The first pang is small
Like the bite of bug
Then you can feel the pain crawl
Suddenly your dragging
The empty feeling lashing
In you gut

No more you cry
No more tears
The begging of why
Though the darkness never replied
The silence is screaming
You pray to just be dreaming

The silence is screaming
The comes a whisper cutting in
Those voices, you're wearing thin
The voices are deeming
Their scheming!
You can't take what their dealing

Just make it stop
Stop the shadow looming above
Your ear makes a pop
To **** this crud
You bet for any drug
But it's futile and painful

The doctor doesn't approve
Nothing can't be removed
You hear their breathing
Their whispering
You cry for their disappearing
But that dream isn't nearing!

Nothing is curing
Your only fearing
The sadness won't be clearing
Then you see the razor
A careless, simple razor
Maybe just a graze or,
A slice

Just one you question
And they agree
Just one run, now two
You can see the desolation
But they SCREAM to make it ******
The cuts keep coming through and through

They get quieter and quieter
You wonder their silence
Then you see the razor slowing
The key is glowing
A blood drop or two for their compliance
Nothing had ever felt tighter

You are no fighter
So you grip that razor tighter
Till they come back
If only the support hugged you back
Maybe then this wouldn't be so lonely
Maybe you'd be happy
Maybe you'd be ok
Maybe... You wouldn't be here in the first place

You don't love me, do you?
I wonder constantly. I know it.
Your love is immature and selfish.
I remember thinking love would be bliss.

You wouldn't mourn me, would you?
I watch as you do nothing as I die of stress.
Do my eyes look angry, accusing?
You don't help because you want to do less.

I'd be far too inconvenient, wouldn't I?
You watch me drown in my efforts.
I fully expect you not to reach out a hand.
I wonder if I could possibly think of you worse.

You wouldn't spit on me if I was burning.

I hate you when you are smiling, lately.
I'm having premature heart attack symptoms
Anxiety, stress, and PTSD are killing me
I'll rip the smile off your face and the air from your lungs.

I don't care that you're frustrated, lately.
Or did you think empty platitudes would calm me?
Tell me everything you plan to do
And will I believe you? Probably not, we'll see.

I'm tired of feeling like a glory hole, lately.
I'll pay for your comfort and deal with your lust
Nice to meet you, I contain a brain, wow!
And I'll use that brain to leave you if I must.

It's disconcerting to me that you make promises you break so easily.

Do you read my poetry anymore? I doubt it.
I'll wait to post this just in case.
Just how you gave me no warning that you don't care for me.
I'll give you none when we part ways.

I have this mad dream of getting the Ninth Symphony back onto paper. I want it to scream even louder because I put it in a cage. The cell will be overtly tone-deaf and unmusical in the most obvious of senses but will still roar without complete complacently. After which I will know that I am Man. After which I will know that I am God. After which I will know that I am Me. This is my truest and deepest ambition as a poet.

Well, until tomorrow when her name comes up again: Haha!

i could write about...
          coke cans & purple sin

but you could just look out of your window
and make up your own mind about that

   ….instead i'm gonna tell you about
an immense tremor that might be
beneath us right now
about how this calm street
might be flushed like a ****
to somewhere a little closer
to the

centre

of the earth


o.k you've probably already thought about that

      anyway i don't want to be morbid            

and      i hope we're here tomorrow

(you, me & the street)

then again there's a part thats curious
the drive by and stare at the
accident part


the first finger

in the last
                
flame

part


the part i put in you.