it's highschool recess and my best friend and i watch the seventh-graders
from our perch as 'older boys' with minimum-wage jobs and harder homework. one is handing around a gleaming can of monster energy like the blood of christ himself and everyone wants some. they treat the factory-issue can with such tender care, flushed fingertips on cold metal.

"why are they so excited about a monster?" i ask.

("what does it taste like?" a wide-eyed friend's younger brother asks.)

"because it's novel. it's their first taste of freedom." my friend says, and
then suddenly i remember all the times we've done the same with our friends.  

first, in an airport because me and my shaking hands couldn't finish it ourselves. outside school, warm from the flesh of someone's school bag all day. under the table and the teacher's nose because i stayed up too late, comuning with other friends in the blue dark. no matter who buys it's always for all of us.  

("have a sip"-"i don't like this one"-"the juice one is my favourite")

like maybe the 58g of sugar and 600mL of caffeine is okay if it's split between us. like the sharing of spit is holy. i look out at the small crowd of seventh graders and realise they are just beginning to learn:

what is communion if not half backwash?
what is holier than ingesting your friends?
what is holier than killing your hearts together?

Act as if I could sell dreams
to an insomniac,
Or selling broken pieces to
a crack.
Cracking skulls to think
well ahead.
Arranging my plans in serial,
on the few crumbs of bread.

Why I ask the Lord for my daily bread,
to fill all my ideas. Keep them fed.

Seem to be a puzzle piece,
trying to find my fit
As I play such games,
finding humour from my wit.
Dressed for life, suit and tie
hoping it all could fit.
But life at times feels so much
like a job, but I can't even quit.

I'm over my head at times,
wanting to be an upright citizen.
Beating on myself,
maybe because I didn't get enough discipline.

Days I'm trying to train my mind,
most days I lost track.
Picture out my life plans,
still feels like there's a drawback.

Pressing the On and Off switch
of my mind. Don't know what's current.
Haven't paid the dues of my life,
nowadays I have a warrant.

Relevance goings irrelevant,
if you're not relevant to yourself.
Relatively speaking, I don't know how
to end this piece. So here's the end. Oh well!





But no,


Why must the end of a cause
not have you all standing in your applause?
Lord only knows,
why we're quick to pick out the flaws.

The pain of hanging over your jaws,
while I'm handing you a gift of my words.
Like the non-existent Santa Claus.

Spitting words to your face,
facts of my case.
Who runs the passion of his soul,
for you to chase.

Anyways,

This is far too long,
to the point I don't know where these words are coming from.
This rant is far too withstanding,
way too strong.

So to you all, I'm now gone.

I dreamed you kissed me  and when I woke, I was unkissed, and alone.

So darling, kiss me now, kiss me like you did in that dream.

Kiss me with the lips you used to spit daggers and whisper secrets, and soothe souls.

Kiss me like the sky kisses the earth when the sun sets.

Recoil. And recoil fast.
She was of simple taste so He shattered her veiny lungs with his spit almost effortlessly.
Under his weight she was stunted, her limbs frozen by the constant of his blarring audioporn.
At every touch she had to brace herself for his embrace.

the raindrops feel like spit.
raindrops are beautiful,
and so was your spit,
but only when it danced with
mine.