He'll show anyone his body
regardless of solicitation
while his mind consistently underperforms.

He'll love you like a brother or sister, shortly before bastardizing you
out of convenience; becoming
the spitting image of his absentee father
with brilliant strokes of somebody else's effort.

He demands the utmost respect
while shilling out putrid morsels
of his own.

He's a collector of personalities;
obsessed with his own reflection
but ironically exists as a reflection
of his immediate surroundings.

He's the one in the group project
who gets half the credit
yet only wrote his name.

He'll stand up for issues
Until the faint whisper of a knee ****
reminds him he's not getting paid.

He builds a fortune
Just to sit on it;
A free bird in his own captivity,
Covered in hemorrhoids and
paper cuts.

He's a shadow you can see through.

A glimpse of glory
surrounded by stagnation.

He's the Belle and the *****,

A fighter that delegates every strike,

Lifts his finger
only to put it over your mouth,

Gives everything but college the "college try,"

Bleeds you dry without a second thought
because he's still processing the first.

He only loves himself but doesn't know who he is.
He's an apprentice of all trades
but a master of baiting.

He was all I had.

She called the same guy
From the same phone
He came to the same door
In the same clothes
As the night before
And a week ago
And his independence
Is getting old
Because he's hers alone
And she won't let go
And he won't let go
And I'm collateral damage
She also owns
She couldn't be less mine
Because I'm not the same guy
With the same ****
All the dang time
And it ain't fine
But maybe one sunday night
We'll love each other at the same time

A dream come true for one,
A living nightmare for the other.
A pedestal with a trapdoor.
Public isolation.
Trying to reach their image of perfection when your own is already staggering;
Literally losing yourself.
Diminished in the clutch of overbearance,
Collateral damage from two ideas of fairness.
Bruises on your spirit from social doors you walked into.
A ring with a silent W.

Part of me lives inside her,
Like a parasite of romance and memory;
The part that raises half her mouth when the joke's a specific type of funny,
The part that keeps her eyes locked on an empty inbox,
And the part that gives her boyfriend such a diarrheal aftertaste.
It's a tapeworm of longing and contempt that she's **** good at ignoring, because she turned an empty stomach into business as usual.
But she keeps it anyway, because something about it seems so genuinely human when nothing else can match the feeling.
Because when the jokes, messages, and boyfriends are all gone this little white ******* will still need something from her. It won't go anywhere.
The glamorously empty life of a parasite at the beck and call of something just as beautifully flawed.

Don't lose weight
When you're poor,

You'll need a new belt
You can't afford.

because when I'm with her I can do anything and when she's gone I'm pretty much useless.

She's like *******

because she's even better with a little ****.

She's like *******

because well, she's white. (But that *** is pure Colombian)

She's like *******

because even her scent is enough to make me succeed at all business.

She's like *******

because I've only hit it a few times but play like I'm an expert on it.

She's like *******

because anyone with a Scarface poster in their bedroom has probably not actually had HER in it.

She's like *******

because her head game could make my nose bleed if I'm not careful.

She's like *******

because I haven't slept right since I've been without her.

She's like *******

because I'd give
every dollar I have
for another taste.

If there was a cure for a broken heart, could I even afford it?

And how many times can the same wound be reopened before the error goes to the stabbed?

Where is the line between glutton for punishment and repeat offender?

How many opportunities have been missed in the ever-expanding search for blame?

What good was earned and what bad was deserved?

Why does it matter?

It doesn't. But it's there.

Where are you?

Her lips
bring me to my knees.
Light me up like kerosene.
And if mine were to meet them again,
I’d pull her in close and remove all doubt
that I can bring her to her knees just as well.

I love every part of her,
from the hottest crevasse to the coldest shoulder,
and if it were to turn my way again,
I’d pull her in close and remove all doubt
that my shoulders were made for her arms to rest on.

Her laughter is a music
that whisks me away to far off worlds,
and if a fool’s incantation will make it sound,
I’d pull her in close and remove all doubt
that I am a fool for her and always will be.

This city is full of fog,
my lungs are full of smoke,
and the irony of the gloom is that I ran back here to catch my breath.

I lost a battle,
but instead of a proud warrior's death,
I got 2 dollars in my bank account
and a futon that gives me lower back pain.

Time is the one commodity we all seem to have
yet the one we're most afraid of losing.
So when clocks tell me to go to sleep
instead of telling me the time, maybe I should listen
instead of laying awake giving it terrible Yelp reviews.

But I'm just out here looking for a purpose,
other than being lovesick with no insurance,
and in no way
do I have the copay,
but if you ask me, it's still worth it.

She puts her signals in a blender,
mixed to perfection.
Best chased with a bottle of wine.
The cheaper stuff.  She doesn't intend it to last.

She dances between moments;
memories that lodge in your brain and heart,
impervious to even the sharpest of chisels.
She doesn't intend those to last either.  Or does she?

She locks herself up high in a stone fortress.
Like Rapunzel with better hair, she keeps it all to herself.
It's impossible to climb, but I made it up there once,
because in those moments, I swear I could fly,
so I must have, up to the top, where she keeps her heart.

But those moments were just that.  Moments.
A fleeting wink in a brief gaze, from the best-made eyes
in existence.
And I lay now, in the trenches below,
fallen.  But am I defeated?
I can't tell because I'm still looking up there,
where her eyes pass to the next person who dare try to fly,
and I haven't looked away,
because I'm afraid,
that if I do I'll find
I left my heart up there too.

Promises are a liar's favorite tool.
It's the last thing they use to get you to believe them.
A hundred lies at a thousand words per minute,
all put into a single sentence.  A million times.

Fathers promise to always be there for their children.
Lovers promise it was only you, and the next one it's only them.
Drug addicts promise this is the last time.

Everything that was ever promised to me, I never received.
Because that is the nature of promises; a tickle of tongue in ear,
a muffled moan of affirmation, and a harsh wrenching of heartstrings.
Not to say I'm a victim of circumstance; I've just made promises too.

So you can promise me whatever you want.
I promise you it won't work.
We'll both be wrong.

A man in love is hardly a man these days.

We're supposed to play in sports, fight in wars,
cover ourselves in tattoos and bedsores.
Say "yes, sir" to the more stoic man,
find things to **** and never hold hands.

We are the knives at the table, not the big spoon.
Why are you still in her bed? Don't you dare say "I love you."

But what if I say no?
What if I want a hand to hold?
What if I have a better cause to call my own
and this light-beer ******* is getting old?

I won't buy what your selling.  I found a better deal.

It's in the way I shake instead of sleep at night;
it's the way I feel when I look into her eyes;
when I hold the door open to catch a smile,
and maybe I want her to stick around a while.

You think you know America? You think you know men?
Well I think you should take your guns and put them to your head.
A real man is one who loves without regret.
So I am a man, not your ******* pet.

If forgiveness is the greatest gift you can give
you clearly haven't earned enough.
I've never needed it,
now or ever,
apart or together,
hell, the only thing I wish for more than the obvious
is slightly better weather.

You might think you're a benevolent god
but the moment she leaves you'll realize
you're one of them:  the lowest of the low,
delivering the lowest of the blows.

I once lost my fortress in the sky
to a giant who moved in
and hoarded all of his gold,
all the shiny and delicious things
he could find, taken as his own.
And if anyone tried to take it back,
he'd swallow them whole.

He loved suffering, so he'd
watch them chew themselves for him.

And you know what I did?
I didn't forgive him.
I loved him instead.
I don't think my forgiveness
is a priceless gift.
If an ant forgave you for crushing it,
would you care any more or less?
Love carries much more weight,
just like giants, and ants, do.

So when the torch you carry forgets to stay lit,
you should've gotten a smartphone instead.
Save your forgiveness for the ants.
I'd rather have the gold.

I'm a sinking stone, this I know,
because I fell to the bottom and I'm starting to erode.
I can't feel at home
when she's not alone.
It's useless, I know.

I'm a cracking stone, this I know,
because I like to love until I explode.
And with no container there to hold,
I fall apart and my cover is blown.
It's pathetic, I know.

I'm getting better, you should know;
searching for a good way to cope.
I'm turning my wheels, mending the spokes
by inking my blood into words of hope.
I'm stronger than I know.

Tonight
I'm going to drink
until I feel profound,

and let unspoken words
carry me off to a glorious
drunken excuse for sleep.

Tonight
I just might dance

to four chords,
and pretend I'm just like
everyone else.

Tonight
I'll be cool, calm,
and collected

until I see your
stupid beautiful face.

Tonight
I'm going to tear
apart the woodwork,

because I've drunk too much
to let dead carpenters
tell me how to feel.

Tonight
I refuse to
feel a thing,

in order to send off
a year of feeling
too much for too little.

Tonight
I'm going to lie
until everyone thinks I'm okay,

simply because I can,
and it's the only thing
I'm still any good at.

Tonight
I'm going to **** the silence
by choking on my own words.

Tonight
I'll fight gossip with better gossip.

Tonight
I will move on.

Black out my eyes and don't let me speak,
for I know what to do with beauty
but it wants nothing to do with me.

Paint the sky with brilliant stripes,
to give a better reason for
my pupils to race at night.

Put her in the arms of someone else,
and ask me again
if I believe in Hell.

So lay me down and you won't hear a peep.
I may be silent
but I'll never sleep.

There's a place in the sea,
calling out to me.
It says "You're not as lonely
as you have to be.

And though you're on your own,
catching feelings that were never thrown,
look upon yourself and this will be known:
You have the purest heart beneath your bones.

So swim, swim out, and don't you dare stop.
Reach this island and climb to the top.
Here there are no worries of schools and shops;
just peace, serenity, and a nice clean drop."

"You threaten me with an end, but what for?"
"This is no end my friend, don't be a bore,
it's clear you've lost everything you adore,
but you've lost a battle and there's still a war.

So swim, swim out, and you'll find what you need.
Keep your hands open and I'll place in a seed.
Remember for what it is that you bleed,
and they'll follow you when you're ready to lead.

Because though you will be all alone,
catching feelings that were never thrown,
plant this here and it will be known,
you've found a castle all your own."

There's a place in the sea,
calling out to me,
where most men would drown
but I will be King.

What is the use of being on fire
if you can't share the warmth?

I sleep alone in a pile of ash.

What is the use of being a good swimmer
if you're too far underwater to come back up for air?

I'll rise clean soon if I'm not dead.

What is the use of speaking beautifully
if no one is listening?

I fall on deaf ears with clumsiness that would turn the drunkest men into ballet dancers.

What is the use in being useless?
What is the worth in being worthless?
Where is the end in a pain that feels endless?

Why do they care when I'm so careless?

I ask questions that have no answers,
and have answers to questions no one will ask.
If my life's goal was to be a soulsucking enigma,
then I'm all done now.  Riddle solved.
I could end the unknowable by doing the unthinkable.

But I'm not done.  I have two more things.
A heart that never did me any good,
and one more question with no answer.

How did you do it?
Cure the deafness,
make it to shore,
ember to inferno,
******* how?

I won't say I want to be you.
I couldn't without us laughing
an awkward silence
into oblivion.

But I marvel at your strength.
I want to prove them wrong
and have what I love
just like you proved them wrong
and have what I love.

You swept away the ash and I beg for your broom.

I'll make it out soon.
Until then,
try to love me anyway.
It's more than I deserve.