeats
as if they deplete the city’s concrete streets
i want to scream
they’re really the secret
to keeping the working class alive in the heat
to keep the coffee shops open on every street
to keeping the cheap soda purchased
at the indiscreetly laundering cover up convenience stores
you would only see when you’re walking pavement
breathing in the scent of cigarettes and pollen spores

A sunbeam painted her face
In a smile

It printed the mountains
And built a trail

It sculpted thousands
Of smiling faces
Going to and fro

As it shone
Through a single crack
In the very back
Of a crowded basement

Where I detonated
In my sleep

Awaking

In insatiable
Dream speak

There is an empty bitterness
which is sustained here.
One can't help but feel helpless
as loved ones inhale fear
and exhale possible precious breaths.

The "too clean" smell intrudes the senses,
and nervous flickers arise
as the waiting room fills with tensions.
People think of their goodbyes
just in case the worst news comes.

But then there is the expecting room,
which is a hopeful place.
"Baby is coming soon!"
"Come see her pretty face!"

And yet amidst the joy and excitement,
there are still those who don't
receive all they dreamt of,
and perhaps are unable to receive it.

Perhaps they will end up
in the other
room
sooner than expected.

Can I tell you a secret?
Can I whisper it in your ear?
I promise, my darling,
this is something you'll want to hear:

I dream about you
during the day and late at night.
I dream about you
but you're no where in sight.

Can I tell you a secret?
Can I whisper it in your ear?
Listen, darling,
won't you pass me a beer?

My body's growing hot,
and yours is ice cold.
Let us just lay together,
until the day is old.

Can I tell you a secret?
Can I whisper it in your ear?
Trust me, my sweet,
I will you love you, my dear.

My arms around your neck,
and your hands wrapped in my hair.
The way your tongue moves
just really isn't fair.

Can I tell you a secret?
Can I breath across your neck
the words of the things I dream about
when you're removing my dress?

Old cuts old scars, say goodbye
Old cuts, and old scars. Say goodbye to old cuts and old scars.
Lined up on my hips are red lines, I'm gonna tell them goodbye.
Don't be disappointed when I give in to temptation, because that dripping red and the sting of the blade is my sweet melody relief.
It's my addiction, my bitter paradise.
A compromise in my mind, I'll do this and eliminate my dis-divine.
I can't stop and I can't go on, my only choice is the blade slicing through my skin and the secret of it.
Am I going to say goodbye? Should I?
Yes, I should. I'm trying to let the sin flow from my veins in red from blue.
This pain dissipates and joins the earth in a revive of life.
Saying goodbye to old cuts, and healing with new scars.