I am still alive
and that is all I know
about life and the
pursuit of living.
There is no meaning;
afterall.
We are all floating
into space.
I am in one of these
lavender fields
scratching my itches.
I would love to be
tranquilized, for eternity
if not then I do not want
eternity.
The hardest element I have
conquered in life is that
I have always been
fighting the living scrabble
out of myself each minute
to figure out the
ground.
And the dust I was made of- stardust.
The imperialistic house
should be burned
but I would rather
stay here
coated in substances.
More harm, less feel.
Hell is watching the people
you love; suffer.

I am at double Four-double Four
Thirty-Fourth Street,
I could use a lift of sorts.
I would like to remain nameless,
my condition certainly is not.

My being seems out of place;
I have tried to keep focused.
The last group of days
have blurred together;
meaning lessens by define.

A bent key, I hold in my hand,
the remnant of a jagged world
unfulfilled by expectation;
of which I no longer fit.
Learned techniques fail me.

I was given this number,
by a caring friend;
said it would lead me
to truthful people.
Deemed credible I choose.

How I have hope, which is never lost!
Without reluctance I continue -
to the recommended anonym auditor;
tranquility listens further
to me

eyes are dripping like gutters after the rain
hands are shaking like an addict's
breaths are short and fast like someone who ran a race
mind is stu-stu-stuck like a br-broken record

i got out of his car
and
hopped on my bike
dashing through the neighborhoods
streaking down a bike path
faster
FASTER
squinting in the face
of an angry early morning sun

i stop

stumble off my bike

try to be discreet
***** into a bush


pick up my bike
wave to a jogger
force a smile

i head home

dreadfully and drearily so she picked around her nose where her ring used to be

full of dead and destruction she ripped out pages of John 3.16, where her crown chakra used to feel free

wistfully wishing for her black jeans with a string instead of a zipper; she now wears a gown

wondering why, she contemplates in her midnight blue constellation journal: to down-
right mortify me,

to make a mockery, to….to, to…. to…. find me in case I pull the fire alarm and try to escape

she puts together puzzles with her mother’s name in cursive in the bottom right corner and puts them together with tape

begrudgingly so she ties up the used new balance sneakers she borrows and moans

she wants to move her body, for her form has been stagnant, oh how she wishes to roam

jogging, running, sprinting from the wolves to the butterflies and bunnies

painting a stain glassed window as a holy shrine to The Queen of The Goths, she’s so spunky

wondering where her soul’s mate could be in a blizzard this thick

but she knows she’s been a real witch, flying into her alter ego’s psyche on a broomstick

if she can infiltrate her reflection in the mirror she’ll catapult into outer space

although, around her neck, she’d much rather wrap a shoelace

In five days time, 120 hours, 7,200 minutes, not only does the doggy door open,

so does the front door, who had the key? Will the door be closing?

Jogging, running, sprinting from the eyes of the doctor to the arms of the unbroken

My feet are swollen

My hands need lotion

My thoughts are golden

I am coping

He is coping

We are coping

They are unbroken

Over a basket of fish and chips, I realize I was chosen

Is that a ****** up notion?

I just don’t want to feel hopeless

Is this excess of energy a bad omen?

Back in the free world now, I’m so scared of my spirit being stolen

But my energy is as vast as the ocean and potent

I win, I win, I win !

But the imperialists are closing

In