I take comfort in the familiarity
of it all.
The constant madness;
ringing bells and sounding alarms.

I've seen a lot of things.
I know a lot of things.

I'm a different type of person
than I used to be.

I've seen a woman steal my heart;
watched her love:
F L E E T I N G
She loves you today,
him tomorrow.

The melody strikes the match
and the fire rages on.
Unbeknownst.
Without awares.

I've heard the words:
"Is this too intense for you,
it's okay if it is."
and I've answered:
"...it is,
do it anyway."

The 15 year old girl
on the couch
is high
on her dad's methadone.
I'm withdrawling
and hating her;
insane with abandon.

I've felt a needle puncture
the skin;
watched the snake
appear
and
disappear
into myself.

I am another yourself.
We are
One.

You and Me
we are the same,
different eyes
different lungs
but we share a
soul.

I've learned how to make a fist
and pump it
with a jumprope tied
round my arm.

These things are not useful.
They will not bring you
great fortune.
They are the wasted
thoughts
ideas
and journeys
of my youth.

I've been given another chance.
Not a second one,
just another one.
After being purple;
lifeless;
was the greatest hit
of all.

Sick and sad inside
she slumps against the
hallway
wall.
Feeling nothing
after crying for hours
she finds resolve
in the insults
inside her head.

I take comfort in the familiarity of it all
writing like stories
have no end
as if all the pieces
fit together.

The reality is
they don't.

Hope begets Grace
and Grace is what leads
us through this battle;
Life.

I've seen a lot of things.
I know a lot of things.
They are not useful
but

they are mine.

There is a crack down my center
diremption black-balling an existential ease
The Moon knows who I am
sighing my name in her bending light
beaming to my tattered rim

Oh, lustrous bulb emblazoned in elevation
a sister to mine
she dangles in confidence
companionless, wandering among stars
and ever-changing, ricochet
between lunar phases evasive

Her metallic optimism calls to my insomniac iris, but
our stunning single source of light
does possess a polar
of two, where
a potent cynicism sleeps soundly
out of view, in
darkness everlasting

Pale in her weariness is she
scaling east to west, but
sabbatical she is not
for methodical hands protest in sway
But what would come of us if The Moon came
crashing
down?

pay no attention for this is only an experiment.
this here is nothing built upon nothing.
 
she doesn't live here anymore,
there is no spark no flash of violence left.
we've all been abadoned by our morality;
generation Rx with no life skills and only pills
as problem sovlers.
isn't God going to show up
now?
or does he pay no attention,
we are only an experiment, only a cheap immitaion
of the real thing.
 
are you the real thing?
real like sand between your toes and
fresh squeezed orange juice.
 
reality sets in as the sky closes in
on us.
a wave of blue through the universe;
we run into ourselves yet fail to recognize.
i know you;
familiar, like heat from a sun burn.
i watch you lean in,
close your eyes; divide the invisible.
i let go your hand as you disipate,
dancing among the kelidescope galaxy,
 
forever changing.
altered.
never to be the same.
 
a generation raised on poison and fumes,
breathing in, breathing in, breathing in
the nothing that will be built upon nothing.
 
we are the experiment.
prepare for lift off;
surgery;
surrender.
 
don't shut your eyes.
this is it.
the real thing.
 
 
 
 
shhh...
don't miss it.

You live
You die
You soar
You fall
And it all repeats
In an evil cycle
A terrifying cycle
Until you finally take
Your own life.

A curse, indeed.

When I charge ahead 
Try and forge my own way 
Even my best laid plans 
Are rubbed and washed away
In the ever  shifting sands 

And I'm left on hands and knees
Scrabbling round in the dirt
Bruised and battered I bleed
My Spirit crushed and hurt

So I'll climb back onto the solid rock 
And root myself to the spot
Nourish my soul in the psalmists words 
Terra firma, taking stock

I can type the URL to your blog faster than I can recall my own name and at first it was because I was desperate to find any trace of you that still wanted me, because oh god, did I still need you. But after a while, I didn't stop being sad but I stopped obsessing so much and I just wanted to see how you were doing and sometimes I wondered if you still thought of me. Not in the way that we used to think of each other, I know those days are long over, but the way you think of somebody when you listen to an upbeat song about how much you hate your ex for hurting you so badly. Because I know I hurt you and don't you dare think that you didn't hurt me too, but the wave of relief that came when I saw you blogging about how you hated me so much seemed to wash the desperation off of me that always seemed to cling like grass stains that faded but never quite came out even if I scrubbed until my hands were raw and shaking like the way I was about an hour after I had mustered up the courage to leave you. Then came the pictures, posted happily on your blog like she was the new paint, meant to cover up the chipped mess that remained of me. She may have stolen your heart, but I still have your virginity, its thrown into the back of my closet along with those pairs of shoes that seem like such a good idea to buy, until you realize that they're not the most well built, reliable things, and you really need to stop manic shopping and buying things on impulse. I haven't seen you since what would have been our two year anniversary and honestly I'm glad I haven't, because not a day goes by where I regret hitting you in your face with a baseball bat. But that's a story for another day. Now when I stumble upon your blog, its because i can't figure out how to block people from my account just yet and I don't miss you. When I see that you clearly have a new love interest, I don't miss you. When I wear the dress you bought me for my birthday, I don't miss you. When I listen to what was our song, I want to punch myself in the face for letting you ruin such a good Beatles song for me, but I don't miss you. And when I inevitably run into you again at future shows, I will not miss you.

My mind is a dangerous place to live. It's so cramped and loud, and your neighbors are demons. You try to escape, but there are no doors. The windows are caked thick with blood and the sunlight burns your eyes. Where there use to be innocence, there is only darkness and pain. The hatred fills your lungs like a black tar - it becomes hard to breathe. You fall into madness, gripping for anything, anyone, but there is nothing but the sound of your own screams.