don’t get caught standing
you’ll fall backwards or forwards-
Ambien’s effect

Justin I forgive you, won’t you call me, your birthday must be coming soon we haven’t spoken since we moved our family into the desert. I just pray you’re not seeking cotton fever yet again, chasing the dragon, or at the very least eating school buses while falling into ‘H’ before you find yourself in bed drunk again, and on Ambien too. Dead too soon. You’ve always wondered why I didn’t introduce you to Ryan, my other incredibly dear and brotherly friend. Well wonder none more, he’s in a padded room at Mt. Sinai in Lakeview or perhaps Northwestern’s adult care unit, there was talk or at least I imagined he could make it to Lakeside Manor right there East of Foster. So it’s clemency, peace of mind, and something to loosen the edge off your back, something to let you fall, something to set your pain at weightless your mind at I-Don’t-Have-To-Give-A-****-Anymore, my friend where have you been? Where have you taken yourself? Please drag yourself back at least a half-step, reverse your position and engineer an out please. I can’t begin to accept losing both of my brothers to two versions of the same disease.

At 2:30 a.m., I drink a beer,
as if it is a crushed Ambien.
I light a joint (the parents are gone for the weekend).
My girlfriend is asleep in the basement,
eyes closed, lightly snoring,
the left side of her face is covered in scars
and burn marks.

I look around my room:
white and blue Ralph Lauren shirts
hang from the lampshade,
the collars and sleeves are layered with dust.
The bookcase is littered
with shoeboxes, novels,
and poetry collections.

I take a drag from my joint
and realize my ears are full of static,
as if they had been packed
with black and white TV sets.
There’s the faint sound
of a car
passing by.

The car is a reminder: Civilization,
glass buildings,
happy hour
at my favorite hole-in-the wall
in Chinatown.
I’m naked, but
not totally bare.

All I’m wearing are blue boxer briefs,
as though it is my uniform
for my current occupation
as a poet.
The blinds are open
and I wonder if I open the window and jump out,
will anyone give a ****?

My therapist will probably label me as suicidal,
if I mention that last thought.
I think I’m just restless and idle.
I take another chug from my beer.
I’m hunched over a notebook,
and writing with a blue pen,
not because I think I’m an authentic writer.

But because my computer’s in the basement
and I don’t want to wake her; I love her.
But I can’t stand her critiques, in regards to me.
Maybe I can’t handle the harshness
in her honesty, as if it is a foreign language
coming from a stranger who I’ve known for years.
I’m not sleepy.

I’m scared.
Scared about growing up,
scared about having to stop
giving a ****,
and finally having
to care about
my life.

Ambien Angel,
Hallucinate
a halo

to replace
the self-doubt
that you’ve got
wrapped around
your mind

We only talk
at times
of
Swirling
self-destructive
forces

I felt your
distress call
through the ether

Spiraling
down
down
wrapped
in a cloud
of smoke, whiskey
and Bukowski

There you were,
The American Spirit
staring back
from the
Apothic abyss
of red wine
and controlled
prescriptions.

We all
get so alone sometimes
in Tales of Ordinary Madness

It just makes sense
to let another
Siren sing our ships
towards crimson catastrophe

But you handle
the collisions
so gracefully

Looking so
God-**** divine
like your name

This time
Go lightly
and let’s float
away

Through anxiety's loss,
I entered a shop,
And was introduced to my new friend,
Ambien
We couldn't keep our hands off each other,
So I kissed her twice before leaving the store.
We then went on a little walk, I wanted to know more about her but I really had to read into it.

We arrived home at my girlfriends house,
Surprisingly, to my luck, everybody enjoyed Ambien being around.
She gave everybody a good laugh,
And seemed always warm and
welcoming to the point,
in which we would become confused.

One evening after spending too much
time with Ambie.  My brain began to,
ooze and melt from too much affection.
Arguing with walls,
countless eyes, all staring at me.
Talking to ghosts,
asking them to leave.

As I woke up that night,
I looked to my right.
To realize Amber had left me.
Going through casual short terms monthly.
I still find pieces of her, and I'm clueless   Do I ingest or understand that the past is the past.

Am I more comfortable now or was I too comfortable then?

The time had come to submit to
an urge I'd long denied.
Wanted to stop the crushing pain
with a method not yet tried.
So that night I took four Ambien-
didn't care if I lived or died;
and I slipped into a deep, dark sleep-
my fleeting suicide.

Oh, gentlemen, gentlemen
gentlemen, no.  
He exclaimed Oh
The crow in the blue specked mansion
has not yet showered