some boy once told me
when we were 16
"the way i see it, it's either you or the drugs— and i know which one i've chosen"
when i remembered that,
i laughed—
because it's funny
how three years
can change you.
it's funny, too
because when i laughed
i blew
the line away.

i want *** with love
but last night we ******
and i felt nothing—except for
the hardwood floors

**** on my nose and question the ethereal depth of my love for Dark Matter.. the beer and the cosmic phenomenon. Ask me why you think we should love one another in the darkest prison, laughing at the ghosts, scoffing at the shadows, screaming in delight: 'depersonalized madness can't hear me now!'

Your pupils are dilated with panic. Too much coffee, you addicted, raging barista-wannabe. Too much indication that the owl whooting WHO is asking, 'who?' Or making reference to the World Health Organization and the spread of Ebola across the western sub-sahara SHUT THE **** UP, OWL, I DON'T WANT TO CONSIDER WHAT ITS LIKE TO BLEED OUT THE EYES.

Drifting along in life, driftwood getting paid to drift along as long as it can stay a bit past nine and help the boss close up shop. Dressing all indifferent as if black Urban Planet pants that require a lint roller are worth the $20 they charged or if the polo shirt you wear was really worth the 80 you spent recklessly when a previous boss hinted you'd breached dress code by showing up shirtless on the very first day.. you ate nothing but Mr Noodles and bruised apples for a week just to help a CEO make bonus on his margins and afford the violent takeover of Exxon Mobile.

SCREECH AND SCREAM LIKE THE RAGING TINNITUS YOU TRY TO DROWN OUT WITH STRANGE SPACE MUSIC from spheric-lounge. Is depression all that bad if cipralex makes your jaw clench as if it were overdosed MDMA? Perhaps I'll feel well on Welbutrin, smell putrid, feel stupid, noticed that my love life is just another betrayal by a loopy cupid, my Lawd.

I kinda wanna watch the Dead Poets Society and cry some more













                                               ­   and feel ok about myself










            and stop feeling so lonely inside







my own head all the time













and all the pain I've experienced, and all the pain everyone experiences, and all the hate and all the evil and all the betrayals and all the



              mad strangeness








all the dead end moments spent thinking


                           'it's about to happen'

with that little up-euphoria and a cup of hottie coffee only to have it sink again when it's all an



                  



                                       ­                  unrealized











dream


               for


                               no













                                                   ­     reason













and all the  





























                                                    distan­ce



                



                                













                                               all the facebooks










                                                      ­                            all the tumblrs


















    all the snapchats









                      all the xanax







                          









                                   all the drugs















all the





                                                           ­              sobriety
















all the



















                                                 'maybe tomorrows'




















                    all the
                                                              

­
                                                           'one days'












                                          I CAN'T EXPLAIN IT










all the banks




                         and



                                  all the houses








all the flowers looking nice and the niceness looking not so nice so the              niceness              of         the        flowers      



                                     ­       ain't

                                                       so

                                                               ­ nice



















































        ­                                    all the jobs





and




                                                            ­               all the laundry










all the money all the lies all the painful honest











                                                     ­                          truths









  all the cellphones and water



and the fridge,
                      in the quiet,
























                    humming





























                                   ­              humming































humming

























        humming

the last is first behind the door of
contented pretends, and all the
whatnots in the void, all the family
photos ripped with rusty angry scissors
of betrayal and defenseless death.. no
justifications, called his son Justin Case.
Aches and backs beyond the last belief it
was ever rendered slow framerates across
the landscape, all anger and beverage
-induced slutties.. skittles in the shot
corrections, as if the world around has
a way of saying 'sorry' when the fault
lies with but a little bit of bottle body it
never intended to swallow or wallow
whilst watching a swallow swallow spit.
are you listening yet? upset? p-p-pangs
in the lunar plexus?

The fading notes of youthful songs
Drift into the distance
Where fields of flowers are cast in shade
And their glowing petals sink and fray

Nothing that comes is worth its space
We are bombs that never go off
And winter comes earlier every year
It will, one day, never stop

Life preserves itself
In the face of mortality
It spins stories of afterlives
It is a genetic defense

Live earnestly and eagerly
There is little else to do
The songs of man will fade
And every art will die along