all open their eyes to fear
seeing nothing but what can't be escaped-
even in a world they paint,
what they create
can't get them out of here-
so we
tell stories
make up lies
make our selves feel better
  maybe in time
  we will find
  something that casts this cage away
  -forever
but until then we
search for truth
but ignore what's waiting
down at the bottom of the stairs
  they say
  don't stare
  don't focus too hard
  or you will find that your fate
  isn't
   going
    anywhere-

if you wake up
empty stomach
tired and hungry
and pour coffee down into the empty hole,
it will slide right through
- such is life;
sometimes
racing myself to the bathroom
is a more pleasurable experience
than not visiting those marble floors at all
that day
that week
those three weeks-
it is by far
the more pleasurable experience
to feel the burn in my stomach
the churn
and groan
than to have nothing happen at all
-such is life;
it is an odd enlightenment
to be aware of the pleasure received
from the release of what we spend filling ourselves up with.
we fill ourselves
we stuff ourselves
and we eagerly await to get rid of it,
and we enjoy it,
at least I do,
for although such things are not what we discuss,
it is what we feel
it is who we are
-such is life

it's not the sound that you miss
or the view
or even the touch
or the lips
or the sound of the walking shoes
rushing forward in a stamping blitz
halted by the shadow's looming lightlessness

its not any of this

what you miss is knowing

knowing that you're not standing next to the wind
or particles drifting through your hands-
but knowing
that someone is there
and they have no plans of going-

do you ever want to take
everyone you love
stuff them in a box
push them out the door
somewhere far away
where they can’t be seen or heard
and you can finally find some time alone
lonely
free as a bird

there is no guarantee that we get to cash in
when we feel the rug pull
out from under our heels and we start to slip
we get what we pay for
we get what we bought
and the life we have is really all we have
until it's not.

just because I lay my bones out dry for everyone to see that I feel things more than they ever thought I could
doesn’t make me special
doesn’t make me unique
does make me something good
or make my words a grandiose speech-
it may show that I’m week
maybe humble
maybe showing that I stumble on my broken feet
but why on earth would you take advice
from someone who’s foundation is defeat.

the truth is that we’re all hopeless to some extent, relating to something sad, something as empty as we feel
we like to feel something that seems real
something real to us
something we can see
something that we can look and and see ourself reflecting back perfectly.
but when has taking your time to look in the mirror for an extra half hour
looking at your blemishes, your skin decaying, you imperfect features, the shame lying inside your eyes, the unshaven neck, and your unkempt hair
ever brought you to any new place
any new hope,
or is it still the same-
and that’s just how it goes
when the only thing you can look up to
is a reflection that you hate to see
hate to be
hate to remind yourself that that is you
hate to remind myself that that is me.

thank God that I have a foundation not built on myself
on my own personal hell
and that although sometimes there’s comfort in knowing your pain is felt by someone else
true comfort is found by someone who can overcome the pain
someone who can overcome the mundane day to day
the pimples
the ****
and all other things-
still helping me to not look at myself so much
but to place my hand in his and
walk away.

I roll out of my bed with my lips dry clamping to the side of my sheets
Like the sand clings to the side of a wet cheek and refuses to leave
Without first scratching your skin, unless you brush with care-
But then that just gets it everywhere
And all over bedroom floor
And all over the room
And the tub
And the bathtub mat
And somehow in the bed.

I rip my skin off of my lip because I have no more motivation to lift my head and turn my neck to try and see what this world has to offer me
Because
To be honest I’m tired of dragging myself out of an eternally cursed sleep of finally escaping what this life and my work and my toil had to bring,
I am ready to be rolled over, nailed down, lowered, covered, and then lulled to sleep, and thereby escape the day’s tolls that bring me crawling back into my bed
Dreading another day
Dragging my feet.