mediocrity isn’t
something to be strived for
and being a nonentity isn’t
a relief of pressure

it’s heavier than any weight
that could be strapped to your back,
larger than any expectations
you delude yourself into thinking you must meet
emptiness fills
more than you would think

your feeble body on the ground
stirs no pity in me
i hope the steel-toed boots
striking you from every direction
leave bruises that last
i hope the stench of your rotting flesh
gags you and brings up the lack
of what you hold inside
i hope old scabs are ripped open again
and your hands lay weak by your side
unable to stop the flow of blood

let me hear you say that you are nothing,
           that you have nothing valuable to offer
let me hear you say that you are a waste of space,
            an unwanted burden
let me hear you cry and plead for an end,
            although you don’t deserve that escape

i want to hear you say that you’re a murderer

i want you to go back:
             look into his eyes
             watch them dilate with fear
             and then see the light leave them

             feel his blood on your hands
             leaving a permanent mark
             that doesn’t wash off under water

             feel his body turn cold
             as the life inside him stops
             with his heartbeat

your sniveling apologies do nothing
but turn my stomach over
don’t touch me,
i don’t care if the blood is gone

being a nonentity isn’t
a relief of pressure
i hope you never get away
from that weight

Crawl crawl
Burning through
Obsessions
Rotten stew
Crawl crawl
Through the pain
Remission
Is a joke
And life was a game
But is a remainder
of screwups and screwdowns

Crawl Crawl
Burning through
Possessions
Deadbeat crew
Crawl crawl
Forgotten stains
Permission
Is always denied
And rebuttals dumped
In trash cans full
of screwups and screwdowns

Drilling a hole
Finding geodes where a core was
Cold and dark and empty
Drilling a hole
Finding loneliness inside
It is who you are

Extinguished supernovae
Could have contained
And still the darkness would have stayed
Crawl crawl
burning through
your house of cards
melting all definitions
You're a screwup
Still alive

Black eyes, bruised wrists, mangled genitals.
Ribcage extruding; calling for love, lust, and cigarettes
Faces offensive; unmet eyes, and searing expressions.
Scars on arms; speaking louder than quiet voices
Staring blank; at bills yet paid
Thinking there is no way
Imaging the fall from your 3rd floor
Apartment
Weighing funeral costs over living expenses
Death would put you deeper in a hole
Not able to get out, saying how
Did I get here.
Looking up seeing the opening nearly
Closed; finger lye at the only opening left.
Hope.
Being crushed brutally, whilst you see it all
happen.
Blood rains on your pale face, craving
Sunlight.
Dismemberment of fingers, brings you into total darkness.

If self loathing is in style,
I must be a top model

I spoke in nervous tones
On the day of your death
And found myself lacking all sensory depth

Some time next Spring
All the flowers eroded
And I couldn’t care less

I looked at my reflection and saw everything I hated
In the form of where you used to stand
And what was now left in its place

Gaunt and bitter
I adorned your absence
Like a crown
Hollow as my chest

she has freckles
way too many
bright red
like her knotted hair.
her name is ugly
something with a K.
she is ugly.
I hate the way she smells.

we listens to music.
she shakes her hair
off-beat
she sings off-key
and thinks I like it.
I tell her it’s interesting.
she says we share
something significant.
I hate her.