they emerge from the wooded neighborhood ridge and fringe at dusk
into breadth of lawn
& limb.
witchy chicks
casting banter n bitchcraft.
teenage dead end dreamers tipped in black magick lip gloss
& glitter, their
genderfluid familiars &/or wayward boyfriends apparate
in the street pink cloud spinning wheel,
& hawking bile.
****** stella smile.
swallow a hex, send a snap, tongue along his neck
promising to fold bodies before sunrise.
the effervescent gasp
of post-ritual clarity.

in the house,
is a kid.
a gig.
the devil with a younger grip.
& the kid thrills on a bit of the ol’
         u l t r a v i o l e n c e.
****** videogames, ****** anime, ****** mayhem n melodic music.
he is a conduit of dark energy.
a pure blooded offering of the stone age/video age,
mind in a kind of kaleidoscopic way.
he is me.
bred on televised bucket slime ceremonials.

she checks her purse.
drugs & snacks & juul & a pretty dead bird.
a daughter of delphi watching your kid.
tending to him.
trending him.
popcorn smelling him, the texas chainsaw massacre on vhs just before bed.
palace of teeth n twigs.
just a short walk to the edge and then its bath time.

             the demon version is grisly and cruel.
             the angel version is starry-eyed and adventurous.

to conjure some
  thing,
at the cliff jumping.
it was fun.

o, rèmy martin dreamer,
with cheap hen on your breath.
the good brown is not the backwoods
or juul pods in virgina tobacco,

&

maybe the good brown manifests in my hair,
before the ammonia, touching my scalp
and turning it as red as my tongue after
a strawberry lollipop. everything
tastes like you.

&

i wish i could touch you again,
just hold your hand, brush your
elbow, play with your hair.
but i also wish i could drive a thousand
machetes into your flesh, while screaming

&

writhing with trash-sickened fervor .
you are *****-inducing. you smell
like a thousand patchouli-burning
stoners, but you feel like velvet
and taste like sugar-sweat.
you might be popping a xan right now,
knee-deep in beautiful girls.
and i'm still dope-sick.

Little stick,
take a quick hit,
easy ****,

feeling fly,
nic' high,
when will I die?
too soon
momento mori
turned fried

Persistence

sometimes i feel like falling down
but only. cause standing up is boring
why am i storming though a season where leaves fall
cause that's norming
bonds break but tears freeze and that's how crystals keep forming

i should test myself
see what i can find
in the life of my time
or at least what i've been prescribed

to put it honestly to wish is to dream
and that is to put it modestly
but to live is to rip your skin from your body
because comfort is a sad commodity
a place holder for
what you're meant to be
but that's placing your bets on destiny
and that's still a dangerous place to me

reach for the stars or
at least set your eyes on a planet that's not ours
maybe mars
that was predictable but it rhymed so
sorry if i'm presenting my ideas as cliche
or despicable
at least i can decipher what i know is unforgivable
a prison is a person who's microsoft-able

but that's just my angst creating a villain
vaporizing vixens are vain to the core
but the haze of pain is still in
only cause that's what they tell me when i want more
more than a ******* juul i'm
too cool to care about my health
cause the moment is now right, until i have to worry about wealth
for my family or my chemical dependence it makes me wince i mean i just want health insurance sorry i'm not used to the governments idea of
assurance
but jesus christ
one nation under god
kids get shot for
mowing the ******* lawn
what kind of world are we living in
**** is fueling the patriarchy for the worser
if a fertilized egg is a candidate for “******”
every single guy walks a around wearing ******* or kappa
donald trump doesn’t drink
pops percocets and ******

i'm swimming and drowning and i need assistance
but it begs the question of thoughts that fester in an enemy
i'm sorry, i know that's not fitting my opinion of the human existence
but why am i creating an enemy when all my life has promised me is the empty shell of persistence

Two bros converged into a fellowhood
And stoked to share their Fight Club quotes
And be two broskis, juiced they stood,
And shotgunned PBRs, long as they could,
till they were wrecked in a sweet-*** boat

Then proclaimed the bros, into the air,
“Turn on the flatscreen, let’s watch the game”,
it was Saturday so the day was theirs;
and as they sat in their folding chairs,
the smell of axe the air became

And clad in their Costas they loudly played
a song no bro’s cracked iPhone lacks.
Oh, they know their bops like they know their whey!
They smelled their teen spirits and exhaled away,
JUUL clouds of fruit flavors with swag densely packed.

There is no replacing these two guys
and their dudely jockish fashion sense.
Two bros converged as two would, and aye-
They forged the path bros travel by,
a path of bliss and ignorance.

My thoughts will maim you like Kano
Thinking of the pain-o makes you start drinking the draino
Count your days bro
Time for a puzzle for your brain-o
What likes kit and kaboodle but not the rain-o
I’d tell you but you wouldn’t get it
Like tots listening to Coltrane-o or Jimmy Hendrix
I’ve gots one more question, use your noodle
Pay attention! Better stop picking at your cuticles
Some kids only get to draw yankee doodles
They tag along at home while they eating ramen noodles
Other kids go to games with the family poodle
In the booth they get to sing a song, the Yankee Doodle
  How much wealth do you think is in the bottom half?
  Only 1 percent belongs to most, the riff raff
  Inscribe that graph on my epitaph
  On my deathbed, I just want to hear my children laugh
Many fellas feign money through poverty
The reality of my situation doesn’t really bother me
I’m full of funny sayings like Plato and Socrates
Such catchphrases as hey baby **** on these!
I’m just kidding I would never-ever do that
I have a reputation as a forever-ever cool cat
Whose that? Is he a juul rat? How many tats?
Henry, no, and none. Now say where’s your daughter at?
The poor burn wealth about as much as anyone
Though some can’t easily earn health for they many sons
She turn tricks for her son’s Trix and lego bricks
But in the end we all churn the same River Styx
  How much wealth do you think is in the bottom half?
  Only 1 percent belongs to most, the riff raff
  Inscribe that graph on my epitaph
  On my deathbed, I just want to hear my children laugh
Rich and poor both drinking coca-cola
Stress and storm both scary like paranoia
I’m thinking there’s a little societal unrest
The greatest generation watched King Kong beat on his chest
I want to scream just like Ann Darrow
Yelp for help but the people’s views too narrow
The news only shows what the shiny shoes say to
Not much we can do, so we wait till they get their due
Nothings gonna happen if we don’t make it
So write in, call in, tweet in and even pray it
They won’t admit it if we can’t force them to say it
Our last hope’s revolution, they’re not outdated
  How much wealth do you think is in the bottom half?
  Only 1 percent belongs to most, the riff raff
  Inscribe that graph on my epitaph
  On my deathbed, I just want to hear my children laugh

i'm 22 and it's been about a week since my last cig
(now i have a juul, the most responsible way to manage my buzz i guess)
i am too busy to write, read, call my mom sometimes, i can't go home to visit because i've run out of time
i'm not sure when i'll make it to the grocery store, or
when i'll sleep because i'm busy trying to fit in time to rest.
i hope it's worth it
but i think i convince myself that most things are

Strange trip through time as the music I hear comes from when I was in highschool.

Currently I am 31, Korn are now an old band, smoking has been replaced by the juul and I find myself thinking when did I no longer have my finger on the pulse of society?

Do teenagers know that their culture is created by 30 and 40 year olds who know them so well that they can target their individuality and make a profit out of them?

Did I?

I was rocking out to The Cure and The *** Pistols in highschool while everyone around me was listening to the black eyed peas and slipknot and somehow I still see the irony of it all.

How detached am I?

Is youth the key to being in touch with whats happening unless you find yourself as an influencer?  

Another social term that only existed in fashion magazines when I was in highschool now we focus on Instagrams and snapchats to tell us what's what and what fashion to follow.

I'm trending on my younger self and what we call **** riding or *** kissing is now called stanning... Am I losing touch?

is this what age does or does society simply become more marketable and I fall for less the older I get?

At what point do I walk away and become old and just simply don't get it?

Age sneaks up on us and soon we forget and lose track of what's happening and soon we have a group of highschool wannabe punk *** kids laughing at us as we stand in line at the mall, wired, tired and exhausted from work but we've only got a few hours to get this last minute gift for our friend or for a babyshower and we make under what we deserve because we bust our *** and yet the house payment racks up and our manager who is younger than us by a year somehow thinks they're better than us, so we have to see these hoodie wearing smirking *** teenage brats mock us, meanwhile we can outdrink, outparty, outfuck and out run them because no matter how hard they think they are, we've got the experience to support us.

Age sneaks up and soon those punk *** whiny instastars become 30 year olds who say the same **** we do because when we're young everyone lives forever and hindsight is 3030 or 4040 but this is part bitter, part better, its part knowledge and part wisdom, it's part jaded and part self aware.

At the end of the day it's all just signs of age.

No stress forget those fools because we got our cigarettes kokos and juuls

The nicotine makes my brain less mean

Frantically searching for my Juul while you call me a fiend

Got your koko in your hand because your an organized man

**** it lets get me some smokes
They taste so good but they make me choke

everytime i hit this juul
it burns the back of my throat
the same sensation i feel
when i'm talking to you

14 years ago, I made a new friend
With bright pink cheeks and stubby legs.
She cried all night, never let me sleep
So I asked my mom if she was ours to keep.

I hid her "biberon,"
I was reprimanded.
She pulled my hair,
And I pulled hers.

She looked cute, and I did not
As we grew older, we argued and fought.

I grew, she grew. We grew apart.
But I really wanted to see the person she'd become.

When she sprays deodorant
I know she's masking
The perfume of Marlboro smoke

And when she locks the bathroom door
I know she has a Juul in her mouth
She's sitting on the marble floor.  

We used to band together, we hated
How our dad smokes, and how he yells.
But now she's inheriting the path
That he so wrongly chose.

Crinkled joint wrappers,
Crumbs of **** and hash,
Lighter-play.
This cannot be the person you've so wanted to become.

I know sometimes you're my shadow
But you're worth so much.
You're smart, you're kind, you have a glow
That I am so SO proud of.

Sister, dear,
What are you doing?
Rebelling? Fighting? Confusing yourself?
You say you're fat, ugly, worthless
And you feel a misfit.

But sister, dear,
You're gorgeous, amazing, worth so much.
I love, I care, I need you,
Sister, dear, enough is enough.

It started small, like can I ask you a favor? Too,
You want me in your mouth,
lifesaver
You promised I wasn’t
a new flavor
Yet I was minor to you
never major

Meetups after school,
drinking at your pool,
classmates thinking that I’m cool
not realizing I’m some pervert addiction nickname, Juul

Using my Maturity to get by the insecurity  
Ensuring me that I’m different for my age
Purity in your voice starts to disengage
When my clothes start to fade

Ready to tell peers about our late-night hobbies
The details I describe make them jealous like they want to rob me
Recall every instance where I lost innocence feeling less like Rocky
More like Paulie here comes impotence

Three therapy sessions a week
Two affirmations to keep me at my peak
One time for me to remember you and start to blame my physique

I remember the last time I was at your house
there was a divide between the six of you that lived there.
I hear that since I’ve been gone
things have turned into more of a free-for-all.
I never ask but your friends like to talk.
They tell me about how you’ve been
And I hear things haven’t been going so well for you.
I hear your tablet got stolen.
I hear you lose your cat
about as often as you lose your mind.
I hear you’ve been drinking *****, flavored peach,
more than your pomegranate tea.
I hear, from your friends, I’m so much better without you.
I hear, from your friends, that your new boyfriend is a “creepy, greasy loser.”
I hear that Miranda’s girlfriend is more aggressive now.
Some would say abusive.
Nobody there does anything about it though.
I hear that one of your friends moved out
of that toxic place of yours.
I’m very proud of her.
I hear, from your friends, you’re not really up to anything.
I hear that you still hit that juul.
You promised me you would try to quit.
You never try.
I hear you still blame everybody but yourself.

I hear that you are nothing
but a black hole
silently *******
out all the energy they’re trying to hold
on to.
I think that you may be more of a white dwarf
preparing to explode,
taking out everybody and their belongings
with you.

I hear it’s a blessing that I’m no longer around
that environment you and your roommates have created
and I think your friends are right.

But have you heard,
maybe from your friends,
that I still miss you?

This mushy couch,
I’m clammy and warm -
Crying about the wrong dad being taken
When suddenly
The therapist turns,
A knock is heard,
Many - rather.
A ladder appears
And a dude with a belt
Far too big for his stature.
He climbs and cleans
And makes me laugh,
And my asthmatic therapist
Takes us on a walk instead.
Uphill! It is humid
We both pant and sweat
I haven’t ditched the juul
The way the rug was pulled
Back we go
To the mushy couch
With the clammy pillow