I'm looking for terrorists
In jeans, clean-shaven,
But with a bulging mid-riff.
Will he have a back-pack,
Carry a brown paper lunch
With a portmanteau.
I just gave the valet my keys,
And I didn't check his shoes
And certainly not his under-armour.
I live ten thousand miles away,
Just down the street;
So why hurt me.
We cheer for the Bo-Sox
Side by side,
He's familiar to my eyes.
I believe he was changing my oil
When I saw the sideways glance,
But I can't be sure,
When I don't know
What to look for.

It begins with the birth of an emotion. Unsure of just what the nature of it you shrug it off and try to force sleep. Suddenly you are aware of your heartbeat...
Breathing becomes uneasy and suddenly sweat appears upon your brow and your upper lip. Throw off the cover and then you begin to shiver ever so slightly.
Your heart is beating and its like a pendulum only you feel as if it is speeding up as the tempo of your emotions begin to unravel.
You want to jump up, you want to disappear, you want to scream although you do not know what it is you fear.
A feeling of lying in a foxhole, dug up to hide from the enemy. You lay there cowering yet you have no idea just what, who or why you are cowering from.
A shadow casts upon the walls and you cover your face...Shaking, shaking now, are they coming for me?  
Suddenly you see yourself as if watching from an overhead camera. You are invisible and your inner thoughts are easily seen. There is a lone lightbulb hanging on a chain bringing a soft glowing false illumination. You are in a fetal position laying on a cot and your eyes are darting left, right, up and down.
You stand up but you fear your heart will explode, so you cautiously move across the floor. Invisible prison bars hold you captive, invisible emotions are driving you insane as you search for freedom.
A fly is circling around and you can hear it as it takes off and then lands, rubbing its arms together as if ready for a meal. Its in the air now  and flying in disorganized flight patterns. You can hear it clearly and you can see into its bulging eyes as it frantically searches...for what?
Your heart is so fragile and its beating to the rhythm of insanity and you are hot and sweating...you feel a breeze ever so slight and you begin to feel a sub zero chill and your teeth begin to chatter...you bury yourself in the covers and then feel the need to run, to run to freedom...you sense yourself running in a maze only you are still standing still.
The fly is stuck  on a fly ribbon now and I can see its wings attempting to take flight but its no use, its legs cemented into the trap. Still its wings continue to flap...as if he will be set free.
The lone light bulb begins to flicker and your heartbeat begins to slow down as you inhale the dusty stale air.
A tidal wave, a tornado, these millions of emotions stop me from moving. The prison bars are coated with oils of anxiety and fear, unable to be grasped, held or pulled apart. Like the fly I am waving my arms searching for help, for salvation, for freedom from this albatross that hangs over me.
Sleep will come and when the sun rises the bars will be open and the day will begin anew. But the scars will remain as souvenirs from a midnight captivity in a prison cell, in a fox hole, in a bed, encircled forever by the emotional demons that have plagued me.

A standard man
This man we must remembered how would we have survived at the pool without his soda pops just a short walk to Mr. Johnson’s
Standard gas station always greeted by his quiet nature always seemed to be happily beaming his uniform his farm service shirt
And pants right inside the door there it set the big red coke machine setting so perfectly huge bulging with all kinds of refreshments
Especially Grapett Radar might have had Nehigh but we had grapett the man matched his manly station with easy conversation
And an easier smile his station lasted the longest after Beno and Rock Bennet’s went out and were torn down on the corner of Hickory
And Jackson and Hilyards going out of town on twenty nine east just past the Bear creek road maybe it was even his decision to tear it
Down but what a shame all that took its place was a bare spot we already lost the above ground swimming pool that was the
Unchallenged pearl of central Illinois now we have a ground level pool and some sheds to replace something that was so grand
This like Mr. Johnson he can’t be replaced nor would we want to they should name that spot his corner we can’t just keep losing
Great friends like him and Jack Jeffrey’s and others and seemingly go oh well there goes another one forty nine years that’s a lot of
Soda pop and more happy kids that was touched by this special man’s life he proved and improved hospitality over the years
With simple application to the golden rules smile a handshake service that was endearing Andy Griffith became famous for portraying
Such a man true to a fault agreeable principled a man that was a credit all those years to his community I will always recall him with
Fondness I was gone from here for thirty years but I purposely looked him up and was so happy to find him doing well the station
just a memorable mile stone in Pana’s history I know those long ago summers would have had a large hole if he hadn’t been at his
Post he will be sadly missed and never forgotten he had charm as long as a long warm summer day walk in kick back life even as a kid
Would slow and fall into gentle rhythms a cold bottle in your hand went well with soft conversation through the windows would float
The sounds of kids going full blast at the pool eventually they would stream in through the door take time making memories like so
Many of us have of this special place and this man just a gas station but so very much more an indelible mark added to your soul
While summer slipped by a marker shared by so many young and old just four walls where happy moments were made and will always
Endure thanks Mr. Johnson

I see you
          falling
               through
                   the purple air
                       eyes bulging              
                          teeth showing
                              like a blind, hungry tiger
                                      without a sun to guide
                                             without a son to follow
                                                  without day or night
                                                       to know the alligators
                                                        on the black river
                                                       in the jungle
                                                   where the russet snakes
                                                  wrap themselves
                                                 around your mind
                                              squeezing seeds from it
                                                      
I see you falling from
     the emerald tree, first
           clinging sanguinely
               then giving in to wind
                     and gravity, toppling
                      dropping like ripe fruit
                    splitting open spilling
                   your tawny seeds sharing
                your succulent flesh, flesh
               which feeds succeeding
             trees, trees where you can

sit to watch
             the tiger
                   and
                      the
                      alligator
                        struggle
                           struggle for
                              a place to be
                                     before they fall
                                          through
                                             the purple air
                                                air that forces
                                                 out the seeds
                                           seeds spewed
                                       on the green
                                    granite mountain
                                under the sizzling
                              saffron sun.

Once I saw an old tree
with a knot bulging in the bark,
so I tried to hack it off
with an axe,
to no avail.

The bark had been removed,
but no wood was shown,
only a tumor-like growth,
caused by a careless insect no doubt,
that realized it would not be a suitable home.

I showed my father the growth,
hoping he could save it,
cut out the bad,
so it would no longer plague the oak,
so it could be normal again.

He would not.
To do so would **** the tree.

No fiery fate awaits my ****** soul
In Dante’s infernal inferno, on Level Five
I will swim beneath the wrathful
To permanently drown, with bulging eyes
Gasping for a breath I can never take
The River Styx, the embodiment of my sorrow
Liquified unhappiness, stagnant sadness
My sin? To live my life with a glass half empty
Having found no joy in man, nor God, nor the world
Which has already left me feeling punished.
I wonder if I’ll get a break down there,
Or will I still have to work my ******* lunch hour!

Musing at my bedroom window
proscenium to the street scene
parents in the back room snoring.
St. Michael's sandstones frowning
at poor Sally shambling shuffling
from sectret shadow to moonshine
bottles clanking guilty glancing
bulging stout bag liquor dancing.

Standing at the poet's corner
spectators pilgrims commentators
ectoplasmic streams rise and flare
hot heaving lungs to cold dry air
they star prepare explanations
poltergeist premeditations.

A closer peek, whilst you dip for a change
Saw her Creeping Eye hunt and strip for yours
That her Morsels be a Morrow's Good Range
And Nike erupt lay her Hand once more
So surpassed was for this Triumph enough
Placed Corks on your Darling Secret indeed
To Sheath her Blade; As Sharp as it was Tough
Print her Mare's Great Passion on your own Steed
And now the Beard. A Mark of your Decide
Rely her Purpose of her Heart in-place
As the Rouse takes shape and Vogue seeps inside
Happy be her Lips inch closer to your Face.
Predictable. As your Plans to delay
Browse your Swollen Medal to the Bulging Fray.

It is starting again.

The busy people around me are too preoccupied to notice it,
Too engrossed in their own little worlds
to give even an iota of attention to its wondrous arrival.
My fast, disorganized thoughts abruptly come to a shocking halt.

Their own little worlds.

Little.

I am taken aback by that single word that stood out
From all of the effusive words inside my nearly bursting mind.

Little.

I dared to describe their worlds little.

Little.

I dared to speak as if what was about to come
Is larger and vaster in terms of size.

Little.

I dared to speak as if it was immensely greater
And more powerful compared to theirs.

Little.

I dared to spit the insult out of my mouth,
But I will not take it back.

It is starting. The time has come once again.

It was once tinier than a speck
But it is now overshadowing everything that its power can take.

Its underestimated power is surprisingly getting stronger.

It is fast approaching and now it has become unstoppable.

They are starting to utter curses and bluster profanities,
Obviously abhorring the unexpected turning of the tables.
In contrast, I feel inexplicably elated.

They are now terrified,
Their uncaring eyes instantly bulging wide
Upon witnessing the boisterous display of its power.
Despite their fears, I feel valiant, certainly brave.

They are beginning to scurry off in haste
To seek for safety and security as they all dashed
To find a confined place, away from the approaching force.
On the contrary, I feel safe out in the open.

They want to escape the settling darkness,
Longing vehemently to see a ray of light
Amidst the perilous surroundings.
On the other hand, I feel comfort and belongingness.

As they all hid themselves away from the inescapable reality
And decided to lock their useless doors and penetrable windows,
I stood still on this copious ground.
I remained stationary as the authentic rubber beneath my old sneakers
Strengthened its affinity with the asphalt ground.

I closed my eyes,
Not to depict a paradigm of disembodying my entire self from reality,
But rather to show how willing I am to accept what was enveloping me.

The monochrome darkness that it possesses was like a vast mirror
Reflecting all the hidden woes and sorrows inside my beating heart.
Then I realized that we did not just resemble each other.
We had become one.

While I disabled my sense of sight for a moment,
Shortly forgot the purpose of my sense of touch,
Ignored completely my sense of smell and my sense of taste,
The one remaining became prominent.

A clamorous sound filled my ears.
It was a deafening scream from the fearsome entity.
The sound banged my eardrums wildly but it did not hurt.
The horrifying sound resonated through my body,
Awakening every dozing part of my being
And eventually giving life to my dying soul.

The loud voice covered the unoccupied land,
Walked through every existing path
And vociferously shouted out its untold sufferings.
During that event, we were still one.
The ear-splitting shriek belonged to us.
The heart aching sound of sheer pain belonged to me.

I felt its blowing frustrations against my lithe body
And it seem like it was trying to knock me down on the hard ground.
Eventually, I realized that I was badly mistaken.

The powerful energy was embracing my tainted personality,
Giving me the pure comfort that I longed to receive.
This formidable entity was vaingloriously above all
But it crouched down to solace a pathetic being
Slumped deep on the filthy ground.
It horrified everybody
But it exerted an effort to put on its caring facade to console me.

I was nothing compared to it and I am about to prove it.
My weakness was about to show as it pooled beneath my lids.
Never did I try to stop it from rolling down my dull cheeks.
It was a bold statement.
I was not worthy of such greatness, nor will I ever be.

It was your usual way of displaying your immense power.
It was my ignominious way of showing how frail and helpless I am.
I cannot fathom how two different things
Could perfectly blend with each other.
I can never fathom how it was possible
But I will forever be grateful
For such a peculiar yet wonderful event happened.
I slowly lifted my head up with my eyes closed shut
And enjoyed the indescribable feeling
As I got soaked down to the core by its liquefied power.

Suddenly, its lengthy cane reached for the cold ground harshly.
I cannot help but flinch in both surprise and fear.
My eyes darted open in order to see what was bound to come.
The unusual-looking cane met the ground once again
With an indignant hit and it was more brutal compared to the first.

Its cane looked immaculate and divine.
It was eye-blindingly bright and such a beautiful sight.
I realized that it was not just a cane angrily meeting the ground.
They were rays of hope intended only for me.

Time passed ever so slowly,
As I stood alone at its overwhelming presence.
Never was I acquainted to anyone, but in this case, anything like this.
It made me feel important.
It made me realize that I am worthy of being comforted,
Being accepted fully as I am and being loved.

I thought it was everlasting.
I assumed its glorious might was never-ending.
The unimaginable power that it made me feel
Was something I have never acquired before.
Everything seemed real to me.

Now it was fading.

The people are slowly unleashing themselves
From their respective refuges while I still stood there,
Hoping for this force to regain its unfathomable power.

I was being selfish.

I begged for it to stay as it is.
I was about to get down on my bruised knees.

I hungered for the power.
I needed the power.
It was my intangible talisman.

The great force was slowly fading.
I felt a new kind of pain as it gradually departed from me.

I wanted more of the unconditional comfort that it made me feel.
I need more of the unworldly love and care that it wholeheartedly gave me.

My pleading was put to waste.
It started to disappear faster.

I cannot do anything to bring it back.
Now it was gone.

I was completely lost.

I am back to being weak and worthless
But there was an evident change in me.

I have become more pathetic in the eyes of many.

I cannot bear their unfair criticisms and overly biased judgment.

I wanted to dissolve.

On the other hand, moving on seemed accepted by society
As a sophisticated decision in comparison to the other.

I took at step,
Moving myself away at a distance so infinitesimal.

I took another and found a menial amount of strength within me,
Instructing me to continue.

No one seems to notice my horrible state.

That was a good thing.

I continued to walk.
My feet became steadier with each step I took
And I began to cover a longer distance.

As I walked, thoughts began to saunter inside my mind.

I will never forget the magnificent sensation that I felt for a short while.
I have to face the agonizing truth that it was gone.

It was nothing compared to paradise.
It was so much more than words could possibly express.

I felt utter remorse at its departure
But something tells me that it will be back for me.

It will soon come back and we will become one again.






I will be waiting until it rains again.

Yes,  I am fat and these are my addictions-
You feed me too much of your love at all seasons
Your wisdom makes my mind bulging with lessons
I am too fat now, you know the reasons

when was the last time you rode the subway without inhibition? there are city streetlights throbbing in your stomach that make you want to *****.
a father’s nightmare. a mother shrinking as you expand. a mother gives birth to three children all in the wrong places. a mother rides the subway. a mother rides the subway. a mother rides the subway.

a mother rides the subway & sees brown splotches dripping from the ceiling like crown from womb dripping onto pavement. hitting pavement like a cemetery. buried in a cemetery with grandparents. you knew your grandparents for a year before they died, or so you tell yourself; you did not know your grandparents at all before they died.

ribbons of newspaper cover the floor & litter your legs & your bulging stomach. stomach swollen like a stung ankle. stomach tastes bitter like rat’s blood. rats crawl around your feet, creating a set rhythm.
where is the f train & should i even be taking it. a subway rising in the dark like a mountain, like you driving to the adirondacks, catchy acoustic song playing on the radio. a song like the one you listened to when you were three years old on your parents’ bed, faces of peter paul & mary gleaming out from the television screen.

in this black jacket you are overheated but also you are too afraid to take it off. you are overheated & afraid & you imagine that this is what a death must feel (like). when a subway station roars it sounds like ocean.
(a body, a body, a body. bodies echoing in your head, your body all soft - too soft - your body crumpled on the floor)

bat on the ceiling
watching the cool kids smoke
I feel myself
divided by the porch light into
everything, nothing, and
the bat on the ceiling
12 minutes closer to
death by the cool kids
smoke,
sweet,
lips that can kiss
and wish death on me
smiling watching kids smoke.

have  you felt death before?
Penetrating deeply inside falling
like light falls different
depending on which eyes are watching?
you are the boy smiling in the morning
reading at the coffee shop
I am the boy walking by you.
which shade of black did you see in me?
was it any different upside down?

I came out tonight to watch you
smoking something sweet
maybe smiling
sleepy
I close my eyes but the light comes through
Penetrating
whether I said yes or not.
what shade of black is the blackest,
and will your answer change depending on
whether you are lying
prone or upended?

every time I wake up
I am different
depending on
the light that day.
I want to sleep
and know whether you are
smoking sweetly
or sour smiling wishing death on me,
I want to know for certain that
the color I am seeing is the
black that is blackest.
I want to go to sleep
knowing I won’t wake up
hanging upside down from the ceiling
blacker than I was before
knowing you won’t turn on the lights
to see me hanging from the ceiling
**** running down my legs
eyes bulging
blackest I have ever been.

I want no light to penetrate me
whether or not I say yes
not saying or kissing or
smoking or smiling anymore.

Childish churning chickadees--
chastened
in the dark denim confines of the bulging pocket.

Chatting urgently only in touch,
when their bodies grind together
where two or more gather--
like prayers, like lips do like hands do--

Uncomfortable shape-shifting;
feeling tense as legs shake loose the bunched up mess--
digging into skin like silver teeth or a silver bullet
encroached within a werewolf's flesh--

Musically: creating new timbres accompanying
suddenly aggravated gaits--
Ching ka-ching ka-ching ka-ching--
Fumbling in the darkness.

Ka-ching ka-ching clawing incessantly,
as the forlorn children of burdensome currency.

Soon, their captors retire to worn couches
to engage in aggressive loafing--
growing sluggish and torpid,
legs slacken and jeans loosen--

their lips at the captor's hip bones
spilling out their shiny contents like dripping saliva--
and down, down the children go,
choking between the cracks of the worn cushions.

Bodies shift, aching for comfort,
the farther, farther down they go--
their cries drowned drowned
by pillows acquiescing to mushy bodies.

Those that survive the dreadful encounter--
clinging to their prisons--
feel once again the stifling hands of death
reaching grasping groping in their huddled fretful presence

to be tossed loosely carelessly onto bedside dressers;
for a fate unknown to themselves, nor the hands
that toss them absentmindedly.
It is rare that they are brought to the light of day again.

(It would have been better,
to have sunk acquiescently,
down into the bulbous stifling purgatory
alongside their unlucky kin.)

There is worse; for those who are left in their denim prisons
are thrown--cage and all--
into the jaws of Poseidon's mechanical canine,
who sits on its hind legs patiently and consumes ravenously.

They amass at the bottom of its belly,
until intense gurgling acids arise,
reaching higher and higher til
all are submerged.

They are tossed in voracious waters,
twisting and churning and gasping and drowning--
holding onto each other like prayers;

feeling pulled ****** into the vacuum--
cries lost in the gaping pores of the gargling volatile beast--
lost, lost, lost,
in the cries of forever longing.

Goodbyes: *Goodbye,
dear friends.

I consume the scenery of Halloween,
impartially piercing the brooding gowns of girls who,
conforming to the timeless raindanced moons
and sweating under better moods,
fling their little masks into the void and
precious their skin melts into mine.
The groping feelers of insect heads impose
on a stark and fulfilled figure who
needs no bigger danger than the
needless release of a stranger's spring.
Flung like a frog onto the thorns of her
blooming petals and in ecstasy
deranged upon how sick and being free
she flies towards but up always reaching
unto nether maidens and whose heads have been raided
for the beds
which and onto the next ****** body they've sated
Time
and all the satellites of minute hands revolving
surround the years before you killed your calling
saying (please involve the fearful loathing
of the quarry which stalked by you befell me
to slay it and by bulging moonbeams
lick and lap of her that which remains)
and
by squealing pillow-muffled she
presses harder and into herself my shame

Feel the blood rushing into and out of your body
While you cling on to a reality that has become obselete
To a place where only harm can come to those you love and yourself.
Like you are being skull-****** to death by your best friend.

What would that do to someone like you?
Would you imagine it to bring pleasure of some kind?  
Like a rat trapped in a cage, barely nibbling pieces of cheese in the corner.
While eyes bulging, awaiting the next attack.

Struck by lightening of another kind altogether
The kind that leaves scars and are misinterpreted as happiness
Just more side-tracking and never completely changing
Into who I want to be.
Who I really am.

single dark hair pokes through
natural fiber button-up
clinging to a bulging belly
free from beer to blame
38 year old frame
six feet five inches
hides 300 pounds
along with two or three x’s
depending on the brand
and bran
and counting
longing for that ole ****** sheik
that only came with ******
and emaciation
information avalanche out of control
living with bread addiction
sounds silly after melting crack with vinegar
pop can spoon fed
looking at fields of wheat with contempt
longing for enriched flour
status vs station
am I built to die young?
like my fathers before me
extra fat on the organs
can only lead to uncomfortable death

Every morning she wakes up
to ringing,
to stinging
In each dream she’s stuck in a
Bell
Every morning she changes her band-aides,
and looks in upon her City
of Yells.

Here when one sounds the alarm,
the screeching does not turn off.
Here the bedrooms are boiling
and the sinks drip drop rocks.
Here no one speaks softly,
Here no one thinks through
their thoughts.

She wakes in her creaking bed,
Her hallow room’s walls cave in
with blood red
They scream so loud she doe not
know a word she has ever said.
She learned to accept it,
She cannot resent it,
But even the flowers here moan.

The City of Yells is in
passionate war
And the rebels are beyond
moving gently.
The City has soldiers who all look like rockets and
their dogs never ever stop barking.
The rebels are patient,
quick hands at the ready, eager to finish
the battle.
The Rockets have guns that do not stop blaring—
So much noise you’d forget you
were fighting.

But the rebels are ones with the truer advantage,
for arms they do not take up.
They are swift with the sword
and the “swish” that it makes
is simple,
yet hard to ignore.

And the girl looks on as the war
continues,
directly in her front yard.

She glares though the window,
a pair of deep eyes, bulging through
the blinds.

“Perhaps today it will all be over,
All that is wrong with be done?”

My dear, my dear, in your
City of Yells, the fighting
has only begun.

I
The stars are double-weighted tonight.
bulging, beating, they sink
from their proper lurches.
One by one across the murky
evening they sputter out.
What natural light remains
seeps from that subtly gaudy
bauble of a moon.

II
Peeled eucalyptus, ice-plant, new-mown summer grass,
dandelion, sloping hill, carved stone bench,
the view, the reflected city-light off the bay water,
white-washed near-tenements.

I am firmly locked up, chained in a bone cage
of chemically manipulated cranial plates;
serotonin, synapses, dopamine, dendrite
create a web like seaweed constricting the sea;
this computer of a head calculates, oscillates,
and processes the sensory.

III
My body is a tattered jib sail
flowing in the light sprinkling rain:
the simmer of the gale:
a hollow cathedral abandoned
by the believers:
a vessel for my marrow:
an imaginary catalyst for profundity:
an incarceration: a hull of particles
arrested: some part of an experience.

a rocky scab
cuts across my center,
weighting down my soul
and slicing me in two,
shrinking me
to half-size.
a crusty stone top
caps off a mysterious blackness
of simple existence
and no intelligence
where none has ever been,
where shapes of smoke
glinting through the darkness
gather strength,
swirling against the sides,
bulging it upward and outward,
as a something
strives to unite with me
and break through
into the light of my being.

Your temper breaks the silence of the air
Ear shattering sounds emit violently toward me
One step, two steps closer ..not another step, please
I become deaf to the time

Rolled up fists, cocked and ready
Eyes bulging red with disdain
I hear the hissing sound of the steam kettle
I become crossed by the pressure inside

Lives are threatened by the pain you toss
Nothing to resort to but angry seams
I am being pushed to the brink by you
I become numb to the edge

I have counted the half seconds to fear itself
They mean nothing to me anymore
I am scared to face the reality of it all
I became the target of your aggression

i have said mountains
lazy clumps of clumsy
mountains, i have  said
them, arching oceans of gasping
instant sleep. I have crumbled
perspiring cheeks loose with
bulging moonest light. torn
flaky moonest nights. i have
halved twains and quartered
thirds. yet.
.     .
                   i could not say thee
i could not say thy lavish cup of shoulders
       thy prism of corrupting
sensible insane ***
                                 thy baffling and hoary flecks
of burning frost. scattered smoothing rapidly.
      i could not say thy instant muscles gradually.

you said
"                 ME
         "

I’m trying to grasp the concept of your hands grasping me, and there’s light in your serenely contorted sweat;
Bulging veins pressed against sweet warm delicate mouths exerting a mass of please, and please what?, and a quiet commotion of soft tongues making love, fighting slow and easy for something like a longer I love you, maybe, or another tight grip towards a vulnerable destination, where angels live in the whites of your glassy eyes, but I just want heavens doors to slam shut.
I might be the devil and I demand: “Oh please dear god”, but my body is your only savior and getting on your knees to worship a little never hurt anyone.
I ache for your touch, till your flames are still
I am swimming in thoughts of your ice-made skin, and I am satisfied with hypothermia
Beg for you to watch me choke on my breaths until you can write a whole new list of tasteful sins on my naked flesh.
I want to swallow you whole, want to melt away with you until we deliquesce into one.
I crave you
and me
a few hundred tick-tocks full of skin on
tender
post-possessed
skin.

I must look like a train-wreck to everyone at this party. Emaciated-chic melting into the couch with shaky hands and sweaty palms has never looked good on anyone. I can’t tell if the bass pounding from the stereo has seeped through my skin or if my heart has turned into a battering ram, using all of its power to break through my sternum. You think I would have learned after all these years-- benzos and ***** are never a good combination. But I still have at least fifty bucks to make at this party off of over-privileged, toxin-craving youth. Besides, it’s a bearable feeling, and I can just sleep it off on the couch here tonight.
       I survey the room, attempting to remember where the stairs to the basement were located. After forcing my drooping eyelids to stay open, I watch a parade of lax bros make their way up the stairs and into the kitchen. They are a mess of scrawny limbs floating in pinnies and their air-filled heads are capped off with snapbacks. Their smugness is laughable and mostly, if not entirely, induced by massive amounts of *******. Please. The only reason people show up to this dump is because of the free ***** and the always-entertaining fight that is guaranteed to happen by the end of the party. Even then, the crowd is mostly freshmen, and they just don’t know any better.
       A booming yooooo crashes down the staircase and stumbles towards me. I refrain from rolling my eyes.
       “Hey, you!” I have no idea who this is.
       “Whatchyew got tonight?” asks the greasy manchild with a few scraggly hairs bursting out of his chin.
       “Depends on what you’re looking for,” I respond, wishing I had worn something other than an oversized sweater and leggings. You shouldn’t hide everything in your cleavage.
       “How much you want for the zannies?”
       Hoping to never see this scumbag again, I figure it wouldn’t hurt to scare him off by jumping the price to seven bucks a bar. But before I can even grab the plastic bag out of my bra, I’m momentarily blinded by piercing red and blue LEDs out the window.
       “Aw, shiiiit,” he says as he races toward the back door.
       I struggle out of the crevice in the couch and calmly follow the manchild, pushing my way through the crowd by the door. My car is waiting patiently for me in the cul de sac, and once I get past the herd of screaming freshmen, I’ll be in the clear. Anyone will move if you start throwing elbows directly into their ribs. It’s a nice party trick to use when the cops show up.
       I’m able to make it onto the back porch, but I can’t seem to find the strength that is located in my legs. My strong limbs have been replaced by jellyfish tentacles. I grab onto the railing of the steps, but I learn quickly that it’s not going to help. I trip over my feet, the stairs, the air, everything, until I am able to lean heavily on the driver’s side of my car.
       The booming yooooo reappears.
       ******* it. I can’t deal with this kid right now.
       “I just gotta text that the cops are on their way back here. Better get out.”
       ****. I face the car and begin to fumble with my keys. While I attempt to find the one that will open this machine, I listen to the wail of sirens a few streets down. I finally retrieve it, but I realize by the time I start the car and head towards home, the cops will be here, and I can’t ruin my spotless record. The knee-high hedges lining the circle would never be able to completely cover me, and every other house on this street looks unfamiliar. I press a small, blue button and hear a pop in the back. Normally at this time, my common sense would **** in and tell me that the trunk of a car isn’t exactly a good place to hide, but I’m starting to feel the cold through the numbness. And the last thing I want to deal with is explaining to my parents how their angel has taken herself off of her meds to make some extra cash.  Better get comfortable, I guess.
       I lumber into the trunk, thankful that there are at least some blankets left over from the last time I went camping with my family. Breathing heavily, I pull the lid behind me. From here, several familiar voices grow frantic and demanding: Dump that **** now... Get rid of it... I don’t care how much you spent, I’m not getting caught with it... I roll gently onto my side, careful not to shake the car, only to rediscover the plastic bag filled with Xanax.
       I freeze when I hear cars pull up nearby. The crash of heavy metal doors boom through the hectic sounds of the people trying their hardest to get out of the way. I listen to the rough growl of a sturdy boot as it kicks aside pieces of broken glass and plastic cups.
       “You think that after the fourth time we’ve busted this house, they would get the hint,” says a stern officer. I imagine him as they type with a faded buzz cut, bulging muscles, and aviator sunglasses even though it’s well past midnight.
       “Well, kids will be kids,” says a more seasoned member of the law. He sounds like my grandfather and has probably seen more terrifying images than an underage girl in skimpy clothing puking in a nearby flowerbed. It seems as though the stern officer is herding the party-goers towards the back of the patrol car.
       “That’s no excuse,” says Stern Cop.
       “So you’re telling me that you never went to a party or had a beer before you turned 21?”
       “Well, that’s different. I was in control.”
       Hearing your rights sounds much less dramatic in real life than it does on TV. For these underage drinkers, it’s a sped-up process that is muffled by their own sobs. The metallic clink of handcuffs echoes through the air and immediately hushes everyone. Soft Cop chuckles and gently closes the door, attempting not to startle the shaken-up criminals.
       I am finally able to exhale as a car drives away, but I don’t feel as if I’ve gotten away with anything. I shift onto my back and look up at the roof of the trunk, illuminated by the blue-green light of my cell phone. Glancing down at the screen, I see the time: 1:47 a.m. I’m going to have to venture out into the world eventually.
       As I gather my strength and roll towards the trunk release, I feel my keys in my pocket along with a tiny click. Immediately, my car begins to scream. I scramble for my keys, hoping that no one is here to witness the embarrassing mess I’ve made of myself. Once I finally get the car to calm down, I hear an intoxicating mix of chuckles and mild profanities strung together. It’s Soft Cop. He knows.
       “Is everything alright in there?” asks Soft Cop as he knocks on the trunk.
       What am I supposed to say? Yeah, everything’s fine. Just chillin’ out here. No worries.
       “Uh... yes, sir. Just give me a moment.”
       I unlock the trunk and start push it upwards, but Soft Cop has managed to get to it first. He is a tall, thick man with a glorious salt-and-pepper colored mustache. His soft eyes look tired like a basset hound’s. I see his name-tag–– G. Lewis. He looks like a Gary.
       “Didjya get a little stuck?” he asks.
       “Yeah.” I smile and try not to let my nervous laugh creep through.
       Gary looks around the cul de sac and back into the trunk, reaching his chubby fingers towards me. As he helps me out, I notice that he’s a lot stronger than he looks.
       “Sorry for breaking up the party tonight. Have fun?” he asks, tilting his head towards me, eyes curious and comforting.
       “For a little. I didn’t get to stay very long.”
       He nods his head towards my car. “If you don’t mind me asking,” he chuckles, “how’d you wind up in there?”
“I guess I just got scared. I didn’t want to get in trouble for being here.”
       Gary finds this amusing and swears that by now, every other cop has left the area. He explains that he’s been left to make sure nothing starts back up. He shoves his hands in his pockets and kicks around an empty Miller Lite can.
       “Listen, I can tell you’ve been drinking.” His voice has changed. I know this tone. This is the tone of Your Mother and I both love you very much, and we’re not mad. We’re just disappointed. He looks me straight in the eyes, concern written all over his face. “Correct?”
       There’s no point lying to him, but who wants to be the one throw themselves under the bus? I’m trying to put the words together, but all I can manage is incoherent babbling.
       “Don’t worry. You’re not in trouble,” he insists. “I just don’t want you driving away in this state. You seemed to have a hard time finding the steering wheel.” A smirk emerges on his face, eventually growing in size to a radiating smile. He’s proud of that one.
       “Yeah, I guess I could take a nap in the backseat.”
       “How about I just drop you off at your house. You can pick up your car in the morning. Sound like a plan?”
       “Yes, sir.”
       We look at each other for a second. No thank you is needed. No more words are necessary. I relax my shoulders and look up at the clear sky. I feel the wind blow, and I don’t seem to mind the biting December wind.
       “Didn’t bring a coat?” asks Gary.
       “Didn’t match my outfit.”
       “You sound just like my granddaughter.” He laughs. “You even have the same blonde hair and big green eyes. It’s uncanny.”
       He then stops and looks down on the ground, eyes growing wide and serious. I know what he’s looking at. I was hoping he wouldn’t see my stash that is now laying on the street: eight white pills in a plastic sandwich bag, sweaty from making a quick escape from under my sweater.
       Gary sighs and lets his lips purse, still looking at the bag. The salt-and-pepper mustache takes over his mouth. He gathers his hands on his hips, shoulders hunching forward. He stays like this as I avoid the opportunity to make eye contact. After drawing some air into his lungs, he finally has the courage to look up with sullen and wet eyes.
       “Well,” he says as he regains his composure. He kicks the bag into a nearby storm grate. “Let’s get you home.”

No.
You will not say you know me.
too much time has passed.
too much transpired.

You were gone when I fell head full
into the abyss,
crash landed
years later where I crawled out from beneath
thoughts heavy enough
to **** myself with.
to heavy to lift
sharp enough
to cut away and **** the parts of me that
where

beyond salvation
.
parts of me to heavy to stand with.

I love you,
I loved you .
Whispered like a lullaby,
draped over wounded thoughts;
screaming wrongness in me.
Echoing goodbyes in me.

The ache of knowing sacrifices must be made,
Ruined by the corrosion
of your unyielding misconceptions
and unreachable expectations.
Numbly I sat cutting away at the bits
of myself we had been beating and breaking down
for years.

red and raw
blue and empty
with trembling fingers
clawing
at all that sat wrong in my reflection,
parts
I thought I needed
but ruined would never stand me up right again
never hold up my chin.

Horrified;
at being so full
of so much nothing.
that I was to tight
to even catch my breath.
Seams bulging
from fingertip to
the ribs in my chest

Every moment agonizing.
Every second impossible.
Over and over
I died.

And still I would  wake ,

cruel  irony

by the thousandth time
I woke weary and cold
I looked upon the carnage
all of me disassembled at my feet,
a fear trembling deep in me ,
a courage to rebuild growing in my bones.
only picking up every bit of persistence I turned to go.

so no you do not know me
you were not there when I escaped from my own dark
to fill myself with slivers silver shifting , bits of an indifferent moon;
you were not there to journey my emptiness to traverse the abyss.
You were not there when I began to fill it.
In your absence I have grown
and still,

I do not know how you will fit here.

You are getting nosebleeds at all the wrong times
the tears welling up behind your eyes to track down  your
pale, pockmarked cheek
and that bulging in your throat constricting the airflow
let’s you know that fast can be too fast
you thrive with the sunlight
but like flowers standing tall against the oncoming winter
you wilt with day’s last breath
what time did you get home this morning?
hair all matted and stood up
smelling like a sorority party massacre
glitter, wine, tequila, coke, and anonymous ****
take another adderall
******* for the bored children
feel the electrical signals pulse from your brain
to snap your pupils to attention
wash the ***** out of your hair sweet heart
the boys back home never talked to you the way these city boys do
“girl, *****, chick, ****, ***** -”
“oh her? yeah she’s a sure ****
her legs are like seven eleven
they’re not always doing business, but they’re always open…”
So forget the night ever happened
each day brings new opportunities
but they all want you
they all want one thing from you
and you don’t want to say no
don’t want to make them mad,
be a tease, a *****, frigid
and you like the way they make you feel special and beautiful
until the next morning
with the nosebleeds and the dry heaving in strange toilets
and you are waiting for Prince Charming, huh?
as if he will jump out of cheesy romcoms and magazines to hold you steady
well Prince charming is dead weight slowly spinning beneath a frayed, twisted rope
in a dark closet next to the nameless stranger and the noble outlaw
so go ahead and smash those mirrors sweetheart
what’s seven years more bad luck?

I don't understand what you like about me

Is it my poor social skills?
and my hatred of small talk?

my ever-changing laugh?
the way I avoid eye-contact?

It can't be my bulging stomach
my un-groomed eyebrows

I don't know
but you should stop because you'll get hurt