Talking to yourself in the mirror is more of a religious experience than getting on your knees and whimpering to the sky.

Today, 6:36 am, I got up and said "Good morning, Green Eyes, let's forget."

Getting home, 2:36, I wiped the blood from my front teeth and said "Good going *****, crying in class? What are you made of?" Sticks and stones, I thought. Sticks and stones.

A droning sound.

A year ago, you swallowed pills and opened your thighs, air crawling into places that air should never have the privilege (read: incredible misfortune) of touching, holding. I laid in bed, shined a laser pointer at my door for hours with "Goodbye Cruel World" on rickety repeat.

Goodbye cruel world, I'm leaving you today. Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye.

A year ago, you took pictures of your snapped veins, wishbone fingers still gripping a razor, you smiling. I threw up.

Goodbye all you people.

My friend is going through what I did, caring. Caring a lot. Caring into the school guidance department and caring into crying the whole day. Caring until she can't sleep. Caring until the morning to repeat the cycle. Caring, slowly bleeding out/dying/wishing you were God, same thing.

There's nothing you can say.

I feel bad, I feel bad that your wrist split open. I want to butterfly stitch it for you, hold you, brush your hair back, and back, and back.

To make me change my mind.

What's the point in killing yourself anyway? Right. So I'll do it for you.

*Goodbye.

i have no more room for these testaments.
their biblical proportions
swell
and strain the seams of my naïveté.

your afterlife glides past
with wings of melting wax
attempting to tempt me with tales
of a hellish heaven
and a heavenly hell

but i prefer a Floydian philosophy
for all i touch
and all i see.



death's crooked fingers reach us all in time



yet had i the faculty
fresh from the womb
i would have feared my birth
over any eventual demise.

the great big metronome in the sky,
as those of a Floydian persuasion are wont to call it,
tick, tick, ticks,
with a switchblade intransigence,
for a docile audience, rows of anesthetized deer...
Mr. Whogivesa and Mrs. ****,
and their son,
with the hyphenated last name,
living the namesake...
"don't talk to strangers?"
why not show them the sleeve,
where one's heart resides...
melodrama,
the most lucrative business move,
(then why are most panhandlers still panhandlers?
i guess it's the luck of the draw)
...takes after his Father most,
that being he always stops short,
that extra step,
much too extra to take,
a voyage in itself...
in his standstill,
where the metronome ticks, ticks, ticks,
and only few deer are left awake,
by the dull-glow of drug,
a voice, between drags of a cigarette:

"kid, skipping stones across a frozen lake,
is not that impressive,
but convincing everyone it is? well..."

I can’t see the majestic stars from where I am
Moving too fast through life to stop and appreciate
The supreme wonder of the bitter sweet crevasse
That is open and spilling down on me from above
Bleeding out over me when it all starts and ends
In warm Floydian pinks, violets, tangerines
But never reaching me no matter how hard I try and chase it.

On your faces I see my pain etched across
In your gaps my love is lost in the abyss
An abundance of memories lost and found
Retrieved and forgotten in your awesomeness
A thousand of you in each other’s company
All alone when the sun leaves you for the day
But only one of you living forever in the memories of those touched.

If I were stuck in place like you, still moving
But grounded, steadfast on a clear path
Always heading in the right direction
I think I would feel more complete than I do
Trapped alone, with no chance of escaping
Except to the comfort of my own thoughts
Thinking of you and how I wish I could wear your mask if only for a day.

A white disk besieged by a fervour of freckles
Shines more prominently than the others
Staring down, looking out, with its drifting eye
Guiding me through life’s trials and tribulations
Caused by that very light I long for so dearly
That diamond that shone like the sun
But got caught without a direction in life, on a helpless, hopeless path.

I have stopped now, I can appreciate you
The whirlwind of life blocked that privilege
But I now flourish with your splendour
Raining down upon me amongst your friends
Over your friends sticking to what you believe in
Not faltering from that route you chose
Circling around the night sky, keeping me company when I’m trapped in darkness