This where I lie
All because I tried
Which will be on my mind
Till the day you die
-
I await your fall
And get ready to crawl
Into your vengeful dreams
-
I sit here and wait
For the upcoming date
Tick tock
Tick tock
Tick tock.
And it never came.

Darling, you love the word "ok."
you're floating in a sea of "ok"
you're drowning in a sea of "ok"
you're dying in a sea of "ok."
You sleep in your coffin of "ok's" but it's ok
because you've ok'd everything to numbness and you've ok'd everything
to stop the bleeding and you've ok'd a noose around all that hurts.

But darling, you hurt.

i am becoming strange
who is stranger
me or the girl i dont know
sitting next to me
on the bus

my hands shake
as i try to remember
your telephone number
at the corner payphone

i keep on glitching
itching and twitching
and i miss-dial your number
and my quarter is wasted

i slept with a stranger
girl than i remember
but not how you think
it was that she fell down
in the middle of the party
and the glitching and twitching
reminded me of you
so i carried her
and put her
in my spare bedroom
and that was it

when she left
i went back to the payphone
to tell you about it
my my hands were still shaking
and i miss-dialed your number
but it went to your mother
who explained to me again
why you can't pick up

she said you slept
in a nice box downtown
after you got too drunk
and your bike hit a truck

i said that i remember
how you glitched and twitched
how you were hospitalized
for a week or two
and then when you got out
you forgot to call me

she told me that you cant call
anymore
because you sleep
in a nice box downtown
with your grandma and uncle

after she hung up
i went to talk to you
in this nice box downtown
but before i got there
i got too drunk
and my bike hit a truck
and now i can see you
in your nice box downtown

but you still
dont return
my calls

Red buds or beams flicker across my chest
lined and ready like a velvet-lined coffin
for me to take an infinite rest in.
Lips a bright cherry color
but it’s blood that’s caked.
Ruby gems in each earhole
flickering in the cave’s scarce light.
But I’m not dead yet
---just coming back to life---

My Thoughts Are As
Dead As My Body
Decomposing In The
Coffin.

* Rest In Pieces.

A poet lies here very often:
When not about, he’s in his coffin.

O.O