You built a house out of dominoes and Jenga blocks, and it still took you by surprise when it all came shattering down around you.

In all fairness, it’s been a long time coming.

In all fairness, you caught pieces, from time to time.

But you wanted to hold onto something, because everything you ever knew only told you that the only way to make a good thing was to burn the bad thing down, rebuild it from the ground up. And you just wanted to be able to be fixed.

People are not houses. They do not survive the fire or the burn or the smell of acrid smoke. They can not be reborn like phoenixes from the ashes.

You flirted with denial longer than you should have. You let the streams of I’m fine It’s okay That’s great Everything’s good. I’m okay. I’m fine. I’m alright. I’m fine, really. I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fine. bleed into and over each other until your lies clashed a little too close, and people started to peer in with suspicion.

Rule 1 of denial: deny.
Rule 2: lie until you believe it.
Rule 3: don’t let anyone suspect.
Rule 4: minimize the damage.

Your house fell into rubble with a phone call at the end of a good day.

Because it wasn’t really a good day, just a good enough day, because you ate lunch and dinner, because your hands shook a little bit, because you had only a small headache. Because things weren’t worse, and they could have been.

You aren’t fine.

You’re breathing, and you’re going through the motions. And you don’t intend to die any time soon.

You’re existing, but you aren’t fine.

A stack of dominoes, and a pile of haphazardly stacked Jenga blocks. So build back a complete house, without the collapse. Add in glue, or safety pins, rope. Take a step back, sometimes, observe. When you see a fissure, hold steady and fix the crack. Do not avert your eyes.

You are not fine.

my body is a hotel full of guests who do not pay their bill
room 1 houses a boy who wraps his hands around my throat as he asks about my father
whispers from next door ask him if he is really afraid to die
they seem to come from inside the foundations of the building
and his upstairs neighbours are always banging on the floor in the hopes that he will notice them
my walls want to cave in on themselves
and the dining room is always full of monsters
bathroom drains clogged with hair and ****, pipes moaning in fear
i am filling up and it is terrifying
a sick, sick man is squatting in the basement
all of my residents know, but nobody says anything
out of politeness or fear
until it is too late, until
he has breathed his infection into the air
then transferred into the lungs of my occupants
using me as a conduit

my mind is playing tricks on me
I thought I saw your face
next second gone, just like that
not the slightest trace

I must be going crazy
I thought I heard you call my name
but only silence greeted me
is my mind really playing games?

I thought I felt your tender touch
when I turned, you were not there
although goose bumps broke out on my skin
couldn't find you anywhere

you left me, oh so long ago
yet still you're on my mind
you'd think that I'd be over you
living life and doing fine

why then, am I seeing you
feeling your familiar touch?
why then are you haunting me?
why do I miss you this **** much?

I wish I could just let it go
banish thoughts of you away
I wish I could erase it all
or make it so you stayed

but I don't have that power
so here I am alone
hour after hour
trying to make it on my own

my mind is playing tricks on me
for here you are again
like I'm dreaming while awake
when will this madness end?

always the same, you show yourself
when void of company
when no one's here to witness
the way you come to me

perhaps I am going crazy!
it could be worse for me
at least one thing is certain
I won't ever again be lonely

I'll finally have you back again
and life won't be so sad
living in my crazy world
might  not be so bad

I may have lost touch with reality
I may be lost in wonderland
but I've made up my mind, I'm staying
reality will just have to understand

today  we had
chocolate cake
for breakfast

the really deep fudgy type
the one that the taste stays
in your mouth for a long time after
so that you still think you
are eating chocolate two hour late

the type your mum used to make
and have waiting for you after school
sitting there on the table, with a glass
of cold fresh milk, the type that made
the worst day of schoolyard politics
be forgotten as you took that first bite

that is what we had for breakfast today
that sort of chocolate cake.....
I can still taste it now.....

I’m old enough to buy a semi automatic
but not old enough to buy a forty.
That’s okay, my dad drinks enough
that he doesn’t notice when a beer
or glass of wine is missing.
I drink to fall asleep, drink to wake up,
drink to write. They say alcohol doesn’t
make you any more creative, but I don’t
buy into that when I’m four beers in and am not
just another suicidal kid on the internet.
He doesn’t care that I hurt myself,
just that I cry around him. I’m not
allowed to be angry, but he sure as hell is.
He knocks over my mom’s organization
and yells at me as I tremble, scared as hell,
ready to bleed to be forgiven. My therapist
says he’s an alcoholic. She’s probably right,
but admitting that would be admitting
a predisposition that should keep
me away from bars and liquor cabinets.
To be sober is to be vulnerable
and I’m sick of being scared.

"I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)"

it is funny, you will be dead some day.
By you the mouth hair eyes,and i mean
the unique and nervously obscene

need;it’s funny.  They will all be dead

knead of lustfulhunched deeplytoplay
lips and stare the gross fuzzy-pash
—dead—and the dark gold delicately smash….
grass,and the stars,of my shoulder in stead.

It is a funny,thing.  And you will be

and i and all the days and nights that matter
knocked by sun moon jabbed ****** with ecstasy
….tremble (not knowing how much better

than me will you like the rain’s face and

the rich improbable hands of the Wind)

i will wade out
                        till my thighs are steeped in burning flowers
I will take the sun in my mouth
and leap into the ripe air
                                       Alive
                                                 with closed eyes
to dash against darkness
                                       in the sleeping curves of my body
Shall enter fingers of smooth mastery
with chasteness of sea-girls
                                            Will i complete the mystery
                                            of my flesh
I will rise
               After a thousand years
lipping
flowers
             And set my teeth in the silver of the moon