How many days have you spent,
and how many days has it been?
How many days have you went,
without eating,
focused on breathing,
trying to make this make sense?

How many pill bottles did you sink,
and how many bottles did you drink?
How many hours did you think,
about the ending,
wrote a message without sending,
looking at the bottom, standing on the brink?

How many times have you heard,
that what you’re doing’s absurd?
Opening your mouth without forming words,
addicted to addiction,
an addict who is itchin,
listening to the voices who are constantly stirred.

How many drinks will it take,
until your body finally breaks?
How do you get rid of the shakes?
Constantly feeling,
but never dealing,
hopefully you’re here to see the daybreak.

could you please
hold me
while i overdose
on our
deprived
attention?

vicodin is a long term friend
with a warrent for my liver
and my life.

1:43am
we had an appointment
and god only knows
i could never be late for such
a chalky sense of closure.

and the young paramedic
who burst my vein and scolded me
could only pray his words
meant more than the hum of streetlights
as my body exchanged existence
for the embodiment of thought
and a brittle concept of my phrenic nerve

which was never more at peace than when
my lungs remembered the luxury
of standstill traffic

of weighted morals

of crushing insecurity's release
and the resulted ballooning
as squashed egos cry, and the garage door screams as it's yanked open

horrid sounds and tortured motion on both accounts

spiritual cataracts torn free
commercialized visions now blur

as the orange bottle morphs from
vicodin to paracetamol

equalized views in my bloodstream
as the sheet metal ceiling shifts to plaster tiles

to a TV set

to a bathroom mirror

to an agonized woman next door

to the back windows where my mother cries where no one but the whole world can watch

to a blue plastic mattress and a first floor window covered with bars

to a pale green day room with a caged TV
where there was bleach in the stomach of a nine year old

where the dying took their resurrecting breath between games of spoons

where the hinges screamed and blood pressure was taken three times a day

this where the living came to kiss death goodbye

until next time

A heart cold as ice,
Melts when treated nice.
A few drops of ******,
Put on your lip balm,
Risk and roll the dice!
Let’s not care about your vice!
A few **** of nicotine,
Needles filled with morphine,
Drink your codeine,
Destroy your veins with ******.
Maybe twice,
Maybe thrice.
Forget all your worries,
Burn your autum leaves,
Forget how to live,
Like breath’s stolen by thieves.

And four white walls
were caving in on me
Feeling claustrophobic in a room all alone
like surrounded by germs
sneaking up in my skin and running through my veins
I'll cry myself sober
'til the darkness escapes my head
Though an empty bottle
lies in the palm of my right hand
that isn't all that's left
With a cigarette between my lips
Unlit
The cancer in my body will crave
it's taste but instead feel it's touch
Deceived
like empty promises
The tears that fall from my eyes
will race down my cheeks
the same way I ran for your love
They'll drip down my chin
The same way you pushed me off the cliff
They'll sink into my jean pockets
The same way my body decomposed into the dirt of the ground
And they'll evaporate
The same way your brain had amnesia over my soul
Oblivion
We're all going to die anyway
But being forgotten was my only fear
Especially by you..
I can't touch heaven,
And that's why I wanted you
Because I know
that there are no good men in this world
that will take me to heaven
thus a bad boy will bring it to me
No silverware cutlery is needed
And no silver platter has to deliver it
Can a soul like mine rest reassured
with a haunting memory
like your smile etched in my head?
Will a soul like mine travel
to the afterlife in confidence
with a warm hand hooked to mine,
like I have nothing to lose
so long as I have you?
When that whiskey had me feeling pretty
the irony is that you were the alcohol
You were the intoxication in my body
that left me overdosed on your perfume
You were the feelings that I bottled up
in fear of spilling you out
You were the bitter sweet smell
that left my eyes staring into the blur
Was it the real or the fake?
Or should I have read in between the lines?

I.
Most days I’m great,
I’m pretty average looking but I’ve got a personality
That’s much bigger than my physical body
I’m goofy more than I’m serious
And I procrastinate more than I should
Most people call me the energizer bunny;
Always running around brining energy and smiles
Most days, that’s me.
Just your average normal person;
Not every day is perfect…
There are good days,
                      bad days,
                             better days,
                                  worse days &
                                         worser than worst
                                                          ­           d
                                                                        a
                                                     ­                      y
                                                        ­                       s


II.
How can a day be so bad that you make up your own version of “worse” you ask?
Well those days go something like this:
The air is heavy,
My senses are heightened
I can feel every droplet on my back
My lungs are tight, but not quite tight enough to be suffocating
My throat is dry, I can’t tell if I’m burning hot or freezing cold.
I get dressed, I go about my day.
There are good things.
There are bad things.
The bad things always stick on these kinds of days.
Inevitably, I can feel my anxiety begin to grow
It begins burning in my chest first,
I can feel the toxic attitude begin to bubble beneath my skin
Destroying everything inside
I am painted red with an unexplainable anger and rage
I sit alone, until my anger devours itself feeding on its toxic irrational thoughts


III.
This is when it happens, the (worser than worst)
It’s always when I let myself let go of the anger,
When my voice resumes its normal tone and pitch,
When my breathing is in sync with my heart,
And my once raging and thrashing thoughts
Begin to quiet and wind themselves down
It’s always when things start to feel okay again
Then it happens.
I’m walking in a crowded subway station
Hundreds of voices around me, yet they all drown out each other
Until a loud one breaks through the rhythmic hum of a busy commuter city
My body responds automatically searching for the noise
I see her in the distance,
Dressed in all black
For how cold it is, she’s not wearing nearly enough
She’s old.
Her face tells stories
Through the hard-pressed lines and crevices of her weather-beaten skin,
Her skin shows it all,
A Face that has laughed, cried, and experienced
Her eyes are glazed over
Chills run down my spine so suddenly I’m almost startled
It’s the eyes,
It’s always the eyes, they always trigger me
I can feel you in the atmosphere
Pressing your cold pale lips to my ear and whispering
“You couldn’t save me”
“You’re forgetting me”
“I won’t let you forget me”
I stand motionless trying to will my body to move
It doesn’t.
I watch the woman for a bit longer
Lost in her own world, eyes glazed over and lost
I feel sorry for her and then I feel it
Like all the muscles inside of me are suddenly limp and weak
With all my effort I push my feet off the ground
So, focused I don’t notice the tears streaming down my cheeks
I walk away in disappointment
I do what I do best,
I leave
And as I do, I hold my breath
And count
I count until the numbers feel right
And until I force myself to forget your presence
And the lingering guilt that still takes root
In the void you left behind.

IV.
Most days I’m great,
Just your average normal person,
Most days are easy enough to get through,

It’s the few days,
The ones spread so thin throughout the year
The days that remind me
That eyes are truly gateways into other places
It’s those days
That being to engulf the great days
Beneath its roots of your memory
And I am reminded that after all of these years,
If you can manage to keep resurrecting yourself
Through the people still on this planet
Than my words, will once again resurrect with you.
For you.