begin with a
disinfectant wipe
and wash your eyes
right off your face

(it might sting a little
but that's a small
price we all must pay
before we die)

next grind your
toenails down to a fine
sheen using only the
shower curtain

(it may take hundreds
of years and that's why
i'm telling you to
begin immediately)

let the roots of your
hair dig down into
the ground and slowly
bury your face

(at this point in the
procedure you may
pass out from lack of
air or lack of hope)

finally tattoo morse code
messages behind your ears
with a rusty safety pin and
old charcoal art pencils

(it doesn't matter what it
says because nobody can
read it back there nor
do they actually care to)

and submerge your
nose into isopropyl
rubbing alcohol just
to smell poisoned

but most importantly
of all when you begin
to experience pain so
intense you do not
have words with
which to describe it

always tell yourself
that nothing is real

n o t  y o u
n o t  a g o n y
n o t h i n g
i s  r e a l.

then take down the
noose hanging in
the back of your closet
turn off the light and
fall into the deepest
sleep of your life

*(whether or not you're
real or not doesn't matter
it just matters what you're
telling yourself to stay alive.)

She's tired..

Like a flower slowly withering as the cold wind goes

She needs the sun again.

She needs moisture.

Or maybe it's time for her petals to fall.

So let it hit the ground

Softly and full of grace

For she may flee

With the beauty of the wind

and be gone

but exist

*forever..

I know you're talking
I hear you

I know you're watching
I can feel your stare

I know you notice
When I leave the room

But it's how it feels
When all you are
Exists but it's not alive

I know you're talking
But I don't know why

I know you're watching
But why do you care

I know you notice
But why is it me

Slowly I stopped living
But I still existed
I was still breathing

You tell me you want to know,
but tell me what you really mean.
Through the lines, you say, "Lie to me",
scattered dilapidation being the incorrect
way of being. I must let this darkness out,
yet instead I give you light. If only
the light I lied was enough to permeate
my dreary, opaque existence.

So maybe we can hide,
all the others meet
over on the better side.
Maybe all these chips in me
are just because we're tired.

So maybe we're out of time,
all our love, it fleets
over to the other side.
Maybe all these chips in me
are caused by our desire.

So maybe we have younger hours,
where we broke one day
yet never gave up to the cowards.
Maybe all these chips in me
were made by who we are.

Some people are born
With crystals in their eyes
And hope in their skies
Of blue and green watercolour dreams.

No such shimmering exists
In here. The glimmer
Of past wonder has long since
Been destroyed by fear of existing.

There was a silent storm in her Eyes ..

The shine on her Hair with gentle seas ..

I crave Ocean for this once ..

.. Insanity ..

I want a tattoo of this poem onto the moon ..

So when I trace the backward shadow of Her ..

with the Moon in the frame ..

I’ll take me straight to her ..

Hoping for Look at her again ..

Feel the smell of her Hair ..

while turning the pages of our Destiny ..

and start reading ..

the Honesty on her face ..

All over again .. !!