There is a mad place inside some certain
Cold lane where windows creak with
Each gentle whisper.
Surely some revelation is at hand,
Surely someone is to come.
But this mad place, oh this mad place.

It beats and it beats, night and day
And doesn’t stop to sit to mourn or
Feel, this mad place, oh but
Surely some revelation is at hand,
Surely one might someday let it out.

In times of despair, one thinks of
Old age, one thinks of holding hands
And one thinks of committing a sin,
But this mad place, it never stops
To dream, da dum, da dum, indeed,
It beats and it beats!

One day, maybe, it will find a way
To figure it out, one day, or perhaps,
I shall grow a wing, or least
find a way to live with it,
But seldom, will it stop?

When will it stop? When
Will it make sense to stop?
Surely there must be something,
Some shade under a tree

Or some fine stone to sit on.
Oh but this mad place,
this mad place, this restless bird,
When would it drop the shiny pebble from its hands?

Yes, there are times when it lets out a sigh,
Mostly out of desperation. But
When the night passes, it makes up lies
It doesn’t look back to see what it said.

Does it even means what it says?
Does it even bother to say what it means?
This mad place, this uncaged cage,
What does it seem to wait for?
Who is to come? What is to come?

This mad place, this mad place,
When the words fly like out of season
Birds, when it squeaks like winter winds,
Maybe it will think to stop, or ask,
Surely someone is to come.
Surely some revelation is at hand!

crazy foreign fare maybe you curdle defeat in the streets baring solar assault (you've fried your unit) harpy malicious harpies as bullhorns fact-fire biting into delirious fright-blight of abrasion upon your eardrums abstain (it's all an abusical !) refuse this parody the good night woe stains on your sleeves i belly believe you'll capture your death way out here at the merry least you'll pass a deathly coffin sneeze silly-silly breath breathe

They call it a gift,
this body of mine,
but every month it gnaws at itself,
chews the lining of my womb,
spits out blood like a sacrifice
to a world that does not care.

I step outside,
eyes crawl up my skin like ants,
like maggots,
like fingers that never asked for permission.
A whistle slits the air—
a razor against my spine—
I swallow the bile, keep walking.

Mother said, don’t wear that
Father said, boys will be boys
I say nothing—
only dig my nails into my palms,
so deep the crescent moons bloom red.

I dream of shedding this skin,
peeling it back like an overripe fruit,
scraping out the parts that feel *****,
that feel weak,
that feel like they do not belong to me.
I want to be new,
to be sharp,
to be something they cannot touch.

But even in dreams,
they chase me.
Even in dreams,
I run.

the sun is as hot as spaghetti
steaming with a sauce
served with a side of sizzling hot cherries.

my tie is so tight I cough in silent h's
and I'm sweating
my pores shooting out like a fountain
and my face, like an umbrella in the rain.

no time to think
no time to reason
"Ding, Ding DIING!"
I jump like I was slapped on the cheek
my beard itches, my right eye twitches
"What the F* is this?"
I write out the first words that come to me
"Ding, Ding, DIING!"
but I'm not done writing
I look at the bell,  "you f*king ****"
and I jump again, like there was a puddle before me
my head is as hot as popcorn
no, even hotter
and you can hear it pop
from the front and from the back
"Ding, Ding, DIING!"
i jump again
it's me vs. a bell.