Little frog
That's what was my luck
You were a little princess
Still remember your kiss

I went without breathing for days
Days after I was alone
Because I craved for a status quo
I craved for millenniums to stop turning
And I craved for the birds outside my window
(Oh those ****** birds)
To stop chirping
There is beauty in such stillness that no one else will comprehend
Much-needed stillness after nights of revolution
The sputnik in my brain is going places
But all I want
Is stability
For once in awhile

I looked in the mirror
And combed my hair the other way
And that was the most changed
I had engineered in days
I tossed my coins
To make decisions
And I lived on leftovers
From the previous summer season

Loneliness came in like a platinum plugger
And I shut my doors for days
I left logic on my front porch
And it grew tired of breaking in
I tried to throw caution to the wind
But I was careful to nail my windows shut

And so I lived within myself for periods
Not the person I used to be
And admired how the birds could always chirp
With such
Vigour
Unlike
Me

Some days to the world
I am the thunder
Clapping at the lightning I see in others
And on some days
I am the lightning
Striking out, in awe of my own strength
But on most days
I feel like the cloud
That holds within it
The sound and the fury
Of the thunder and the lightning
With no ******* idea
What to do with it all.

Making dinosaur egg oatmeal,
maggots in the kitchen sink,
ants on the floor,
flies in air.
How did I get here?
Žižek on the counter,
and you're trapped here
by yourself, kid.
Trapped again.
Here we are.
Communal
bankruptcy.

As I sit on my curb
smoking a menthol cigarette
I'm thinking of all things wrong with me
and the world.
Questions fill my mind.
Why is the world so cruel?
Why am I the person I am today?
Why do things have to go wrong?
Why cant I go one day without disapointing someone?
These questions will  never get answered.
I could do it myself,
just maybe I could.
But choose not to,
for the suspense of the lingering
questions excite me.
Taking another drag of my cigarette
one after another.
It slowly dies down,
these worries along with it.
Finally off my mind
until I revisit the same curb
and light up a new stoug.
Every thought about
the cruel world
and myself
rushes over me like a stampede
of horses.
Can I ever get a peaceful moment
with my cancer stick and myself?
But that's another question
that will never get answered,
along with the others.

i'm unsure what i miss more

     you
          or the excuse you gave me to be insane

perhaps
if there were spaces
     gaps left in the english language

places meant for characters left to be invented

maybe
if there were phrases
     and definitions
yet to be coined

i could finally tell the whole truth
about me
     and the monsters in my head