What am I to do to fill this gap inbetween us. Maybe I'll fill it with the trash I have laying around my room, or in my soul. Maybe I'll fill it with a million hours of occupation, money, and material objects. Maybe another could fill it with their baggage and sadness, their big eyes with questions of doubt and love.
But no, don't you dare trust a thing I say, because I have not a clue what could possibly fill a hole the size of the universe.

She awoke that morning
saddened by her failure,
at the fact that air still moved
through her delicate lungs.
Alcohol lingered on her smiling lips
from last night's fit of sadness
and
cuts lined her forearm,
but still no one knew.
No one knew that the girl with the pretty
smile wanted nothing more than to end her
perfect
little
life.
-o.b

the wind brings you to me in a whisper.
hushed noises breathes wisps of
poison into my ears.

i can't helping listening to,
the sin, the sin.

you are a flower, a shadow, my reflection in the mirror.

but i didn't let you in,
i didn't breathe the breath, you haven't touched my skin.

venom courses, passively forces
you into my blood.

i didn't wish you here, god didn't put you near.
poison, poison, you are a flood.

I can’t help feeling like we treat people and words like trash.
I love you’s go in recycling.
Tinder messages in the garbage.
And all of the memories and dreams we shared together end up
rotting in piles that let off a particular kind of smell.
It permeates your nostrils
no matter how you try to escape it.
2.
I felt like a piece of garbage today.
3.
I’ve felt like a piece of garbage every day since we broke up
4.
Better yet I felt like I was left on the sidewalk;
discarded for someone else to deal with.
I was your dining room table
a bit scratched up and bruised
but still solid
still standing.
Now I’m alone on the sidewalk watching
as people pass me by-
Me wondering: if I still had value
would someone have come to rescue me by now?
5.
I still have a hard time imagining how
I would fit into a new space.
It seems like an impossible thought.
I find the self deprecating thoughts come faster
cheaper
easier
I’m waiting for garbage day to come.
For the anticipation to end.
To have an answer.

If it's old, or if it breaks,
Don't think twice, throw it away.
Bigger, better, nicer, newer,
Tablets, phones, and computers.
Houses, cars, husbands and wives,
Nothing's good enough
in our disposable lives.

We're taught to hate imperfect things,
Taught to replace and throw away,
Taught to wish for better,
Never settle for less,
Our disposable world
Accepts only the best.

And we wonder why
We're ashamed of our flaws
And why we're insecure
But it might be because
Our disposable world
Says we're not good enough
So what should be pride
Turns into disgust.

We are worth so much more
Than all items combined
We were born good enough
But we fall for these lies.

We aren't mass produced,
We are one of a kind.
So the disposable world rules
Do not apply.

i look at you and i’m wondering if you feel angry or cheated
(i know i do) because you threw all of us away
for the new unknowns
but the unknown never came
and all you're left with is the same people
but not the same friends.

"strange"
                                                 is declared
                                                  of person
                                         who rationalizes
                                                that­ matter if
                                         non-human
                                         non-animal
                                         non-living
                                      merits recognition
                                      as being good
                                      on it's own

                                      but really      
                                         are we
                                         the ultimate stewards
                                               of absolute purpose?

                         what confirms                      our judgement

                                        in deeming what deserves
                                             to exist for it's own
                                             and what belongs
                                                 to our means
                                                           ­                 and ours alone?

                                      is it so fantastic
                                                  to suggest
                                      that by some means of
                                                           indefiniteness
                                                  ­of intangible
                                                                ­            comprehension
                                                all matter
                                       is fundamentally intertwined
                                               in the sense
                                            everything is stardust
                                             created by
                                                                ­   the universe's omnipotent hand?

                                      don't you
                                                 ever get the feeling
                                      inside of your conscious
                                                       ­           too?

                                      doesn't your awareness
                                               ever whisper
                                                   as a sentience
                                                you have an obligation
                                                from some unspoken contract
                                                    sign­ed before birth
                                                  to uphold the integrity
                                                  of everything
                                                  that­ inhabits this earth
                                                       whether or not
                                  it thinks in the way                                       you do?

                                      for what purpose
                                           we exist assembled into
                     abrupt                 profound               togetherness
                                      remains       ­      undecided

                                      earth's fabrications
                                                 will survive
                                               harmoniously
                                      but
                                will you
                 do the same?

1945

when the word flits off their tongue

a b u s i v e

it will taste like 3 days gone sour

like the lick of a catch before sacrificial slaughter you will caress

it and bury it in the backyard

you will let their lips cradle your neck like a baby while the ship slips under

slowly, willing


they

laugh you off like an old acquaintance

burn curses into you

make you pay sorry as toll tax till the end of time how could you have been

so

destructive my sweet nymph

my eternal beam of light they will laugh you off as a lying child tried like a old witch


your last lover, the one before she

the one you still choke on every time you purge your body

clean of the sin of nutrition

tells you that you and them were not inherently bad

but together an abuser's tale

do substances take responsibility for the damage they

cause together?

did the two uranium nuclei know they would call their honeymoon hiroshima

how atomic the love must have been

and oh, baby

how so catastrophic




the consequence.

Detritus beside the road.
*What have we become?