wide open porcelain eyes
dull blue skies
black hole of lies

wear no disguise for me
come clear to the open
or let me die

my arms open, don't you see?
lips of sugar don't fight
I long for you here tonight

snow melts and shines
on your diamond shrine
you're so blind, as you wine and dine

you owe none, to pay me mind
in his car, lit, skittles brand meds
smoke apackareds

your eyes will find
that I'm arms wide, empty
let me die

every night babe
I fade there in the past
cuts fast the razor blade

shamed alone into forgotten
lost inside a maze
thoughts slip into a daze

eyes wide, I wait in the open
no disguise for me
let us be or set me free!

These are the shorts that I wear
When I wear shorts
I don’t really have other options
I swear, I wear either the one pair or
I wear the nearly identical shorts with the paint

I’ve got paint on about half my shorts
But I only have two pairs of shorts so
They’ve all been half-paint-splattered

If I can keep one pristine moving forward
For, like, well, forever, or at least until
I buy replacement shorts
I could bury the shame
With a bundle of unmutilated athletic shorts
I’ll never wear to a gym

They’re more actively loungewear but
Amazon gave them the name
I’m an athlete, you betcha
Just look at my shorts

i watch cartoons
i see cartoons
i think cartoons

Since it was such a beautiful day,
my high school art teacher had us go out to sketch a section of the school.
I have reason to believe we were faced away from the scenery the entire time.
Someway,
somehow,
the sweet sublime of noontime in spring was consumed completely by unbridled,
uncleansed boredom.
We stared down the ugly,
open hallway that our teacher almost tried to persuade us is pretty.
The dirt between the two sidewalks had been so pressed down from rain and being trampled,
it would often be confused for the sidewalk when students didn’t watch their step.
The pebbles by where we sat were covered in dust,
about as dry as the spot made me feel.
There were a few trees that stood like awkward,
gawking freshman boys.
The hall was lined with faded paint,
and asymmetrically placed doors,
windows,
and polls.
Altogether it was an urban obstruction.

I do not want to say I love you,
because I just do not.
After years of weathering and erosion,
I have discovered I am not a rock.
I have been
(and will again become)
sediment,
but at this time I am not made of minerals.
Now I am flesh,
I am bones,
I am brittle.
There is no geode within me,
only intestines crystallized from worry.
I am not on Earth to be placed as a brick in your tower,
or to be a cornerstone for your fortress,
you only unearthed me.
Do not send your canary expecting oxygen,
and do not forget the contract between miner and material that states you understand by bringing me out,
you risk ruining the land…
Now that I have found my composition,
I ask you to forgive my humanity when I say,
“I don’t want to say I love you,
because I just don’t.”

Migration patterns never suited the two of us well.
Minds wander,
and find new sights to see.
You see,
there’s a vast world out there.
We have clawed to see it,
and at each other.
We have trekked different paths that somehow came together,
which was almost Earth-shattering.
Capable of giving Mother Nature motion sickness.
At times we had been bound together like the molecules that were spat from our brains to cause our complete self-destruction.
And because of that, night.
Or just a dark room that I have the key to let myself out of.
We may have broken ourselves apart,
but the crust of the Globe never split.
This had made me realize,
after the factual end of everything,
we will be acquaintances again,
and our vague remembrance will be like a closed ****.

they can hurt me for loving you,
they can ridicule me for being with you,
and even if you aren't here like them,
even if it hurts,
i'll still love you.

Our purest laughs are in our dreams —
Laughing lungs out, sounding a bit psychotic;
Who's there to judge how ugly they really sound?

A dream I had,
ended in cries.
Couldn't sleep,
as the rooster called,
its morning time.

But there was no way,
I was getting out of bed.
I was comfortable,
with a full blast of air,
as I trembled under sheets.

The dreams were so vivid,
and like this alternative,
vision of days of my past.
But its so cruel
when the dream is fun,
and I wake up to less
of who I was but a mess.

I wake to the thunder,
I used to find so relaxing,
and the smashing of hail stones.

But when you become the storm
and fill yourself with utter chaos,
You forget how relaxing they were.
You are now the chaos they can bring.

I don't wish to wake up this morning,
I need the experience of vivid dreams.
They are focused partly on memories,
when my days were much more lively.