I think like a poet.
That’s why I get headaches.
Images burst
wishing
waiting
hoping
for my head to explode.

Don't worry about saying you're sorry,
I've already apologized for you.

My soul is starving.
to death to death to death.

Somebody
walk me to the store.

It's four in the morning
it's not as cold
as it should be.

I realized resistance
weighs you down &
you sink into "the ****;"
you don't need to be
the current or
go with the flow
just try floating
for survival so
you don't drown.

My head is flooded with
thoughts & doubts & worries
about nothing.
The eye of the storm
looks like yours which
looks like mine.

Like you could tell
we're dead inside

we're ever-expanding
supernova
egotistical suicide
exploding in the night
& fizzling to a spark
that's a spark because
they said it's a spark.
& everyone nods.

Live for awkward silence
or die alone complacent.

commonplace

dreams do not chase themselves,
you, or anyone else.
this realm is not that special.

you should know
I've never been so comfortable.
it's making me uneasy.

this kind of greed
is completely fine with me.

chaos. neat.

My mother’s head had been cut open,
But she had felt the splitting since I was an infant
Crying out from my trundle bed.

Then I was sixteen and still crying out.
Let me explain;
I couldn’t express that I was aching,
So I’d tell them my mother was.

But no one bothered to ask me if she was alright.
A friend of mine told me, frustrated
That people get attention hungry
When the slightest thing goes wrong.

It’s true, I needed attention.
But I don’t know why the word is so hated
Lurched off the tongue like lonely girls aren’t worthy of
Some common human kindness.

That shut me up
So I had nothing to say
Save one dismissive mention
No one bothered to ask me if I was alright.

The worst part is
The splitting feeling didn't go away.
Her pain is worse now
That I am nearly an adult.

The sympathy for my mother vanished
Faster than the money she spent
To lie in a hospital bed,
Wrapped in a paper gown.
The sympathy for me was never there.

A million moments in your TV-filled life
collide with mines at this table tonight.

It's like Home Alone 2 the way I stare
and you smile like this instant has always been there.

I laugh back and wave, cause I'm a sucker for warmth these days.
The weather's so cold when old friends slowly fade.

"Hey can you pass the Ketchup?" I decide to say.
"It's a bit spicy, good luck," and you pass it my way.

I know it's not much, but my Wednesday touches yours.
We're friends for a moment, and I couldn't ask for more.

Nothing I make of words can ever be confused with beautiful because I don't see beautiful things, only things in tandem, stuck between, feverish and naked as my burning brain substitutes ******* for dead protesters. This is a sickness I will not grow out of; I cannot say I want to grow because I do not want, I am a mind in a hollow shell which I keep beating with toxins that will **** me sooner than most. I do not care if you read this. This is not for you. This is not about you. It is always, will always, be about me. That is as close to happy as I will be. When did my poetry become so self-serving: I have turned art into work, art for the sake of speaking literally about my conscience and how are you still reading? I am not talking to you. This is not poetry but narcissistic whining and who doesn't love wallowing in the endless sea of their own *******. One thing: When I am dead, do not say I am gone. I have gone nowhere. I have been the only place I will ever be; a brain in a skull in a body, every second I know trapped in crawling skin. Do not say I am gone. I was never really here to begin with.

Be with me.  
Love me because we match.  
I’m crazy and you know everything.  
I have holes and so do you, we can fill them.  
Strip away my ignorance, replace it with knowledge.  
My brain craves it, the rest of me just wants someone to be by.
I’m unhealthily infatuated with you, a sick obsession.  
I cannot not think of you because you fascinate me too much.  
Who are you and what have you done with me?
Captured some part of me that makes me not care about myself or state of mind.  
It’s making me crazy.  
Did you know you could do that?  
That you have the power to drive someone up a wall.  
And I should be canonized for the crap I put up with, I make miracles everyday.  
I want to be with you just to talk to you all the time and discuss music and everything that is wrong with the world.  
And even the things that are right, on occasion.  
My mind can’t keep up with you,
You’re one too many.
You give me headaches.