the blood of bulls
runs through my body
anger, sadness,
and confusion,
swim throughout my cells

miles away my friend
cries tears into wishing wells
she too is slowly dying,
her faith has gone astray
strength is slipping away

selfish me
full of life unhappily
dying to get to heaven
living in hell

selfless her
dreading heaven
desiring hell
dying of sickle cell.

I do not, and I will not write for you.
(That way I will be content)
Instead I try to write about art
How do these colors make me feel?
Or that small, intricate detail which becomes:
Beautiful due to your consideration.
It seems as though it is always
One attempt or the other
So instead I try to write about that endless tunnel of water
In which I drown comfortably, consciously, continuously
All of these things, i'll try to write about instead,
But poetry is my sickness
I panick, and I cough, choking on something that isn't there.
I look away quickly as I resurface and remember:
I do, and I will write for you
(That way I will be content)

I’m on a countdown
With only days to live
Before that inevitable heartbreak will come
You are the drug that heals
But with destructive side-affects
We have days left
When you hold my hand and tell me it’s over
But I want to keep living
I want to run away with you
And escape all this
I want to have strength to climb
And to heal and dance
You have the power to give me more days
Please
Please give those days to me
I wish you could sacrifice it all for me
But then someone else will be in this bed
Begging for release from the pain

Take me back to the place
Where everything's okay.
Where a new day isn't a new illness.
And dealing with it does not mean
Losing every waking moment to insanity.
Where small problems
Are really just small problems
And not disguised as life long chains.
Where peace is just around the corner
And acceptance isn't an unattainable feat.
Where you can do ordinary tasks with ease,
And where death isn't such a tease.
Where your mother's hugs are
The only medicine you'd ever need.
Take me back home, take me home please.

I wrote a poem about Alzheimer's..


Too bad I forgot it

He's found himself in the closet
After he lost to himself in a game of tic-tac-toe
And tied his lobster bib tightly
Then hid his cheat sheet, for the pop quiz he knew was soon to come

It's curtains for her
She let the cat out of the bag
And now she's up **** creek with ****** for paddles to go **** herself with
Right in the birth canal

Then we'll auction off the ******
We'll pass them off as European defibrillators
Maybe some extremist will want them
If we spew out enough mindless dribble

The All Time ****-Show is about to begin
We have
The Chronic Masturbater
The Hypochondriac
And The Pathological Liar

It was either sometime yesterday
Or sometime tomorrow
Or was it sometime today?
That you were all going to make fun of the boy with the cleft lip down at the laundromat?

Out of the three of you The Pathological Lair sticks out like a sore thumb
I can tell he was the runt of the litter
Who always bites off more than he can chew

I see the Hypochondriac has convinced himself he has eczema  
He rattles off all his symptoms
Inordinate filibustering  

Now there's the Chronic Masturbater
He looks like he's over the hill
He's only twenty one
But the blue circles under his eyes and the deep defined lines on his forehead denote his inelegant aging

I sign all your lives away in my horrible cursive
And now you belong to the ragtag trigger-happy posse of gun-jumpers
My billfold his happily filled
So I must go do some reconnaissance
Spy on those who have quit their day jobs
The fish out of water

You must find that thing that really rolls off the tongue with a nice ring to it
******!
*******!
*******?!
....*******?

No...
Go hang youself with dental flossed you home-schooled fool

Indentured servants we're just an after thought

9/8/14
with a toothbrush jammed down my throat,
i wonder what it feels like to touch your hand.
i wonder if you'd do that for me
just for these times, i promise

on the bus i placed my hand beside me
and waited exactly 3 minutes.
i wished something would happen.
after that, i realized.

my stomach, as if it were on fire,
i wonder why i did this.
which part of me did this,
and how do i ****** that part

i'm sorry it comes out in places i wish it didnt,
but it needs to go somewhere.
i know i have the sickness,
but we have to pretend that i don't

formless,
i find shape when the lights turn on again.
please don't do that.
please let me remain formless forever

I want to feed the world,
feed them my energy,
feed off me and I will enjoy,
grow off my spirit,
eat past my body,
gnaw on my bones,
**** out my marrow,
use my strength as your own,
I have no need.

Disturbing as it sounds, you will surely enjoy it.

Wandered to the show, a gut full of liquor.
Little did I know, I was getting sicker.