you did not smash a guitar to
splinterings: That Night,
there weren’t enough iiiiii

watching:

six cigarettes later,
all packed,
tossed back,

....you meandered off...
a long pause...

LOST CAUSE




I too patiently waited out the fight
I too patiently weighed out the fight
I too patiently way out did the fight

weighted, I, too,
impatiently,
way out,
-wait-

FIGHT

"We kissed so much my throat is sore."
we kissed so much my lips are sore
we kissed so much my neck is sore
we kissed so much my back is sore
we kissed so much my thighs are sore.
we kissed so much my ****** is sore
we kissed so much my breath is sore
we kissed so much
i am soar
we kissed so much.
we kissed so much.

Be the star
But grow like a tree

Already have victims other words TROLLERS that i will slaughter soon::::::::::(((((((((IIIIII will get YOU Soon
Be
              REALLY READY TROLLS TO BE
Abolished

Mirror is merciful  

Lambs sleep in the willow  
Rough leaves carry heaven up  

Delivering the sinner 

Cold black mirror still love his lips
Lamb off the living

Hearts over
Hearts asthma
Hearts lie with no one
Hearts frozen
Hearts mirror
Hearts asthma
Parts Madonna
Hearts eczema
Part scoundrel
I will walk low
Harsh eczema  
I die past a week
Hearts nirvana
I don't need no lessons now
Hearts taking over
I wish I could wake up
Hearts over
Hearts eczema  
Hearts asthma  
**** your theory, and just **** everything
Love must be ashes, that's blood in the blue forest  
Ya it's the age of pure ahead of us  
Hearts over
Hard seller
Mercy I have in the imaginary nation of us
You don't want me here jerking off
Your force, I was sorry
I saw the mirror I thought off when it was all over
Heart scold ya
Oh I am every man
Watch no longer
and in the shadows
corpse scamper
Who moves even slower?
Part suffer
Move **** all day monkeys
Hearts scamper
The holy case of us
Hearts worth of love
In there walks the sheep
Part scabbed up
I was sad and got blue
Hearts taking over
Hearts never
Hearts never

I done some bad
and I've killed obviously
no sweet people, hogs, and dogs, pets  I have no beef with them
Offered me the exit till they locked me in
Harsh scalper
Harsh scalper
Lock in here with nuts that are just like me
Love must be a pacifistic
There's blood  in the small forest  
Out here in the near cosmos  

Delivering the sinner
All woman in the center
iiiiiiiiii
I fear hes lost his nerve
I'm over  living it
I'm over living it

iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii
iiiiiiiiiiii

IIIiii'mmm
delivering the sinner
AAAaaalllll
woman in the center

In swimming willows
Luxury feast on the edge of love
Luxury feast on the edge of love


Mirror in the sonnet
Mirroring us and them  
I heard he'd lost his nerve  
I'm over living it
I'm living it

I
II
III
IIII
IIIII
IIIIII
IIIIIII
IIIIIIII
IIIIIIIII
IIIIIIIIII
­
a glass bottom boat
in central park
the snowflakes all
have your smile
(their mother
of the ice)
stirred her drink
with a finger
and fell asleep
in the sun

i.

your ribcage is not a ladder
for demons
to crawl their way up your body

ii.

your eyes aren’t black pits
in which everybody can see
every part of you reflected

iii.

remember that you are the only person
who can look in the mirror
and see you staring back,

iiii.

you cannot creep up on yourself

iiiii.

and just because blackberries
taste sweet
doesn’t mean they won’t rot
over time

iiiiii


It’s okay to feel like the roots
that anchor you
are mangled underground

i iii ii i i i i iii  iii iiiii  ii i iii
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It was a still day,
triumphant arms
of an iconic trinity
rotated graciously.
            
Mercedes in motion,
a quiet reassurance,
ecological, exotic and
above all, on a pedestal.
              
               |
             /   \
               II
               II
               II
               II
               II
               II
               II
               II
               II
               II
               II
            IIIIII
.

i. i could write about so many things,
about how i love him like he's a fungus
like something that is creeping and slow and is definitely not planning to just let go anytime soon, how i love him like he's a part of me that i love or rather that i love to hate.

ii. i could write about how i love her and she loves me too but not in the right way.

iii. i could write about how she feels like moonbeams and the wink of a star, like something that you're so lucky to have and you know it.

iiii. i could write about how i only really miss her when we're together, because then i'm afraid, afraid that i won't be how i seem online, afraid that i cannot possibly love her enough to justify this horrible betrayal of friendship which is letting her believe i love her like a friend

iiiii. i could write about how he doesn't love me, how we're not even friends, how he feels like love is a cage, a trap, a sugary addiction (and it was with him)

iiiiii. i could write about how it felt to kiss him even though we didn't kiss, how it felt like you were nothing and he was everything and how he didn't even love himself so i had to do that for him

but i'm just so tired. i'd rather let words dance on my tongue and then tell myself to remember them and then forget, forget the words, forget the emotions, because even if they were beautiful they're tearing me apart, because to write good poetry you have to be able to rip off pieces of yourself and observe them and write them down, even while you're still bleeding.

iiiiiii. i could write this. i could hit the save button and just let it go, go back to wasting the potential that feels so much like something else, like kissing him, like when i'm working on myself, (my work, that is, essays and diagrams and all those pretty little traps) i am really working for someone else, because if i were really doing what i wanted, it wouldn't all feel like a trap, like i'm stuck in a mental net, would it?

iiiiiiii. i could write about things that never happened to me, but they might as well have because the real way to know if things have happened to you is if they changed you, and i am changed like these people in my mind i so love to write about are.

iiiiiiiii.  i could write about how my realest poems are things like this or scenes from my imagination, from people that never lived and never will but suffer like me every day of their nonexistent lives.

now i think i've written enough to know that there won't ever be a good ending to the poem, but i've started it so i have to finish it, and this sentence is just that,
an ending.

~fin~