The pills I take at bedtime, blue as starling eggs
are supposed to hatch the inner me, crack
the thin blue shell of my social maladjustment,
instead they make me feel like ****
but I take them anyway.

Its not as if another color can make it any better
red or green or yellow doesn’t  matter
they all ****, I get **** results anyway.

the red make me angry,  
the green make me nauseous,
the yellow turn me coward,
afraid to leave the house.
The blue? They bleed
their color In everything I do.

These ******* pills are such a crutch.
I wouldn’t be surprised if pills were made
from dead men's bones, stolen from graves
and crushed into dust then blended with color,
red, green, yellow and  blue. Don’t forget
the blue, especially the blue because in the end

everything ends up blue,

blue as the pills I take at bedtime.
Blue as starling eggs.

Question those thoughts that
pop into your head uninvited,

shattering the silence.

Random revelations while
walking, reading or driving,

shocking zaps to the back
of your head like bullets
from a book bin building,
cleaving your skull,
exposing your brain.

Question them all…..

Are they directives from above?
From deep inside your ghost?
Your soul? Where do they come from?

Study the darkness of your pupils in a mirror.

Look deep and long.

The answer is in the hollow.

I have heard it said that the saddest songs are the most beautiful
and I have been drunk in the truth of these words.

Magnificent highs from dark verse, cruel electric addiction
euphoric bliss and shivering waves of arm hair *******
spawned from subtle cymbals and bruising bass.

this new addiction is a beast
and affliction is inevitable
once the luster is lost,

and its always lost,

longing replaced with needs never satiated.

but still I try,

there's a hole in my heart as big as the sky
its filled up with ice then songs make me cry

I’m just a tweeker
in search of a musical high

My heart is like a cavern of large familiar rooms,
with many more dark and unexplored beneath them.
To venture forth and see what lies beneath
is mostly painful, its hard to go without a push,

a life event, a heartbreak or such.
It is then I am launched through tiny crevices
searching for the way back to familiar,
further from the surface yet closer to the center
or beyond, to deeper, darker, thinner tunnels
leading to Hell; or China.

It is not the surfacing in China that bothers me,
at least I know I'd walk on solid ground,
instead I worry about weakened walls,
hollow spaces from digging and searching
collapsing into nothingness,
falling into emptiness,

a freefall in utter darkness for eternity
with no sound except the sound of hell approaching.