Hands in my head
Fingers in my eyes
Worlds of said
Fury of minds
Guns in my heart
Bullets in my veins
Rupturing the soul
Blowing up the brain
Laws in my body
Bribes in my health
Chemicals, the jury
Reactionary wealth
Angels in my heaven
******* in my hell
Reservation limbo
_

Deny it if you wish.
We all live for this.
It makes no difference;
Meaningful, meaningless.

To dissolve your walls,
To play with this trigger.
To let it go off,
Then return it to sender.

Call it a holy act.
Call it something sick.
It is still a fact:
You want it.

He tears petals off flowers with a limp wrist,
hoping one day he'll hope for something more than just another tryst.
But his hope, like his desire, is lethargic.

He wastes no pennies on a wish.

He's convinced a seed was sown long ago,
when he let a stray emotion get the better of him.
But he's never let the water touch the soil since,
for fear of what would grow.

He resists having to tend a garden born from a whim.

Just a snake wearing a farmer's skin.
Too distracted by his own hiss to hear the promise of kisses.
He pinches his pennies with off-green thumbs held close to his chest,
and he wastes none on wishes.

Yes, now that - this - is a mood.

You know, I just realized I've never asked you about you.

How do you spend your days?
What do you do?
What goes through your head when you hear something like this?
Does it put you in a similar mood?
Because I can't help but wonder if we'd get along well,
mellowing out to the same tunes.

Then I remember why I never ask.
Because these moments mean so much.
It's too much to lose.

It's as if everything that happens only matters if
you can somehow manage to incorporate it into this
Over-arching narrative
that's meant to be your life.

So that when, and if,
you're hard-pressed to explain it to someone,
you have these convenient bullet points to hit.

"So then that happened, and it was traumatic, so then I did this to deal with it,"

And the scary part is
when you stop caring to weave it all in together, when apathy sets in,
and the actions and events just stay random nonsense.

Just chaos.

And I know there are those who don't struggle with this.
Where everything that happens to them automatically gets justified into this narrative of who they are, and what this is, and they're surrounded by people to explain it all with.

But I am not one of those.

And I can only ever make sense of it after the fact.
Put it into context,
after time has passed.

And I can only ever do it alone.

It's one thing to not look a gift horse in the mouth,
but it's another thing entirely
to admire the horseshoe as it knocks your teeth out.

I've gone mad in the empty
I've breathed in too much hope
I've collected one big memory
Bit it, chewed, and choked

When something dies within me
A slice of life maudlin
I'll spit out my misery
Bite, chew, choke again

I'll keep this up forever
It will be my effigy
The loss that keeps me together
Until it, too, is empty

Every light I see at night,
Ripping through the darkly hue,
Worded right, I hope they might
Make come true a wish for you.

Wild star, falling far
Without shame, unafraid
Heaven mar, henna scar
Though untamed, you know her name.

Whatever is left of me,
if you can remember anything
I've ever said,
down any path I've ever
led you, or
wherever you've led me,
if you can see me,
I'm free now,
for this world that is
always taking.

There's no need to lie to me,
there's no need to comfort this
dying fool who
wasted his time, pining in his
prime for a
chance
he knew
would never come.
After all, this
misery was by
design, to save the one
I love.
It's over now, I'm giving up.

I don't want your
sympathy, your
thoughts or your
prayers.
I wish I could illustrate
what I've won from this dare.
How do you
describe something
that isn't
there?
I lean on the hope that
what's left of me,
you'll share.

I took
so
much
effort
bleeding out this
place,
I've
emptied every coffer,
every altar
defaced.
I
scraped
away
the pretty paint
looking for the
matter,
and there it was,
this emptiness, getting fatter.

Now I sink in,
once again,
to this bog
I've been
stuck in,
struggled in,
woke up in,
fell asleep in,
dreamed in,
broke free in,
feared in,
**** and ****** in,
got cleaned in,
once again,
it takes me under.

I can't skip rocks over lakes or rivers.
I can't go down without the surface
coming down with me.

I can't keep talking and thinking I'm sane.
I can't see how others make the ripples
and claim to see clearly.