Deep dark depression
Plus the wisdom of the Greats
Multiplied by numbed emotions
Watching as a soul deteriorates.
She seems happy some days
Very high highs, very low lows
Hours in between
But she shines like the sun's glow.
No concentration in her reality
Trapped, preoccupied by this fallacy
Of labels thrown at her face
So called "mental illness"
She thinks she's a disgrace!
Breathing space
No need to agitate
She lost her ace
Her loud cries muffled by the rain.
All her talents play hide and seek
She can barely comprehend the words you speak.
She has lost all interest in the lands and seas.
Is she dead? Or blind and can't see?
She's on her knees begging please,
"Please, Oh Please, come back to me!"

Do you see, grasp in the nowhere and nowhen
the whole picture?
Register the tedious highs, lows, widths and breadths
before your private, iridologic rainbows?
Like grasping the rims of “allness” on the path of a forest,
letting yourself grow a vertigo, fragile and docile.
Every, every time you meet up with a person,
do you encompass in your grasp, mind’s eye, all they are, all they are,
at that one very time?
My vision dims out into dependence, when glasses leave, when the forest my attendance seeks
in utter loneliness without my harmony with it weaved.
I no longer have in survival advantage
but it feels more than right to fall, give over,
I give myself fragile, more just, and fit.
In that vulnerability I can see more than
a healthy eye can: Van Gogh’s work on my trees’ leaves.
That is what all presences, forms and life’s skies are for:
fragileness, undoneness, nothingness, reasonlessness

'I wonder how I'll handle the next goodbye...?'
This thought haunts and hounds me even at our happiest moments
lurking in the shadows is the constant reminder of the fact that we
are mostly far apart...

Our closeness exists over Skype and conversation and while
I wouldn't change us for the world I do yearn to reach out
and kiss you and hold you and touch you at times...
More times than I'd care to admit.

On the bad days I would give anything to just lay in your arms
and allow myself the comfort of feeling broken
because around you I know I can do that and you
won't judge me for it.

I want to be there when things go wrong for you
I want to be the comforting embrace when you come in from
a long shift, the sanctuary from a world that got the better
of you for today.

I want to be the first to celebrate your successes and cheer you
on from the sidelines when you finally reach the goals you've been
chasing and achieve the things you thought simply weren't possible
because I believed in you all along.

I want to be there for all the big things
and the little things
and the highs
and the lows
and the smiles
and the tears
I want to be there for good
Not visits but for life...

But for now there's still a departure gate
and a flight that cannot be missed
and so until next time I wait
when we meet again until our next kiss.

gaslit streams of dreams
and now you're psychedelic
soaking in highs and higher you're
throwing me over the bridge
and under a bus but
     >is that a bucatti?
and im telling you
     >no, its just another dead thing
and that seems to catch your blown eyes for a moment
because you smile at me
as if I can't already see the phosphenes dancing behind your gaze but
not before you say
     >what if we could make it one?
and now i'm smiling too because
     >who's to stop us?
the night seemed impossible and
unfortunately, we were still awake.

I can no longer disguise
Contempt in my eyes
The lows and the highs
It is you I despise
Heart no longer complies
While your heart denies
It’s me you chastise
Deceitful demise
There’s no compromise
I agonize
While you apologize
But my love I surmise
It’s fossilized
And I've normalized
What you’ve minimized
Gone are my cries
I’m numb from your lies
Like this I will die

The highs and lows, the valley views,
The good and bad, you win and lose,
You’re up and down, mountain to valley,
Praising then tearful, sad to happy.

But what happens when you get stuck?
You climb and climb but can’t get up.
In the valley you settle, in the valley you stay,
Less sun, less warmth, more shadow days.

But is there ever a valley without a mountain?
Is there ever an exit without a way back in?
Nothing’s forever - the good or the bad
If you can’t find your way, find another path.

I hate it when the highs bring the lows
and each dive delivers a mightier blow
I am let down deeper I slowly drown
My mind is set in an invisible frown
Now I hide the suffocation inside
Because I need to be strong for the ride of the high.

My shadow shivers in the snow,puts on a coat from where I do not know and I watch spellbound as it moves to go indoors and sit beside the fire,as if it dreams of greater things,
I should buy a ball and chain and chain it to the rain of snow that snows on me, then and only then will my shadow see that it is linked to me and not so casually decide to go because of its dislike of snow.

A snowman smiles at these goings on, while a robin sits and tweets,then eats the eyes and flies off with the snowmans nose,all this in December's snow,it's no wonder my shadow decides to try and go again,
I will definitely buy a ball and chain.

A clever tyke sat on a sled
said,
'lock your shadow in the shed
or better yet
leave it in bed,
everybody and his mum knows that shadows only like the sun'

There are highs and lows and shadows drive me up the wall,they're super climbers after all,but if my shadow hates the snow,
then I'll let it go and hope that it comes back to follow me or depending on the time of day,lead me on my way.

My shadow now decides to stay and play,stretching out across the flakes,all it takes is a feeble sun to give my shadow so much fun,it's an awkward cuss,don't know what the fuss was all about,
I should give it such a clout but we are friends, even though it sends me round the bend,
we'll stay friends until the end
until the night lends me a hand and sends my shadow off to sleep,somewhere warm in shadow land.

i don't want to
have these
bipolar
conversations
where i threaten,
and apologize,
and demand,
and apologize
again

i don't mean to take you
through the ringer
to make you see violence
and mood swings

i don't mean to scare you
when i don't take
my medicine
i don't mean to scare you
when i cry
for hours
i don't mean to scare you
when i scream
and punch things

i never meant to
do those things
like keying your car

i never meant to
drop everything
and go across multiple state lines
with no plans
at all

i never meant to hurt myself
until my arms
were coated in scars

for all of the times
i self-medicated
poked myself with needles
and drank away my pain,
i'm sorry
i shouldn't have taken so many xanax
you're right
i was wrong
again

i never meant for you to be
my caretaker
i hate those words
caretaker
i should be able
to take care
of myself

i'm sorry i am not managing this illness
i am very
very
ill

i'm sorry for the times
i couldn't get out of bed
couldn't eat,
couldn't move
couldn't go to work

i'm sorry for the times
i made tons of post-it notes
filled journals with ideas
bought calendars
and organization tools

i'm sorry for getting your hopes up
i really thought i could do it this time

i'm sorry for my diagnosis
i'm sorry i didn't understand how serious this is

i didn't ask to be bipolar
i didn't ask to be born

i make cases for myself
in my head
but they're all filed as
crazy

i'm sorry i was delusional
paranoid
and afraid

i'm sorry for the drug binges

i'm sorry for melting
fading
burning
and still coming back
alive

these low lows
and high highs

you've been through the ringer

when you're only supposed to be
support, a resource of compassion...
you had to be a caretaker

you didn't ask for this
and neither did i

i sometimes questioned if it was harder on you
to live with someone with bipolar disorder
than it was for me
to live with bipolar disorder

you wanted to save me
but you realized
that i can only save myself

now i'm drowning
and my lifeline is gone

i'm trying to learn to swim
i just hope i do it
before i sink

i'm sorry for all of the ****** poetry
i made you read

i'm sorry

Be patient.
     His heart is guarded and he has built walls around himself to keep others out. He deflects with humor and light words, he deflects by always being “okay”, he deflects by comically dunking on you—but one day his dams will break and his walls will crumble. You need to be patient for the day that this will happen. You need to be patient for the day that he will truly let you in, let you peek at his raw emotions, let you marvel at his strengths and weaknesses. Maybe it will not happen all at once, maybe it will happen as slowly as a river carves a canyon out of rock. You must be patient with him.

Be kind.
     He needs kindness like we all need air to breathe. He might not always think so, but he needs kind words, encouraging messages, thoughtful gestures. He needs kindness, the world hasn’t shown him enough of it.

Be compassionate.
     He pretends he doesn’t need these kind, gentle touches and kind, gentle words but he does. He is a desert parched for soft rainfall—give it to him. Be compassionate when he opens up about his mental health, his deepest fears, his family, and those who he loves. He is a man who loves deeply, and you must love deeply too. He is a man who cares deeply, and you must care deeply too.

Be understanding.
     He carries a lot of pain and a lot of tragedy—he has been dealt bad hand after bad hand. But he is trying. He is growing. He is making progress. Be understanding of his needs and his journey, be understanding of him.

Be resilient.
     He will try to shut down his feelings and shut out the world—it’s his tried and true way of survival. Don’t leave him just because he needs to do a hard reset on his emotions. Don’t leave him just because he seems like he’s okay. Don’t leave him just because he’s quiet when it rains. Don’t leave him just because he tries to push you away in his silence. Be resilient and never ending in your reassurance of him. Remind him quietly, or loudly, that he is yours and you’re not leaving.

Be honest.
     You must continually be honest because he’s been lied to, too many times. You must be honest and forceful whenever he refuses to accept compliments, because his truth about himself is poisoned by the pain he’s carried around in his lifetime. You must be honest with what you’re feeling, he just wants to help you and he cannot read your mind. You must be honest in letting him in. You must trust him and be honest in return.

Be yourself.
     He has no tolerance for fake smiles, fake feelings, or fake people. He has no need or want for mistruths, half-spun lies, or false claims. He needs authenticity. He needs someone who is genuine. He needs someone who said what they said and did what they did...maybe someone with the ability to know if they were wrong but not lie about their missteps. He needs someone who will show him all of their highs and lows, someone who will be unafraid of who they are, someone who will proudly be who they are instead of who they think he wants.

Be strong.
     He has been strong for everyone else for far too long. He needs someone to lean on, someone to support his aching arms, someone strong enough to share the weight he carries. He needs someone that will allow him to feel as deeply as he needs to, to be as weak as he needs to be. Be strong and be bold—for he is strong and bold, and needs the same to thrive.

Be hungry.
     He has a hunger for life, for laughter, for enjoyment, for smiling, for telling stories, for eating at his favorite Mexican places, for playing his favorite games. He has a bottomless hunger for affection, for great hamburgers, for passion, for art, for beautiful words, for learning new things, for dogs & cats, for white chocolate mochas, for jokes. You must be hungry enough to keep up with his appetite.

Be protective.
     He has been hurt too many times and he needs shelter from the world. He still cares so readily, so openly, and still gets hurt time and time again. Be protective of his sweetness, his softness, of his gentle moments. Be protective of his weaknesses, his shortcomings, of his darkest moments. Keep them safe, hold them close to you and protect them. Keep him safe, hold him close to you and protect him.

Be ready. Of course be prepared, but also:
   Be ready to laugh. He is the funniest man I know. He uses humor to show those around him that he cares. He uses humor to show those around him that he’s okay. He wields humor like a knight wields a sword to protect himself and others. Be ready to laugh, but be ready to see through his humor.      
     Be ready to adventure. He needs adventure. He needs little adventures throughout the days and months in trying new things and going new places. He needs big adventures to draw him out of his comfort zone, to take him to new cuisines and maybe new countries.
     Be ready to love. You will fall in love with him and his ocher eyes and calloused hands and strong shoulders. You need to be ready, because whether that love happens all at once like summer storm-clouds pour rain on cornfields or whether it grows slowly from a seedling to a honeysuckle vine twining through your heart and squeezing it, you will fall in love with him and you must be ready.
     Be ready to wake up early. He is a morning person and he wants someone to fix him/help him fix/help him pick breakfast. He is a morning person that wants to roll around in the sheets and play with your hair and skim his hand up and down your arm while you’re half awake. He is a morning person who wants to listen to music to start his day even though he almost never sings in the shower. He is a morning person by necessity who has come to love it by nature; try to get up and see sunrises with him, try to get up and share the breakfast table with him, try to get up and see him first thing in the morning with sleep in the corner of his eyes and a deep rumble in his chest.
     Be ready to listen. He has so many stories in his mind, in his eyes, and on his tongue that need to be told. From the stories of his day, the jokes of his coworkers, the songs he loves, the recipes he watches, the feelings he shares, the games he loves, right down to the things he doesn’t say aloud...he needs someone ready to listen.

Be steadfast.
     He needs commitment. He needs a white picket fence and a dog and two or three children. He needs someone to always hold his hand and stand by his side. He needs someone unafraid of his darkness. He needs someone steadfast, brave, loyal, etc. He needs someone to call his home. He needs someone who will look a storm in the eye, adjust her sails, and drop her anchors where she stands.

Be good.
     Actually, be better than good. Be better than great. He only deserves the best this world has to offer. Too often he is Atlas carrying his pain, others expectations, his past, his deep desires, and the world on his shoulders. He deserves the best to stand beside him and remind him he doesn’t have to be alone. He deserves the best of women to hold him through his lows and soar with him on his highs. Be yourself, but be the best version you can be. Because he deserves only the best this world can give him.

Have you gotten to that point
That you can’t see the end?
When that one little razor
Has become your closest friend
And the comforting sting
Of that sharp piece of metal
Is as beautiful and warm
As a single rose petal

The little red lines
Scarring your wrists and thighs
Helping you cope
Like an addict’s highs
And all the nights you laid awake
Never sleeping only crying
You wake up tired but can’t tell
Because inside you’re slowly dying

And as you watch the red flow down your wrist
You grab the pills from your stash
And prepare for the pain
A short fire before burning to ash
But you don’t have the strength
Not tonight
You sigh and replace them
You won the fight

And you look up at the sky full of stars
And forget about your battle scars

It must be hard
If you're not depressed
To understand the difficulty
Of just getting dressed
It must be hard
If you don't starve
To imagine winter woollens
Hats, gloves and scarves
In the summer.
It must be hard
If you don't ***** your food
To understand the waste
Once it's been swallowed and chewed
It must be heard
If you don't hear voices
To imagine
Someone else
Dictating your choices
It must be hard
If you don't have compulsions
To understand the urge
The panic and convulsions
Of just saying no.
It must be hard
If you don't have an attachment
To a narcotic or a bottle
To understand how it can
Throttle you, to just one more hit.
It must be hard,
If you don't cut at your wrists
To understand
How someone could do this.
It must be hard
If you don't suffer highs and lows
To understand how quickly
Such a feeling, comes and goes
As it pleases.
It must be hard
If you've never had a chemical imbalance
In your brain
Or a contributing factor, a stressful event
To understand the insane.

It's not like a broken leg,
A sprained wrist, the flu
Where someone can easily
Treat and diagnose you.
It's not something that just goes away
And I'm not trying to say
That everyone doesn't understand
I'm just lending a hand,
To those who struggle
To make sense
Of the dents in our thinking
The depths that we're sinking
The vacant eyes that are blinking
As we're thrown around inside
Our own minds.

2013 ©

" My mind is like a twine that I can't unwind. Knots and a kink forming the thoughts that I think. Please tell me ma'am, how do you do the do that no one ever knew? How do you comprehend how to fix a bend that you've tried so hard to mend? "*

( KL )

..............................................................­.....................

" Simplify the fine mind, for the eyes to find what your most certain time of bliss and highs will hide inside.  You're the dream kind. BE kind. BE simple. BE honest. The light is well upon us. " <3

( MM )

The figments
Of my imagination
Form
Characters
Caricaturized
By their character
They exaggerate
My failures
Voicing opinions
I swear
Aren’t my own
But somehow
They’ve grown
With each fall
They rise higher
In cognition

An incognito option
Was proposed
In my sub conscientious
By an unknown
Object
I objected
Obviously
But the
Con artistry
Was shown beautifully
The calligraphy
Was written perfectly
And preferred to be
Read
By the misled….


Pride said,
“You’re lows
Can disappoint highly
Just a point
Made
To marinate
In the milieu
Of thoughts
That spill through

Once
Your highs
Reach its peak
You’ll peek
Into the heavens

Every minute
At this distance
From Earth
Will revolve
Around you
Evolve
And defy the laws
That helped
You grow
Denounce every ounce
Of doubt
And pounce
On greatness
Break the rules
And create the new
Standard
Behold yourself
And be envied
By the eyes of beauty”

...To be continued

In the quiet expanse of time, I find myself grappling with truths and untruths, wondering if I deceive even my own heart into believing I've attained tranquillity. Indeed, I am in a state of well-being, owing to the strides I've taken on this journey of self-betterment. Yet, the undulating waves of emotion persist – highs and lows interweaving like threads in a tapestry. Perfection remains elusive, and perhaps that's the beauty, for I've poured my essence into every endeavour.

Now, as I stand at the crossroads of zero, an architect of my own renewal, I embrace the task of rebuilding from the ground up. Metamorphosis courses through me, rendering me unrecognisable even to myself. Laughter spills more freely from my lips, though occasionally restrained by the shadows of doubt. Tears flow more earnestly, yet at times, I still restrain their cascade. Solitude becomes a cherished companion, a realm I delve into to nurture my soul. Simultaneously, the embrace of friends becomes a celebration of my being, an affirmation of the love I hold for myself in their company.

In this delicate dance, I witness the scales of life gradually finding equilibrium. The pendulum, once erratic, now sways in a harmonious rhythm. The art of relearning tranquillity unfolds before me, a masterpiece in progress, painted with the hues of experience and wisdom.

Time, the patient sculptor moulds each fragment of my existence. And in its embrace, I find solace. For while the road ahead is veiled in uncertainty, I stand here, resilient, embodying the truth that healing is a symphony of seconds and seasons.

And as I mend, I extend to you, a wish that your heart finds solace too. In this dance of existence, in shadows and light – may we emerge stronger, taking flight.

During this time, with unknown motions of sweet innocence, Snow White
Was walking in the wood to feel the Zephyr's scent and to see the pure light.
The prince was walking on his horseback at dawn lacing through its highs.
Being sad, he wanted to hunt, when the girl's face enlightened his eyes.



''Will he cross the boundary and move over to my side? '' She suddenly thought.
He came to her saying, ''I'm another victim of your beauty, I like you a lot.'
''I'm drowning in my own willingness to give up my strengths for your kiss, ''
''Queen of beauty, to get an approval to kiss you is my overwhelming bliss.'



He started to dismount his horse, because their eyes had magically met.
He kissed her saying, ' I could although avoid your eyes, but I would regret.'
''For this love that thrills my heart, there is no use in this forest to hide,
Skies' golden blessings come for our souls, please, will you be my bride? '



The queen poisoned an apple, '' She's driven by forces beyond her control.
I want her blood and she will eat this apple to pay for me the beauty's toll.''
She disguised herself as a peasant woman to knock on the dwarf's door.
The girl bitted into it, she had the bite in her mouth, when she fell on the floor.



The dwarfs returned home and they cried seeing that she was really dead.
She did not look at all like a dead person and her cheeks' color was still red.
They made a diamante coffin to lie her inside, so that she could be seen.
They wrote the name on it using golden letters to be visible through green.



Snow White laid there in the coffin for a very long time as if she was asleep.
One of dwarfs always stayed at home to keep watching and the tears to weep.
One day, the prince came to the dwarfs' house and saw the dead Snow-White.
She was illuminated by seven candles and he wanted to hold her very tight.


He asked the dwarfs to sell him the coffin with the princess Snow-White inside,
The dwarfs took pity on him and gave him the coffin with his dead bride.
As the prince looked into her eyes, he immediately knew that he can't wait

To be together with his lost bride and he wanted to open the death's gate.

He took her in his arms wanting to kiss her for the last time and to **** himself,
Someone told him to hit her in the back with his hand, it was a voice of an elf.
That piece of apple came out of her throat and Snow-White came back to life.
The prince held her again in his arms and couldn't stop kissing his future wife.





The wedding was set for the next day, and her mother was invited as well.
She told the king ''This evening we go to the wedding and I feel like hell! ''
‘'Mirror, on the wall, who in this land is fairest of all? '' Queen wanted to know.
‘'You, my queen, are fair; it is true, '' replied the bad mirror through its glow.



It closed its eyes saying, ''The young queen is a thousand times fairer than you! ''
She was so o'ertaken that she couldn't speak, she saw at least that her eyes are blue.
So jealous she was thinking of the young queen that she dressed herself in black,
But no one noticed any difference and she saw in her mirror the deadly crack.



She has quickened her heart with a cup of hate and a very sarcastic remark,
''All white is not always white due to its mask, when white keeps it dark''.
They put a pair of iron shoes into the fire and she had to put them on and dance,
She couldn't stop until she danced her death and the end of her Gothic romance.



Against the black of the winter snow, the white is still melting in Spring.
A blue sky above us may defy all odds, when its silence may precisely sting.
Against the white of the moonlight glow, the black may have its own sense,
But in front of the power and the money's show, love is always a false pretense.

Surrounded by people
yet I am so alone left in a hole,
deep, dark and cold,
bought and sold but change
is constant be it for
better or worse.

Back and forth I go
while life just seems so slow
during these times
but I understand that the
highs and lows that come and go
are just part of the story
and that is just the
way it is.

Pretend and the lies
will never go away and soon
a friend you won't have
so just be real and life
will seem a steal.

Love deeply
and what you reap will fit
very neatly and it
is something that you
can always keep.

I am who I am
and what you see
is what you get
as long as you don't forget
to tell the truth.

I do what I do
and everything is different
but nothing changes
and I realize that it is
not happiness that makes
us grateful but gratefulness
that makes us happy.                  Jon York                            2012

~

preamble

in this vividly colorless frame
the artist leaves the coloring to us,
and to imagination's meandering waters.

~

a most picturesque
canyon in the dead
of winter's grip;
white contrast of
new fallen snow on
a red rugged rock;
her river’s pacing slowly
a choreographed flowing
yet a minder still
that she is his
ancient sculptor,
her ever changing moods
etched in centuries deep;
carved together,
she rests her head
on his broad shoulder,
as with soothing voice
she lulls his weary
soul to wintery sleep...
she, his crooked river,
winding through his
smithed rocks.

~

post script.

*(nuances of Oregon abound in this.) Central Oregon’s Crooked River flows through Smith Rock State Park... with its easy “river trail” and arduous “misery ridge” hike, they are compellingly reminiscent of a relationship’s lows and highs; a favorite of rock climbers, hikers, and photographers, their views together provide the sweetest hiking companions for my love and i.

You go through void like a dancing Cliff
Bold,having nothing to latch onto!
In your highest highs tasting earth with gratitude
And yet you dance through and through.
Watchful of the background and vibration.
The mother and the child too.
sorrow came and washed away
All you thought would stick like glue
You cried and laughed along this wave.
You watched you could take nothing with you.
I know for a reason you paused,
Extracted the pain from your pocket
And sold it to the Sunbeam.
And you rode each wave,beaming, without a clue.

I remember all things good and bad you left before shivering cold in a cell like all lost children beaten down by this life. This life that brought you joy and sleep, a sleep you have become petrified of and never can  rest here.  A smile that burns like gasoline into the minds of all men or women with a watchful eye. The laugh you hear in a bar and remember years later. This life brought you horrible crimes that you may, or may not have committed. Standing in front of humanity with one eye shut and the other pointed away, away from all that disgust in society as you were shown. Not all things bad, in fact many things here are good, you know that. The ever frothing lips of the hangmen, he to shall hang in the stomachs of all mankind and all love. The coming of night that brings hopeful chances of bar beauties or highs. One night the three of us were fortunate enough to each **** the night with some women we had found in Hampton. Trains pass by everyday with imaginative faces propped up against the windows, imitating their longing to have unique minds and ideas. You pass by on trains with out a glance, you can not **** a dead man, you never noticed the excitement from your ideas.

         Now I see oceans of faces screaming in decay, they're screaming the songs of victory, victory over this life. The rhythm of ten thousand slaves walking in harmony to the grave with no sympathy. Well past midnight hours you wait for heavenly Valerie to walk past your door and weep, and wearing nothing but her love for you around her neck shouting for you to come, shouting your name. Long before this you lay face down boiling saliva out from around your lips onto the carpet, dying for the chance to return to a  warm afternoon in march or may. You were revived and back home soon after. The cancer in all our eyes, the pain we all felt must stay a burden, never relief from this calamity. Ah yes success and pleasure were not for you then.
    
         I sat writing stories to no avail, never starting with a plot only developing one later. This was how life was written. No reason to expect anything else here, boredom brings excitement then to catastrophe. You held me through most, continuing your amphetamines I only wait for your thundering red heart to give up, give in. Then there will be many nights spent sobbing with regret, explanations to your mother and family and lovers long past. The idea that youth dies before the body should never be, should never be mourning for your ignorance, I spent most of this night writing, not so much of you but to you. I spent all of my money gambling and smoked most of my cigarettes. I went to the door and took in a breath of fresh air, I went to my bed and laid uncomfortable unable to sleep or dream of years before when I slept easy.

                  A pain through your aching legs went forth into the ground. Not all is bad and the continuance of random women in your bed, powders dissolved into your blood, smoke drawn down into your lungs, gas pedals pushed to the floor, alcohol soaking your liver, and memories of a lonely sidewalk in Florida will keep you in this life as a hero of my words.

    Part 2


A compass you laid in my hand, to help me home, always concerned with your friends. I see you now, drinking water from streams in wilderness untouched but by you to survive. Whiskey dried up around the curve of your chin, ***** to ease the days and nights of this life. You have survived 5 stepfathers and one father, a family even you can no longer come to terms with. No heavenly Jenny to tend to your wounds anymore. Fatigued and weary you lay on my doorstep, no sleep with out angelic drink to bring you back down. The clouds above your head never really rain or bring forth storm, not in my stories. The stench of your body as you sleep on the floor laid out like blankets by a mother to her child. A small cut on your wrist filed with ink, a reminder of long past agony that always returns before you can escape it. The sweetness you have left between many a girls thighs, the pain you carry alone, I know, I know.
              
               You thumbed to southern states to make a new home, what home have you made that keeps you in comfort and ease? This goes deeper than alcohol that your liver is always at war with. More so than your mouth that has betrayed your mind and spit out  words you can never take back so you say them again and again. White linen, clean sheets and a clean shave, perfumes and colognes, what are these things? The answer is in your fingers, you have overcome a typical drunk or ***, you may drink all day, you may never find a home but you can not and will not be these things. You are your home, its in the depths of your stomach. West called you but you never came, you never followed a single thing, you went alone and not scared of the fate we all will suffer, not concerned with the poisons or lie or the war in which we all fight just on a simple walk to the store, or to buy a pack of cigarettes. Victorious, lay on my floor! Sleep on my steps! **** for your dinner and lay your seed in her! The most immortal sin you could create would be to leave us with out some kin to look after when you go on that long walk you never come back from. The heights by which we stand while standing next to you, the current we fight swimming through rivers, this all goes back to you! I take my jacket off and put a shot of makers to my mouth, my throat warms and my legs weaken, This life, this pain, this woman, this death, it all grows distant now. You stand while roots of it grow around your feet clinging to your legs to climb closer to your chest and forever take you into its grasp. Just burning any feeling, any memory away, you just keep creating memories for the world who may never take notice of its children like you who make laughter from tears and adventure from stale nights.

          Benjamin, let fall your impression on this sand, let yourself become ash to soon, let not us down but going and going to the end of all this minced horrific times, let not night keep a shadow on your face, let not the world forget these things you did.


Part 3.

You miss your mother! The picture waits right next to your bed. The fire you started with nothing but a bottle of cough syrup and a few dollars is burning my mind and hands till they all blister and come back as a scar that feels ******* to the touch. Driving 94 miles an hour from New Jersey  on interstate 95 over heaves and cracks till they broke the suspension, no care must get home must get home to safe bed with espestis floor and many cigarette burns on the sheets. The shower is running, the heat is barely working. This is no poverty or lack of responsibility its just home. Paint my picture a thousand times and hand it to me from your window with a pipe , its getting warmer the longer we speak. Why not, why not anymore road in America or late night convenience store hang out to pick up women and fresh air. Lay down your guard, leave your problems in that bed and come run through the wicker with us.

What a way to start the day,
My dreams still vivid while here I lay.
You want to stay, cant help but go,
Will she return? I'll never know.

The days will pass, the suns will set,
My image of you, will not forget.
I've tried my best, my highs and lows,
Where do all our lost dreams go?

From where I sit, the moon so high,
No planes nor birds in late night sky.
I cannot lie, I miss you so.
Until tomorrow, the grass wont grow.

My mind is calm, my friend is hope.
You're falling fast, now grab the rope.
A slippery ***** leads down below.
Where do all our lost dreams go?

Subatomic
Silver smoky sauntering lovelessness
Spots on arms, purple and green
Sickness and sleepless
Wow-like, wicked witchcraft catching

Tones humming zzz'ing
Screaming across elbows
Tucked into the ****
Concrete carnivalesque berserk wildness

Ferally and virily.

U U U THANK U...............Rice Krispie
ANNDD BEATS LEAP CURIOUSLY HIDING
UNDER THE SHEETS

Perfervid fervency.

Idling- white crisps
Blinding silences
Sticky fingertips and lurid looks
Tape after tape of binded irises in the pupil symposium,
Where side-by-side the seams mend together

Innards scissor sideways
Upways downways
Exteriors in rhythmic sync

Tastes like lolli-pop rocks
Watermelon- dazzling gold
Front-step excited eyes binding.
See-cells intertwined and idling-pupils
Dance and discover
Wild hypnotic trysts of skins
Twisting in cotton scenes
Hours of comfortable comforts of living
Women and men handling
Fun funds 'n' bon-bons; investing in the bond.
And going back for seconds.

The head riffs over riptides and causeways, lip-lies and kisses on Broad Way.
Two cadavers, hog-tied. Kissing longways and long ways.
Perogative oxytocin. American Express massages scented oils and lotions.
Persons of interest abetted in sweating. Heaving torsos.
Throwing legs, arms, and sparklers. Redonkulous nectars are microscopic.
Sweet flavors on taste buds or lit by recessed black light optics.
Massaging the rhinoceros husk in this 21st century sarcophagus,
Whiles of Wilders' words were spoken
Nickels of wood soaking in splintered tubs
Thumbs under surveillance. Sneaking inches of suspicion
Leaves treated with lacquer, fables beaten within inches of their lines;

Live its Friday night!
Deviled veterans draped in moon-hide rise
Defiling puerile twenty-something lives.

These wild highs in debts of purs'd thighs
Vexed by personal lies. Hexed in white-out lines.
Riled midnight rides inside this pyre of redolent pie- stroke six and nine
Intertwine in one human form supine
While quaffing nectar wine from the vine
Rancor drives the crime and anoints bold creature types to dine
At the interstice of Sublime.

We loved hard and fast,
Grasping always and never quite getting enough,
Hands clawing at each other
Like they constantly needed more.
These days like ****** highs,
Injected right into the veins and possessing all existence.
Bodies entwined.
Hearts tangled and mangled.

Most days,
I still feel like I'm in rehab.

write me a holiday song
one that doesn't revolve around lies
one that is full of the lows and the highs
not It's a Wonderful Life in disguise

Dad not quite sober
Gifts not all wrapped
Hugs from old aunties
In the hallway you're trapped
Write me a holiday song

Moms' in the kitchen
The kids by the tree
The men all are waiting
For dinner at three
Write me a holiday song

Life's not all wrapped up
With holiday bows
Christmas in real life
Is not Rudolph's nose
Write me a holiday song

People all argue
Fights will break out
Kids all are screaming
The good will's gone out
Write me a holiday song

write me a holiday song
one that doesn't revolve around lies
one that is full of the lows and the highs
not It's a Wonderful Life in disguise

The aunts and the uncles
and all other kin
Go to church Christmas Eve
To be absolved of their sins
Write me a holiday song

I'm sure Norman Rockwell
Didn't have real life in mind
When those Post cover pictures
He sat down and designed
Write me a holiday song

Bing Crosby is singing
While the massacre starts
Of the ham and the turkey
And other odd parts
Write me a holiday song

Stuff not on the table
Stuff left in the car
Eighteen conversations
Frozen beer in the car
Write me a holiday song

The facade is cracking
Real life has snuck in
Christmas is not a movie
It's just lead painted tin
Write me a holiday song

No one remembers
The bad times of the past
It just took a moment
It all happened so fast
Write me a holiday song

write me a holiday song
one that doesn't revolve around lies
one that is full of the lows and the highs
not It's a Wonderful Life in disguise

Write me a holiday song
One of truths and of memories
Of all that went wrong
I think I will smile
And I might sing along
Please write me a holiday song
Write me a holiday song
If I like it...I will sing along

The Highs taste like Lemon Heads
Before burning my mouth like Cinnamon Red Hots.
The Lows go down like soup of ash and cold water.
I am forever trying to find a balance between the flavors of mania
And the blandness of depression.
Often, I find myself hungry in the wee hours,
Dismayed by both options.

Finally doing laundry,
It’s been two months.
As I sit and I fold,
Careful not to leave wrinkles,
I can’t help but think,
How many more times will I have to pick up the pieces?

As I drive in my car,
Careful to go the speed limit,
The wind caressing my face and arm
As it blows through my windows,
I feel the melancholy sink in.
How much longer will I ache for what has been?

It’s sunny and the warmth radiates downward,
Embracing my body as if to say “Welcome back”.
I can finally feel it again,
My skin is a part of me,
Something I can feel.
How many more times will I lose this feeling?

I’ve spent weeks in a chemical haze,
But not one of my doing.
My brain had once again said “Too much”
And shuddered to a halt,
Spinning out on its way to a restless place.
How much longer will I suffer this fate?

Everything is different,
But it all feels the same.
I’m coming back now from a tiresome journey.
A blast from the past,
I am still exactly who I was four years ago.
How many more times will I lose my sanity?

As I pick up the pieces,
I can’t help but wonder,
How long will I exist in this cyclical race?
When they gave me the pills,
They gave me a life sentence.
How much longer will I last in this unstable state?

Unfortunately, I know.
This is a life sentence.  
I will always be at the mercy of these highs and those lows.
There will be reprieves from time to time,
But it will always crumble once again. So I ask myself…
How many more times can I pick up the pieces?

Addiction is
Sitting at this computer
And still looking through a catalogue of emotions.
Highs and lows
Spirited Woes
And all the things not so secret

Addiction is
Not really willing to give you up
Or leave your life
Even though part of me really wants to
But the majority doesn't.

Addiction is
Putting up with my own ****** writing
Infused with infatuation, cheap words,
And half-hearted flattery

Addiction is
Still texting you good luck
But wondering under what context it will be read
Hoping that it's under a new leaf
of understanding

Addiction is
Hoping the best for you
And realizing that, I too,
Need to be elsewhere

There is no justice on ****-stained floors
which carry the burden of every broken
body-broken-mind-broken-hash-pipe and halo dust
atop a thin mattress soaked with God-knows-what.
Cross our toes and mutter until the next
nurse with the next Thorazine trip in a post-nasal
dripping whine stabs us in the *** again.  (Oh, baby!)
Not allowed to watch the television today
all for flipping off the government cameras
embedded behind the screens
while Barney sings “I Love You, You Love Me”
over and over and over will it ever end?
We know Barney is the Anti-Christ.  And a purple *******.

Let’s pretend to be Batman again, flapping
our hospital gowns and shrieking for no reason.
That needle might seek us out again.
We aren’t getting better days-months-years later
still on every med imaginable and some not even
scientifified yet—or whatever you Docs do
in your spare time.  Roll in money, mix more
chemical compounds that we turn into more defiance
just to get more scientifified dope.  Oops—
Big Bro knows our sullied secret now, but it’s still time for another dose.
Please pass the spoon for—umm—safe keeping.

Sure, rehab works for quitters.  None of the “we” are.
So we sit in group session and talk about Mickey Mouse,
atom bombs, flashback nightmares and melting walls.
Oh, the pretty colors.  Who said LSD wasn’t a beautiful thing?
We say we want to be Mickey Mouse, mousing through dissolving hidey-holes
in bricks of the basement while some ****-freak *******
builds another bomb.  What a nightmare!
Ha, ha: got more Thorazine from that ***** with a beard.
Maybe it’s a moustache, but we can’t tell—too blurry
anymore.  In a minute, she might blink her lips.

Ah, piece and quiet.  Piece of *** while ball-gagged qualifies.
Maybe we can play ping pong tomorrow,
tell more lies for the effect we desire, tap-a-pat-tap
our veins for.  Getting cranky is slow without Speed, but
give us a minute and we can accommodate those mood swings.
Just watch.  No, not the TV because Batman (“The Man”) says so.  Stupid cameras.
We’ll be on that see-saw roller coaster of binge and purge
and pills and withdrawal and manic and depression
and obsessing about the lightbulb blinking in the bathroom
since we know it’s Morse code for something.

Riding highs and lows with every-dose-every-needle-every-body
busted before we ever played ping-pong or swing set steeple chase
to see just who’s the real crazy here—us or “The Man”.
Ten Kool-Aid packages on the guy who invented pills
to “cure” addiction.  Any takers?  We didn’t think so.
Snort the sugar lines and move it along so that we can
have our turn at medical benediction:

to receive the body-of-Christ-in-a-gel-cap across our tongues and rock
side-to-downside in the ******-babble homeostasis chamber
while Doc-the-Man counts his blessing of bills in the collection basket
labeled Incoming and stamped with eagles.  We’ve seen it.

No justice and **** again.  ****** again.  And still, no checkmark on the chart
of getting better.  Maybe Doc and Ratchet-with-******-hair
are close enough to see us for what we are: hopeless/helpless.
But we can play OCD once more if we all hum along.
Why?  We forgot the **** words.  Oh, crap—no,
don’t make us leave.  Doorways are frozen places to ferment in
and it’s awfully hard to keep the candle burning
long enough to make everything right. To fix it all away.

Just for me; that’s all the “we” there ever was.