it wasn't my intention to embarrass you
perhaps i acted rashly
but knowing what he said to you
made me livid, would it have been better to have treaded bashfully
i cannot stand for my friends to be treated so nastily
myself is another matter entirely
i have a problem letting things go
maybe i need to grow

DEATH
STOLE YOUR
BREATH
IM LIVID

A calm winter night.

The street lights at the window sill did not seem to embrace my room as I was seated beyond my desk.

The unlit screen still seemed bright for when it carved its image in my eyes,
The glass display shattering in millions of shards piercing through my paper skull.

An etymology of communication, the relation of electrical currents through my crevasses,
The empty eyesockets in my skull ridden with blood, pus and ink, oozing out of my empty casket on what remained of the abandoned framework in the chair, corroded to unidentifiable bits of gore

A steaming pile of putrid mass desecrating the serenity of the chamber,
decorating the walls with mould and algae

A murky portrait indeed.

Tangling vines carress the oxidated heaps of sticks and bones, they feel it, they long for it
Mutilating the sheer remains of contorted steel and ivory as the ink chants its final tune.

i want to scream
i want to cry
i want to breakdown
i want to kick
i want to throw

why are we back
to the nonsense no one believes
why are we back
to the threats
the violence
the unfair trial
and the lack of respect

i thought we were getting better
i thought we had finally fixed it
i was wrong
and i am more mad
at myself
for thinking that anything would get better

you don't understand
you're not hearing me out
you're shutting me down
and i don't know what to do

why am i to blame
for someone else's doing
why am i the one to be
screamed at
threatened
cursed at
and why am i the one to be
here

i don't want to be here
i want to run away
and leave
like a rebellious teenager
trying to figure out
who they are

but I'm not a teenager
and I'm not
typically rebellious
i know
who i am

i go by the rules
test the small ones
always try to please
and never disrespect

so why

why am i being kicked out of my own house
that I've lived in my entire life?

because

because my dad's girlfriend left ***** pots by the sink
and i didn't clean them.

i was not asked to clean them
it was not my mess
it had nothing to do with me
i didn't even see them
because i was not even home

but my dad is kicking me out
because i didn't do the ridiculous

A pair of phantoms hands
clasped and held to center
Symmetrical as Hell.
They pull apart and in their wake drift embers sparks and calcite.
Colors where these hands just were make-out and roll around; they leave their imprints and their stains when they are done.
Out of the unwashed we arrived
A symptom of passionate cries.
None comes from creation besides the thing that we made, just pray that it is ugly in all the right places—we pray, but not I, me, I make eyes at the mirror and punish myself until Hell's tides become shallow ends against mine—then frivolous, yank myself from sinking lifeboat to cloud-nine,
Let helping hand erase my demons, baby, I must be omniscient because I just personally faced damnation and swift rapture all within one bathroom trip.        
I am my own savior
You are the deity I suffer for.
For whom I could create under conditions of such self destruction and from you only disassurances to fuel my flame; watch it ignite
then go out,
Me in a panic,
Rolling newspaper together, heaving in the embers—making winds to toss that heat around, frantic cause I feel the maelstrom tossing inside me and it is quiet, nervous, commonly occurring. You can avoid all of that if you just GO.
No destruction required.
No promises of plans gone unmet if you never promised.
I only exist if you see me
Now shut your eyes: this is the remedy for lame creations.
I will still see you, Deity
You will still make fun of me if I am visible; I will sell fragments of my truth to the same machine that I loathe, and it will churn that truth to muck, my spirit to a discard pile, while my heart and the entirety of my body will belong to you.
Watch dust gather on my lashes as my eyes wait for a clever opening.
Aren't my thoughts eerily possessive?
I think I want to be one of your things so I can watch all of your successes from the shelf, and cover my eyes when you have visitors
Pretend I am a man to you
Not just something that your curiosity alone birthed. What is this blind responsibility I throw at you?
Myself I do not fully recognize, but I won't censor what seems logical to me, though visibly unhealthy.
I'm just trying to explain because avoiding didn't work: you are all that I think about. So much for NEW, maybe improved is still within me.

Ok.
I'm sorry for all of that. Believe it or not I have been trying to be less dramatic lately. Honestly it has been a very long time since feeling comfortable in here. You raided my thoughts long before I ever considered finishing the ******* thought
And then you left, so everything I ever/never said (or read or showed or wrote) to you was wrong and I had to change myself accordingly.
According to every flaw that I could find in myself. Income trouble.
Kids my age aren't supposed to go inward, they are programmed to ****, **** up, and forget. Success is just around the corner!
Don't worry, I'll go back to poetry format soon because this reality **** as it turns out is pretty depressing.
I think we need the
many moany broodings of a teenager who is white and straight—can't even write straight with this inky, ****** pen. That joke works better if you can physically see my notebook and the smudgy black Hell that it embodies. Seriously, it looks like some grabby octopus with parkinson's and seasonal mood swings tried to write the word "parkinsons" in here and then spent four to five hours sobbing about their meaningless existence and self-harming—just deep enough to make the ink drip out and fall into a pattern, maybe good enough to read aloud in public spaces which I would consider an honor in and of its
wobble and of the nerves that fire in like some unsteady chorus.
Still not good enough to sell. So bruised, so heady, Please Howard almighty I am ready
To be shot down in wave after wave of this stupidity. Oh how embarrassing it would be to face a firing squad if she could see; how could I ever imitate your immortality or even just your shine...
Here! More Pretty Words!
Pressure builds and compresses the body performs more or less—a little shaky.
The DANGER is in the mind right next to the safety.
Beneath the skull there is a small office-room plastered with disheveled documents, maybe important, the ones that I hired to clean up in there are actually four well fed cats, using the pages for their waste and spending their days pledging to untangle an endless, brain-sized ball of thread but—you know. at some point.
Right?
Like once they figure out that their cheap new carpeting is getting redder and redder the more that they tug on it. And—also they need to learn the color RED right after we have a professional explain to them what colors are.
Oh! Also. That they are ******* CATS!
Wait—don't leave. Please don't leave!
Wait.
I'll be relatable.                     Wait.
I will only say handsome things.        Wait.
I'll pretend that I am not thinking about you even when your breath is pumping somewhere within the same enclosed facility as mine is.        Wait—
I will shorten my sentences significantly.
You won't even know it's me
Or that my lips could be so sure of anything
While my tongue so eager to betray.

Tick
Tock*

As seconds go by, so does my patience.
That nonstop noise is such a nuisance,
It's ticking me off!
Something is brewing,
Much more than a storm
I feel the last of my sanity
Chipping away and plunging into Hell.

An icy hand wrenches my heart,
Which is held by worn strings.
A vengeful spirit takes my place
And forces me to be their host.

My phalanges are vibrating
To the pounding of my vocal chords
As they snap one by one.

Maybe a little of my strength....
No harm in a little scolding....
What could possibly go -

Look. You did it again.
Another step towards being inhuman.