I'm a ******
I don't do drugs or drink
my only flaw is how much I think
I don't believe in God but I believe in me
And I don't know where I belong on my family tree

I don't propose that **** is based on a girl's clothes
I suppose I'm dumb or brilliant but who really knows
You could say that I'm narcissistic or have low self-esteem
with a girlfriend with a pocketless pocket and a head full of dreams

Whoa that didn't flow, that last line
Imperfect effort seems to be an attribute of mine
Look at this rhyme scheme, it's so diverse
I guess I can get away with this; I couldn't get any worse
One favorite, three favorite, fifty-four
Give me validation, I could always use some more
Hello, Hellopoetry! You've been so forgiving
of my beautiful poetry that reflects an ugly way of living
Tell me, tell me: Should I write more?
What if my sadness is gone, and my melancholy no more?
Will you still love me if I write about crinkle-cut fries?

"****. No more suicide poems, does this kid still try?"

Is there still a Josh Haines if he no longer cries?
Is there still a Josh Haines if he doesn't wanna die?
Is there still a Josh Haines if he starts to fall?
Is there still a Josh Haines if he gets it all?
Is there still a Josh Haines after every kiss?
Is there still a Josh Haines after he writes all of this?

Eh. Maybe, baby. Maybe.

You're transparent
But I've found that clear pages are very hard to read

on
        albatross wings
                                      i flew
                                            inspired to fledge
and grow out & off
                          my comfortable nest
                                                            my wings
        i did expand from small tight
             to broad - broad wide

thanks to you
                    who signposted
                             my wild flight of fancy
                                                             who fed me

from their private stash of goodies

                               who saw me fly up on the edge              

             of reason on majestic wings

                         if but for
                                                     a season.....
maybe two.....

I don't like to make small talk
But you make it so much fun.

I don't like to travel
But I would to see you.

I don't like human contact
But I'd run up and hug you.

I don't like emotions
But when I'm with you I don't know how to feel.

I don't like people
But I really think I love you...

When lamination slowly starts to creep
We weep
We seek
To release
We're meek
Helpless
Sleep sleeplessly
Terrible dreams
We seek what they mean
Froze
Stuck
In our lamination
Paralyzed in our dreams
Rainbows and unicorns were not in them
And if they were they were what led me to these nightmares
Nightmares when I try to run
Try to scream
Try not to stare at the rising sun
My lips blue
lying on the beach
Skin pale and sand smeared lips
Eyes unblinking
almost vacant, but not quite

There's still life!
My body rarely barely breathing
So still that it's eerie
My brown eyes almost vacant and unmoving
I know I'm there
I can hear the ocean
I can feel the morning breeze brushing my sand covered face and the strands of my hair
The problem is that it isn't me
There's no way I'm this beautiful or pale
Yes, I'm almost dying
But she's not me
Her skin is a white porcelain
Her eyes are the only thing of mine that's hers
Her hair brown
Her figure slim yet curvy
I'm in her body
I remembered
My body changed
But not my soul
This is me
The opposite of me
In a parallel universe who almost succeeded in what I did
*My soul was showing me what my other me did too

I need to get from Point A to Point B.



Point B is at your front door,

where I am standing with a tray of homemade of freshly cooked pancakes to start your day right.

I won’t forget the maple syrup.



Point B is at GameStop,

We would wander around the endless aisles as you go through the games you love, hate, or want to play.

And I would hold your hand, and tell you mine.



Point B could be at Starbucks,

I would order coffee. You hate coffee.

You’d let me go on and on about the book I’m reading,

You’d tell me your favorite books.

And maybe I’ll recite some poetry here and there.



Point B could be anywhere,

As long as you’re the one driving.

And I ride shotgun.



Point B is at that Pizzeria place you want me you go to,

I can finally try that pizza you were always telling me about.

We should order dessert, too.



Point B is in your bed,

where I would actually wake up beside you saying “good morning”, and not having to read it from my phone.

We would cuddle.

And exchange playful kisses.



Point B is where I want to go.

It’s where I need to go.

Point B is you.