Perfection,
  Trying to fit some kind

of cookie jar

Art,  Trying to break some kind of
   cookie cutter
with scissors too sharp
you always get it too hard

And then it all breaks through
like the blue blood bleeding red through

And they say you're revolutionary
but it was just temporary

art is imperfection, inherently imperfect
   but, man, that's what we're trying to do
      You took the thought out of it
         you took the hate out of it
           now you've sold it out, the exploited's all it is

what I want would weaken whatever we wish we'd finally win
fighting for false expectations, failing, and failing again

The girl stares at her screen for inspiration
       but when she finds it
       don't know that she finds it
       she feels it, she feels it
       but words only betray you, if they're only sentiments.
       facts are more constant but you never feel them
       feelings hurt harder when you never shield them

Nothing is constant

you're not a                   i don't care
      don't even fool yourself; you're not even an artist
      don't wave no black bandana, you're not an anarchist

Just a basketcase, wrecking her every space

Melodramatic
staring up into the sky
trying to find meaning where it doesn't exist

i am...

A-bstractly addicted to absolute abuse
B-y basketcase boys with nothing better to be
C-autious when I caught chaos
D-riving me delutional day by day
E-ven when everyone echoed into my ear
F-uck this familiar fatal feeling
G-oing after guilty guys
H-ardly having healthy habits
I-njuring my inner innocence
J-ustifying jaded *******
K-indly killing all
L-ackluster lovers so they dont
M-ention me making mistakes
N-ever not nervous
O-ver obsolete oblivion
P-inky promising people to stay
Q-uietly questioning my
R-eason to resolve all emoitions ripping right from my
S-tomach snaking their way to satisfaction
T-hrough tounges I never even wanted to taste
U-nable to grasp unhappiness
V-isiously turning up the volume
W-aiting for any kind of wasted warmth
X-eric eyes
Y-et again teary
Z-oning through endless time

until i'm right back where i started...

i am losing faith, feel like a disgrace,
always so quickly replaced, by a pretty face.
i'm a basketcase, everythings a waste.
tell me this is not my faight?
heart full of pain, eyes full of hate.




tell me its not too laight, after the damage that has been done.
i know she lurks in the shadows, hoping youl tell her shes the one.
i am full of insecuritys, and now its hard just to live,
my love and these lyrics, are all that i have to give.

the green eyed monster takes over, im a disaster.
my hope is fading, faster and faster.

and she creeps in the shadows like a volture,
and i could not feel smaller. just waiting for a
chance to take you away. i hope this love is enough,
i pray that my baby will stay.

take me back to the start
where we were a fairytale, just you and me.
when i didnt have to live in fear, pain and misery.

when the trust wasnt broken, we have so much history,
but now i feel like im lost in all of this agony.

It seems every day,
In some way,
I become more like my father.

I remember telling you I was never gonna be like him.
I remember you telling me that you'd never be like yours.
And I remember thinking
"But your father isn't so bad at all."

I remember that, at the time, I felt ridiculously guilty for thinking that.

I don't feel so bad anymore.

I am becoming more like my father,
Because it feels like I'm constantly breaking promises
To people who were stupid enough to think
That I would keep them.
Because I am constantly breaking promises
To people who were stupid enough to think
I'd always love them.

The reason I am not like my father,
Is because I was stupid too.
It's because I was also stupid enough
To think that I could keep those promises.
I was stupid enough
To think I'd be able to love those people forever.

But, the problem is,
I am horrible at forgiving,
And I'm even worse at forgetting.

I remember one of the promises I made to you.
It was that I would always think fondly of you, no matter what.
Even if we stayed friends.
Even if we drifted apart.
Even if we never ever spoke again.

Today, I remembered how very much I hate you.

And today I also thought, verbatim,
"At least I don't look like an unfortunately pear-shaped crypt keeper like her."

I like to pretend that I didn't start hating you until a little towards the end of last year,
When I started dating the boy I've loved for more than a decade.

I like to try to convince myself of that.
I like to pretend that if that's how it happened, then I can act like I was a good friend, a good person, for a little longer than I was.

But the truth is,
I remember the day I started to hate you.

I remember when one of our mutual friends asked
If I still had a crush on "that guy from fifth grade".
I tried to tell her I didn't,
But that was a lie
And everyone involved in that conversation
Could tell
From how red I was turning.

I remember how deeply she frowned.
I remember her telling me
That you liked him too.

I remember how angry I was.
I remember almost throwing up.
I remember trying to convince myself
That it wasn't true.

I remember asking you.
I was laughing.
I was trying to act like I didn't believe it.

I remember you telling me it was true.
I also remember you telling me that you weren't going to act on it
Because of your "daddy issues" and your "trust issues"
And that even though you liked him a whole lot,
And lots of people had told you that he liked you too,
That you didn't really trust him.
"Besides," I remember how sweetly you smiled when you said this,
"It won't last long. And I kinda like watching him squirm."

You were trying to joke around,
You thought it would make me laugh,
Becquse at that point
I was kind of known for my dark sense of humor
And violent tendencies.

I remember how angry I was at you.
I remember wanting to scream at you.
I remember how hot my tears were.
I remember exactly what I wanted to say.

I wanted to tell you that there was no way you could possibly ever love him the way I did.
I remember wanting to tell you that I didn't care how close you two were, how well you knew him.
That I didn't care if he loved you or whatever.
I wanted to tell you that you could never ever possibly even imagine to care as much as I did.

You were too dishonest.
You were too fake.
You were too normal,
And I wanted to say that there was no way a ******* normal person
Could even fathom possessing
More love than I did.

But all I said to you,
After being too quiet for too long, was
"I have to go."

I remember rushing into the bathroom.
I remember throwing up.
I remembering sobbing on the bathroom floor for thirty minutes,
And when I went back to my class,
My teacher set me to the guidance counselor.
I sat in there for an hour and a half.
I refused to talk the entire time.
She ended up calling my dad,
And telling him that I needed some type of professional therapy
And that I should probably see a psychiatrist too.

What I remember that I didn't tell you,
Or anyone else, for that matter,
Was that I was sure that I would lose this.

Because you were, at this time, prettier than me.
And I was so sure he would fall head over heels for you.
And I remember thinking "How could he not?"
Because you were smart
And confident
And funny
And friendly
And charming
And nice,
And wore normal clothes
Like a normal person
And liked normal things
And had a normal family
And a normal house
And a normal life.

And isn't that all anyone would want?
Someone normal?

Because I sure as hell wasn't normal.
I was morbid
And spazzy
And I only ever wore black
Or dark red
Or dark purple.
And I carried around stuffed animals and dolls
And hid them in my locker or backpack
So people wouldn't think I was a complete basketcase.
And my mother was dying,
And my father was an alcoholic,
And my older brother was violent and angry
And I was the one raising my little brothers
And I always had bruises and cuts and scars
And I would only pretend to eat.
I didn't always have a house to live in
Or a bed to sleep in.
I even slept in the park
Across from the movie theatre
A few times.

And I was so sure,
That if you didn't already,
That you would absolutely love him.
I mean, how could you not?
He's sweet
And handsome
And kind
And smart
And polite
And (usually) gentle
And funny
And compassionate.

Before I had met him,
I didn't realize how drastically a person's eyes change in shade
When they care about someone
And that someone is hurt.

I didn't realize
How powerful a person's voice could be.
How a smile laced between words could make you feel like flying,
Or how being able to actually hear someone out up their walls
From how they're talking to you,
Can make you feel like you're dying.

I quickly learned what it felt like to love someone,
And to lose them,
Without even ever really having them.

Sometimes, I miss you.
Or, I miss who I thought you were.
Who you pretended to be.

I look at him,
And my heart bursts with color.

I think about you using him,
And I am drowning in inky, black rage.

I think about how he loved you,
And it kills me.
If the bravado you put on
Had really been who you were,
There would have been no way
That he would love me.

But that wasn't who you were.

You and I are very similar.
I mean, there has to be a reason he loved you then,
And me now.

Neither of us know how to successfully create bonds between ourselves and other people.
We don't know how to become a part of someone else.

The difference is,
You pretend to.
You create bonds,
So you can use people
To meet the ends
You so desire.

While I,
I tell them how badly it could go.
How I might not ever be able to entirely accept or believe that they love me.

The difference is,
You don't know how to create bonds.
So you make them for the sole purpose of using people
As though they are objects.
As though they are a means to an end.

And while I do not know how to make bonds,
I want to.
I desperately want to.
I don't want to love the people I love from a distance.
I want to love them up-close,
In real-time.

I want to help them.
I want to nurture them.
I want to make them smile.

The difference is,
I admit I'm a monster.
But at least I have a heart.

While you,
You are a monster that is pretending to be a person.

don't ever forget
to drop to your knees

and be

grateful
for opportunity
lowered by winged white
into laps lonesome

this chance
this life

yes, free will
is yours as well
but, these moments
the not-so-subtle nudges
and the whispers that surf the wind
after it stands still for - so - long

don't forget
to be grateful
for that

could-be bestowed upon us
marked, holy

we are pocket blooms
of clover fields
lucky

the fates toil not
this hard
unless

sacrosanct potential brims
not just for us - but, to share

there will be so much
it will overflow out of us
and we will laugh, humbly
at scarcity-fraught mentalities

so, thank you
for being exactly who
you are:

beautiful boy
with tarnished halo

(no worries though -
I will lick it till it spit-shines
and polish on my gold-flecked fleece)

and your basketcase
of trinkets blathering
contents crooked
and bizarre

(BTW, I still loves them)

if you were not, precisely
these psyche spatters
and glitch patterns

you would not
have given me
a second glance...

we will make picnics
out of our spastic baskets
finding we can dine on the grist
and feed the eyes
of our hearts

so, I say yes to us -
no matter what
we are:

friends, editors, syntactic twins,
long-distance synaptic co-captains,
creative cohorts rapping across easels,
and perhaps even, angelic mirrors
worshipping at bioluminescent altars,
getting minds, hearts, insides glown
w  i  d  e open by white splatter streaks
blowing phosphor all over this space

that definitely exists
in us

...

I'm cool with whatever
though

:)

Time it heals all wounds
So they say
Yet, there are lazy afternoons
Where all I can do is pray

A fervid prayer
For your return
Left me a basketcase
Of slash and burn
Slash and burn

Yesterday but a memory
We frolicked, we loved
We're children at play
N tiptoed away the youth
Of our day
Day after day

Love, oh love
Where have you gone
Do you think of me still
In the silent reverie of dawn
Time it heals all wounds
So, they say
Yet the line that connects time
Could never feel this way

Where are you now, love
Someday
Somehow love
Will you ever again
Walk through my door
That way
The way you did before

Day after day
I pray
For your return
A basketcase
Of slash and burn.
Slash and burn

Alternately titled: Get out of my head mister chatterbox!

While inside me noggin legions
of monstrous demons abhor
protest being force fed
arcane and obscure
assaying into religious dogma
hence mind chatter goes full bore
thus crafting poem quite a difficult chore,
one lightweight bag of bones
basketcase weave gotta deplore,

nevertheless mine tincup rattled
courtesy garden variety eyesore
athwart slip stream
of space/time continuum
twenty two minus
seven years and fourscore
orbitz around black hole sun
scattering cremains galore
camouflage ashes colored like ****.

Upon prima facie first blush
me mind's eye all atwitter,
sans long forgotten
"FAKE" ****** exploits
set mum (chrysos anthem) all aglitter,

boot like short order cook I hapt tubby
quickly realized trumpeting collusion,
a near fatal collision course
with Matthew Scott's antimatter
caw zing friggin insomnia

finding ma noggin scrambled
likesome lithesome cockamamie critter
whipped into frenzy
like battered butter
holy grits, alm manned in fight of ma life

cause I haint acquitter
baa (jaw edge), ah woe cup feeling
hedged hog extremely bushed 'n bitter,
this raging red bull inside me mind,
now body wheeling wickety wack,

lichen to moss elf gut seasonal litter
bitta asthma - insides
got balled into wah racket
like quietly rioting unfetter
herd plain tennis (see) hens,

gone south tub bespatter
ear rilly jawboning jabberwocky
reducing gray matter,
and all flesh sundered
into meaty platter

to pulverized, irradiated,
cremated... faux fluffernutter batter
analogous tummy Aunt
Jemima's famous flapjacks,
she fantastically fashioned better

than Betty Crocker
tossing spatulated glommed
**** suitable as bonesetter
high as the Taj Mahal,
while she merrily jabbered,

her native patois singsong blatter
all this inaudible clatter
muffled 10,000 maniacs mad as a hatter
madly clangorous dinner cowbells
aroused bacchanalian sybaritic skitter

ring jitterbugging fantasies
of barenaked ladies doth splutter
as bedraggled, frazzled, grizzled...poetry
like cocky rooster that did stutter!

Knead dull brows knitted;
belief system I cogitate
gearing thee ordinary bipedal hominid
acquiesces to deck the halls
of the mountain (dew) king with boughs
of sister golden haired
sprinkling angel dust
from cremated remains
in bleak midwinter
unwittingly interweaving pagan rituals

tacitly accepted yet quietly jeered
as anathema to march of the kings,
who instilled obedience or death
which layman forswore, whence his loss
of life or limb as mass of cries neared
resounding like tortured souls
self flagellating their inherent
joy to the world,
whereby unsuspecting cynics among
the madding crowd paired
amidst common everyday folk

beckoning ad lib lip-synced first noel
extemporaneously grafting customs
taught when reared
as just a little drummer
boy/girl pipsqueak, since
straying from mainstream religious
parameters scared the silent night
with unimaginable ogres
on the warpath to smite mortal
man/woman with flaming torches
angering unfriendly beasts tiered

inside the city state panning labyrinth
ready for total mortal kombat
while shepherds watched their flock –
as the latter veered
away from getting fleeced
such as this writer,
who might be lambasted
for verging on the brink
of being sacrilegious and/or weird
after forking over a tidy sum
a million bucks? Not by a far stretch.

Please keep on the que tee i.e. hush
regarding this soupy poetic fabrication
bravely bursting buttucks amucks
thus haint wise to mess wit me
lest cha wanna split high knee
a fate worse than death
with hen whoopsy tipsy
daisy excuse employing
faux pas impairment via this Gypsy.

Diabolical harassing lurked
poised – ready to strike yours truly,
when he obliviously frolicked,
during his boyhood carefree
before the onset of self loathing.

Drunk with knowledge
whither hearing, vis (ideally,
liberal commentators I adore),
asper "NON FAKE") news,
more than weather, latest sports score
or reading, (yes of course
out loud applying index finger de rigueur
of right hand as pointer)
poetically mentioned once before
ditto via select publications
(oh...alright TIME Magazine, The Nation,

and/or Mother Jones) all of which boar
like a mellow red bull at four
after midnight, nonetheless, who decrees
(hmm... maybe ludicrous
to ask Jeeves courtesy deplore
able basketcase, but inquisitiveness persists
what body electric discriminates furthermore
freedom of what gets published, or
determines permissible broadcasts
made by Federal Communications Commission
allowing, enabling, and providing galore

of choice morsels pollinating
mass media buzzfeeding popular culture
additionally permitting opinions
shared by *******
investigative journalists,
putting life and limb at risk
nonetheless inherent within constitution delimiter
i.e. bureau to censor radical, subversive, more
treasonous than Socialism
with Iron Maiden on tour
must serve as kickstarter

to stifle: tyranny, mutiny,
anarchy, et cetera and shore
up defenses (perhaps in guise of a
reinforced wall) toward those who ignore
codas defining complex edifice of government
trumpeting defiance, uncivil disobedience,
insouciance, et cetera in an attempt to restore
totalitarianism stripping away inalienable
rights of life, liberty and pursuit
of happiness endowed by a smoothbore!