Damaged Goods
Broken not accepted
Lost in deception
You eat my words and step on it
******* and my lesson
I’m 17 and you left me
You eat my words and stepped on it
Mindset ****** with the darkest cuts
I tried to open up but you tied me shut
Through me on the ground
exposed my cuts
throuh   all the evidence out
With my eyes closed
I started to swallow those infections that ate me up in side that makes my hands shake and my stomach ache
Doors closed my mental state
Ibuprofen how much should I take **** this **** my heart won’t break
  knock me up I’ll get what I can take
beat me down shut me out give me worthless knowledge and doubt
how dare you say you love me when you just broke me
*******

he stood there holding ashes,
and sifting through them
he tried to piece together
his foggy and charred past

people swim in and out of this river of memory,
the miles walked construct a rugged path-
but the beauty and depth of this path
can hardly be fathomed
and can seldom be walked.

trapped in a tangle, a thick tangle of brush
you'll find thorns and flowers-
burrs and soft leaves

but with the right amount of will,
and maybe a knife,
you can fight your way into the sunlight again,
just as he did.

sometimes he reminisces upon this dark forest
and wonders why he ever wanted to go.

he conveys a sense of strength and power,
and this shell lies thick over
his shattered interior,
a black hole of memories,
an abyss of feelings

the money and far-fetched wishes were never granted to him-
he only had his thoughts going for him
and so he needed an occasional way out of this seemingly unfair madness

that temporary escape became his life,
that forest became an addiction

it was a beautiful forest while he was there,
and he built a lovely home in the forest
then all weather was welcomed-
aside from the fire that ignited when the forest dried out

he dropped a match to light his daily campfire,
but he missed the circle of sticks, ashes and twigs ever so slightly
and routine turned to madness,
the forest then was nothing but a sea of ash,
dust and grey
when the long-lasting flames were through with it

he vacated, reluctantly back to his home in town,
his normal, not very outstanding home

and a strange comfort washed over him-
like he had always belonged to it and
was never meant to leave

simple pleasures brought him the greatest joys-
like the sunshine on the porch in summer
and the chilled rain in autumn

and then there she was-
walking her small dog down the road one morning
while he sat with his coffee in the chair on that porch-

it was August and the sun beat down, though it was early.
his cup began to burn the skin on his hand,
and this sensation took his eyes off of her for a brief moment,
but after he adjusted his hand,
his eyes locked back on her until she was out of his line of sight

he set his cup down and he ran,
caught up to her with a breathless, cheesy compliment

little did he know that over time, she'd complete him
and further cure him-
washing away his tornadic past

one foggy, pleasant morning,
they set out for that long-forgotten forest
and she discovered that there were still pieces of his most prized possessions
laying there in the dust and rubble

they fit what they could into their backpacks
and carried it on home to wash it all off

she was like a tissue to his tears
as they fell at the discovery of these items-
he'd long since forgotten their existence;
but she wouldn't let him suffer
as those memories hit him hard and cruelly,
as she washed them up and asked him to explain the meaning behind them

she discovered his true feelings, and why he seemed so distant
they only fascinated her and brought her joy.

he smiled through the tears of pain,
and wrapped her in a hug

they grew, over the weeks, to love and love more
and when their lips finally met,
they thought it had to have been meant to be.

he was amazed that a person could look past the
hell he put himself through for one simple pleasure.
and to him, she was so dainty and flawless,
she had an air of innocence.

her own broken past though,
was not something she chose to go through.

they found ultimate comfort and security in one another,
and it far outdid the forest that always had brought him solitude

they decided it was time to leave this jaded town,
and went far west and were comforted under the sunny skies,
and warmth there

from then on, cars and voices buzzed on by like sand through an hourglass
the sun rose every day,
and the rain fell occasionally,
but the rain was needed for the land to exist,
so it was embraced
rather than shunned

they walked hand in hand through everything they did
and loved each other more than they could understand
and the forest-
sure, they sometimes made the long trek to pay it a visit,
but forgiveness and their western sublimity
outweighed the vast depth and sin of the past, of the east.

I live a breath's away from the oldest river in the world.
While I don't take much of nature in it is awe inspiring,
to be sure.
I live within the crook of the oldest mountains in our history.
Not the tallest,
nor the proudest,
but for now these ranges are growing senile within their misery.

The riverrun through it and exposes rock perhaps a billion years old.
Our oral histories, passed on legends,
scary stories and mountaineer folklore accounts for
such a small passage of time.
We built a bridge once.
It was at one time the longest single-span arch in the world.
Now it's the fourth.
Top five, and that's something for which I am proud.
The oldest river, in the world.
The oldest mountains, in the world.
The highest fatal overdose rate, in the States.

There is a beauty to be had here. Somewhat backwards, but
growing up our water was clear.
It's now choked from coal slurry.
The brain drain of young adults leaving, in much hurry,
hurts us as the ones that remain become grey and blurry.
We are living in a permanent winter and we have high roads,
that wind and curve. Dangerous when icy. veins filled with
heavy loads and nodding verve.
I live a breath's away from the oldest river in the entire world.
I can't touch Roman ruins with my hands, or
sift through the Dead Sea and float on salt above sand.
I can't touch the hill where Jesus may have died,
I don't know what it feels like to hold history as pride.
But our trees even when green have a dusty coal darkened sheen.
Summer is overgrowth from the Springtime rains.
The highest fatal overdose rate in the entire United States.

Where once we built bridges to close in the gap of travel.
We unzip black bags with rigs and object with obvious cavil.
Our industry is old, the world is moving on from coal.
For better, to be sure, but in the meantime we grow cold.
Not from lack of heat, we can boil our spoons just fine.
But we need a replacement from shaft or the mountaintop mine.
Let us worry about beauty again,
let us treat addiction with correction instead of levying it as sin.
Remove the pantomiming politician speak
of addicts or the sick as being weak.

Let's find ourselves again, West Virginia. You're the only home I've known.
Childhood summertimes sat beneath canopies of caterpillar home,
the happy baby butterflies eating leaves so more sun could shone.
Walking sticks used to play with me in my yard,
and at nighttime I'd still be outside mouth agape at the stars.
Evening meant lightning bugs and I'd capture a few in the cup of my hands.
There was a whimsy to how nature responded to us,
how bees would bumble and land,
on the dandelions whose seeds I'd spread as I blew on their white
polyp heads.
Maybe it's nostalgia and my memories are tinted rosy.
The smell of wood stoves burning in winter,
the crispness of autumn breezes felt cozy.
There was a trust held in communities, or maybe I was naïve.
Some of my friends made a choice and moved.
Others among us took a more permanent leave.
My brother, too. He himself got in a lot of trouble.
Over the cotton swab boiled to a bubble.
He died when I was young so maybe everybody is right.
It's all sentimentality and a lot of lonely nights.
But does the past being ****** up make the worsening now fine?

I live a breath's away from the oldest river and mountain range.
I live with the highest fatal overdose rate in the United States.

I walked into a silent house
peaceful, though it seemed
The echoes of my memories
Continue, how they scream

My thoughts had taken over
Strengthening the demons of my past
They fought for years to own my soul
This battle was my last

I removed the plastic cap
Removed the shiny foil
I turned the bottle upside down
And said goodbye to sorrow

My chest is way too tight,
My lungs can't move to breathe,
And I can't stop telling myself,
They wouldn't notice if I leave.
Their lives would continue on the same,
I'm just a mess in their way,
And no matter how hard I try,
I can't think of one reason to stay.
Maybe a few would miss me,
One or two at most,
But they will forget and move on,
Overlook the kid who overdosed.

“See you tomorrow, Buddy!”

Love, Dad