I watch the ceiling fan make redundant circles
As my head pounds in tune with the footsteps down the hall
And I don't find myself intrigued between the pages of my favorite books like I usually do
And I can't seem to remember what embrace feels like at all
I watch the clock tick hours away as I lay underneath my blankets, a steady shelter to calm my storming insides
I look to the dresser where memories of brighter days linger
And I reminisce on days just as these
Pressure just keeps getting stronger
And this is the time where angst seems to naw at my insides
But it's not like "when will I get a new job" or "would my parents be proud"
It's like an endless drizzle over my head because the clouds won't leave me the **** alone
Trapped inside of a walk-through town and people who walk on you
But staying in this dead ended mess that seems to be the only thing I know
I wonder if someday these walls will collapse on me and drywall will find its way into my lungs
I guess this how it feels to grow up

When I awake in the day, all is blank.
Pills, shower, school, work; a common routine, but one easily forgotten when you cannot differentiate between here and now.
Walking through the mall, wondering if I tumble over the rail in a haze of blood and screaming will I finally see stars again.
What a silly though; so instead, The hairs on my head are steadily ripped out in between my dull fingernails and wisp away to the ground.
Soon it leads to forgetting how to drive, to brush my teeth to speak.
Standing idly by while the world turns and twists and gravity keeps me grounded, but my brain is in another dimension, as an imaginary deity I cannot keep believing in.
Voices, fingertips, the trees and leaves all have it out for me, touching me and surrounding me until I collapse, into the street somewhere, late at night after the cars and people have all long since fallen under.
Did I sleep through work? Or did I even sleep?
Did I remember to eat today?
Slowly turning black, staring in the mirror with the lights off and I am in hell when I turn them on.
How many hours does one ever recall?
Thousands, some say, but what hours do we choose to hold?
Psychosis grips me like an angry father scolding his young child, topples me over like the Tower of Babylon, entangles me in an ocean of disconnection that ends with me coming back to the surface by banging my head on the door and punching picture frames.
When I crash my car into the ditch down the street and I feel blood trickle into my eye from the windshield kissing my head, I am not shocked, I don't even remember how I got there.
When I drown in cheap whisky and prescription pills, I fear not for my fate because I have forgotten I even have one.
When my lungs burn with harsh smoke of unfiltered cigarettes, I don't cringe, for my lungs only know to inhale the harm, and not breathe.
I don't know when I will remember to live. But I hope it is before I die.

I want to see my lipstick smeared across your collarbones
And your DNA etched under my fingernails
I crave you in ways that even Neruda could not write of
And with a fire the ocean could not even quench
And someday when the earth is overcome by android like substitutes
And we as humans are exterminated one by one
I'll remember the way the light danced in your eyes
and how our curious hands could not be satisfied by even the most all knowing touch

Why are we all so afraid of listlessness? Making the pin ***** but afraid of to bleed. Aimlessly wandering when we are not assigned to something. Always asking "what do I do now? Where Should I go?"
We are money hungry, complaining of lack of money when we do not act upon trying to make money. Complaining of dead end jobs when we could quite possibly do anything we desire. We are afraid to waste our time on dire things such as education and intelligence, welfare of others, and finding ourselves so we succumb to an ordinary life of living as others.
We are afraid to jump off the buildings, open the doors of perception, to be alive and breathe and bleed.
Afraid to come in touch with daily emotions, such as love (if that exists) and hate. Over analyzing of emotions break us down, to believe our own minds are corrupt. Being wide eyed and curious is now shunned and put down.
The cuts and bruises and scars we bear are to be covered, overbearing the experiences and emotion we feel.
We are no longer enlightened and instead put in the dark.
But not me. I am myself, I am a soul, a spiritual being, made of earth and stardust and filled with holy particles.
I am myself and my mind is not corrupted.
Like

I liked to indulge in frivolous things
Like waiting in lines outside shows & hiding in the back of Barnes and Noble until they closed
And engaging in petty arson
And now I forget how the sculptures that lined the walls of my literature class looked
Because all I see these days are the back of my eyelids after I know I should be awake
I'm beginning to lose sight of what's important because my eyes are being held open by constant irrelevant pressure
Why do people try to tell me I'll be made happy by cliche things I don't want
And the time period my body has been thrown into is one of staredowns and angst and waiting
When I'd rather just wait for you outside work than to wait for a 401k retirement plan
Because careers are a death trap that Kevin Spacey displays
And why does life seem like we only plan for the day of our death
Rather than to thrive in things like the curves of your body
I don't need to turn my music down or laugh any quieter
What's the point of waiting for Death in the gallows
When you can string him up by his ankles everyday by living

I've been missing you today
Missing is just a tiny sliver of feelings that burns inside for you
The ever smoldering fire that will never be through
Miss the freckles on your chest I used to kiss
Miss the space between your shoulders and your neck
When you'd say "sorry" and I said "no pity"
And thinking of how your face would light up when I played Lou Reed on our way to the city
And the seconds to minutes to hours to days to months I spend waiting for your touch upon my skin
And the seconds to minutes to hours to days to months I spend wishing I could feel it again
Miss the way words melted off your lips into mine
Miss the way you'd laugh at your own jokes while I stared at you awkwardly, trying not to smile
And these god ****** cliche poems won't show you even a fraction of how I love you
Lines have never done me any justice and I suppose they won't start now and I don't expect them to
So I'll twist this knife that's in my back and push the thorn that's in my side
Because I placed them there and now you're moving on with your own life
While I'm still waiting in the dust in which you left me behind
A song I listen to tells me "I am weak and therefore fold"
And between the verses and the chorus there is nothing left untold
So I'll keep walking through the valley, getting cut and bruised by my own hands
While my brain stays elsewhere and reminisces on our plans
My eyes won't ever stop ******* looking for you in a crowded corridor
And every time I down all these pills I'll always wish for more
I would dream of you constantly if I could ever get to sleep
And I would dream you never leaving, you staying mine to keep
This petty little letter will never fully sort this out
And I'll keep talking myself in circles until you know what I'm talking about
Miss the cold air coming through your windows while I smoked my cigarettes
Now I'm standing in the same cold air, unable to forget
Miss your brown eyes gazing on me, miss your speechless serenades
I can keep missing you forever, but I just can't make you stay

I remember the dry taste in my mouth when I watched my love fail to metastasize
***** and gritty, like sand in between teeth that lay like canines in the bed of my gums

It's like a double sided dagger, a viper with two tongues; They know the depth of your compassion or it goes by unnoticed
And just like love, blood can drip, lovely and scarlet, or it can stain, sanguine and tacky

My brain can not differentiate whether my affection is kept in a locket,
Or if it is flicked away like a cigarette filter, smoked to the end

I sorrow in days that I feel extinguished, the extent of my warmth is drowned out by choking mouthfuls of water
Instead of resonating flames licking and sweeping across the home that I find inside of you

My beau geste is shoveled beneath mounds of copper colored strands of hair and the smell of lavender
And instead of a warm body to grab my shoulders and collide them into a chest, all I feel is a silent covenant in the form of a cold bed sheet that my fingers grab when I am lonely

I wish one day to feel secure and at ease with my efforts to express my afflicted interest
My heart will continue to pump blood until it gives up and ceases to function
And all the while it will stab with every pulse
In effort to scream out my grandest soliloquy  

I can complain forever, about who can feel my love or who doesn't
And I can ramble on for centuries and scribe my pleasantries for you to read
But I can assure you one thing to believe, if any;
Not a day goes by where I can spit on the sidewalk and not taste you dripping from my mouth

since when did anatomy become strictly a school subject and not a ******* art? Stop practicing "oh no that's too much skin" "oh man she's a ****" "aw dude you can see her ******* poking out" "she must be asking for *** with this picture/outfit/gesture/whatever the **** it is" well I want to say I'm TIRED of the shaming, the judgement, and harassment of people, not just women but people, being themselves and showing their bodies. we are all the same, we are all human. We all have the SAME. BODY. *******. PARTS. And if you can't handle that, a fact of life that is in your face every single day, then what the hell are you doing? Skin is and will always be strictly skin; it is an amazing thing, protecting our insides and keeping us sheltered, so why are we ashamed of it? Why do we place bans and judgements and assumptions on something so beautiful and substantial to living? Why is it so sexualized that a woman can't even breastfeed her child in public without saying "ew gross I can see her *******". Who ******* cares? EVERYONE has *******, and ******* for that matter. I bet people weren't saying that in Rome when people were always naked because it was considered "purity" but now that is the opposite in today's terms. So many wonderful pieces of history are being watered down or suppressed simply because *** and ****** are too "touchy" of subjects. Well I will not let such an artistic, beautiful, and innate thing such as my body be limited to what someone has to say about it or who it offends.