Despite my efforts,
I burnt the cookies.

Ate them anyway.

You used to be the man of my dreams
Now you're the man in my nightmares it seems
There was once a time when you would hold me tight
But now your embrace only fills me with fright
With your words like swords dripping with spite
My chronic demoralization is your delight
How could our love bring us so much pain
When both of us hurting is making us insane
Must I step up to be the bigger person here
When I know that letting you go is facing my fear

You thought you knew anger,
but it was spite in a thin foil wrapper,
poised like candy,
poisoned with tiger's whiskers.

Harbored depression since elementary,
but didn't know the weight till it was
in your stomach and your fists
and you cringe with pain
every time you talk.

Relieved to hear somebody say they can't
give a **** about what you feel like.
Medicine; snake oils,
cured to hear that you can't
give a **** about what I feel
like anyways.

God graced us with it's absence.

Thought you knew absence
middle school crying
in bed over how insignificant you are,
but bitter nihilism
dropping out of college twice
taught you emptiness.

Keep thinking that thought uncovers
more direction and technique,
beauty through function,
but
John Cage is meaningless as a system
and chaos as a instrument of
wonder and progress.

The amateurs think
about what the legends do.

Why are you so bitter old man?
So nihilistic, so feeble and empty...


Was it the strangers? Friends?
The way everyone seems to disappoint you
without hesitation or fail?
You hate strangers.
You hate people you've
never talked to
and afterwards hate them with deeper insights.
You hate the things you see in them, in yourself,
and it disgusts you in the way only you can disgust
yourself, in the way only humanity can disgust you.

How'd you get so mean?
You'd rather people died than left you,
and sometimes they can do both
and you really don't care.
Empathy from you for these ******* strangers,
is like trying to pull a rabbit out of a hat.

Believing in nothing.
Nothing is a belief.
Nothing as a belief.
Belief of nothing.

The way it drags on a vowel
like Nicholas Cage screams.
You're accustomed to failure, loss,
defeat and fear.
You cling to what you have left
desperately
like a dying man
clings to his bedsheets.

For mercy.

Seeing all these words
Written in spite of our latest
Mothers
Haters and
Lovers

Makes me realize:
Writing is not a cure
Writing does not help

Poetry will not close the door in his face
Poetry will not tell him "no,"

These words do just the
opposite

Telling our latest
Mothers
Haters and
Lovers

They have caused
these words,
once beautiful,
to become

Tainted.

I engaged with ghosts.
I entertained notions bold.
I questioned my morality,
all the while promising my life away, happily.
So silly of me to promise what I did not have.
So reckless of me to treat his heart like a game of *** for tat.
God, forgive me.
I deserve to know this pain,
this tragedy coursing,
isolating,
haunting me with all we were to be.
Please heal him of all I've done,
and all the ones before me,
before my knife plunged.
I wonder why my heart was ripped out of my chest..
So easy to forget that I carved out his own.
God, cleanse me of all men who have wounded me.
Let me see them for who they were, lovely, broken people.
Restore my framework,
my bones battered and bruised.
To you, I release all fear and rage,
to be present in this day, anew.
God, forgive us,
restore us,
I implore you.
For every person on this Earth today
who sheds tears, dismayed,
who have not the strength to pray..
Heal us of what causes such fear and pain in the first place. I thank you.
In Jesus's name I pray.
Amen.

You can take your spiteful words
and shove them up your ***
when it comes to taking **** from you
Sorry, but I'll pass
because I've accepted hatred
and hurt, pain and depression
and i'm getting sick and tired
of writing poems as confessions.
So *******
I'm tired of your ****
my feelings are a fire
the flame has been lit.