You say,
"I'm sorry for dragging you
into my life"
and I want to laugh the loudest
laugh possible for my lungs to emit, my
chest heaving with the irony, the
actuality that I was not dragged in forcefully
I stepped in willingly
to a door already closing

-

I hope she loves you as well as
I never got the chance to
I hope she speaks about
how full her heart is and how
easy it is to be with you
I hope this half ton of weight that
is finally off my chest makes
its way on to yours
I hope it's not too much to carry but
then again I do

-

You say,
"I'm sorry, don't hate me"
but my dear,
don't you know that it is myself that
is always the target of disappointment?

-

I hope I'm washed out of your mouth by
the time you kiss hers
the sour, the whiskey, the passionate hatred,
the coming back again,
tonight the neighbors are having a party and
all I can think about is
us at 2 in the morning dancing
to the noise of each other

-

You say,
"I'm sorry, I've tried calling"
but we both know the lack of dial tone in your voice and
the absence of ring in mine says enough
I waited for an answer but
you hung up

-

I am certain that
I will spend the rest of my time in this city
searching for you in other people,
I am convinced that
I will need sleeping pills to forget
the music in your voice, your singing in my ears
has become nothing more than a repeated knocking

-

You say,
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry"
I say nothing but
in my head I say thank for
untying this knot we
got ourselves into
-

this is about a future that does not have you in it
one where I will pick at my food while you
pick at her shirt, pulling off clumps of cotton, laughing,
while I try to fill this empty stomach with anything but
sorrow and morosity

this is a poem about a song that isn't for me
she's a poet too,
how fitting

you make me want to listen to Alkaline Trio
ironically,
for their morosity
is no longer my own. and maybe

they'd be happy for me. happily
singing their songs
with a different
lung.

I have found the other ghosts,
who wander 'round these dead of night streets.
Who sulk and slink and glide
in suits and dresses,
torn jeans and tank tops;
in moon glow shoes and bare feet.

The ghosts who are but revelers and fools,
thieves and dreamers,
flailing arms frantic at the lights,
         all the lights!
Who bask in the sweet summer rains,
washing clean the night's gaiety.
The cigarettes and ***** and starry-eyed ecstasy;
crawling hand in hand, shoulder to shoulder,
lip to lip and promise to love.
Love if only till dawn.

Ghosts who hide in the street lamp shadows,
smiling fools masking their morosity.
Another night wasted chasing the memory of a dragon
only to return to their haunts' and fade;
decay under the sunrise rays.
Dreaming and scheming
of the next nights jollities.

Laugh and tears equals joy.
Tears and weeping equals morosity.
Tears and laughs and weeping equals madness.
Tears and laughs and weeping and madness equals insanity.
Sanity leads to insanity.

I want to be part of the industry
To those in the know
This may come off as a confession
Of my ineptitude in joining music
Yes, Music, with a capital M
The industry of music
Holed off from the world
This however, is not the case
I am fawning over the Industry
A world of hard workers
A world of early deaths
And one where there is no satisfaction

I want to be part of the industry
I am deeply and utterly heartbroken
At my love of the arts and avant-garde
I want to be like the old man
From the bus station that one time prior
He was wearing a tattered hat
His coat was torn in places
His shoes were discolored from glue
His face was dark as soot from dirt
His beard was patchy, and greyish
Yet through his eyes, I saw a flash
A flash of a diamond nature
His veins bled gold and his brow, well
His sweat was pure *******
And even thusly so, he held something
That I could never even begin to touch
He held in himself no hostility
No morosity or animosity
He was a happy man and nothing more
And though I may live for far longer
I wish to trade places yet still

I want to be part of the industry
I want my body to be battered
I want my will to be shattered
If I were to wish for something
It would be to become a machine
In a factory, operated by a ******
Functioning in perfect unison
With my focused master
I want to be a slave to the industry
I want to be destroyed for a good reason
Rather than the war of attrition
That I've been fighting for 20 something years now

I want to be part of the industry
The *** industry
No, I am not professing that I would enjoy being on call
I want to be ***** by the evil that man wills
By the willing and heretical deities of this land

I dreamed of being cannibalized
A man of gigantic proportions stood above me
He had a tail, and a horse's face
His voice was the sound of charcoal burning
He whispered to me with malevolence
"You will never be who you desire to be"
I knew in my heart of hearts that he was right
He took all of his clothes off, slowly
In order to allow me a view of his many scars
Burns, stab wounds, scratches
All over his brown leather skin
His face changed into something else
It was my face, as a man
He ****** me, against my will
And after he had had his way with me
He began to tear me apart with his hands
Slowly ripping off my flesh, bit by bit
I could not move against his immense force
But I felt every single minutia of pain
I became nothing, and I was now one with him
I will never be a woman again

I want to be part of the industry
I want to be one of the many robots
That are tearing jobs away from good-willed working men
Or so I hear they are, anyway

I want to be part of the soil
I want you to walk over me
Maybe this way I would assist you in something
I would help you reach your goal at the ends of this earth
I want to be dirt, sand and soft rock
To be malleable by hand and to be useful in some way
I want to know why the Greater Will cursed me this way
Why I must see the earth in such a Wretched form
Why where others see color, I see monochrome
Why where others see camaraderie, I see crushing solitude
My becoming an Artist was a great mistake
I've always wanted to be nothing more than a machine

I want you to understand
You, You, You, with a capital Y, the divine You
That I do love you, if somewhat differently than they do
And I apologize for not showing it while I had the chance
I will miss the days when we walked this earth together
We were Wretched together, unlike the others
I hope in your sleep, your eternal and infinite sleep
You find the wisdom that I denied you
I will miss you like you were a brother to me, because you were
I am lonely without you
But so it goes, or at least that's what they tell me

Blood lashes in the rain as the wind buffeted the Plains of Detritus.
Fetid smells plagued the air in torrents of swirling effluence.
The red moon shone beyond the bending and bowing trees slashing the horizon.
A lone figure stood awash in the downpour yet firmly unaffected by the gale.
"Stay" said the statue.
Unmoving in his conviction that all trespassers be swept away with the storm.
White lighting struck the ground mere feet from his outstretched palm.
The explosion reaping a cacophony of destruction resulting in smoldering craters.
Glare obstructed the morosity but did little to extinguish the rotten fumes of death.
As sight regained clarity another flash lit the scene to reveal a writhing mass
Emerging from the rent earth like the oscillating arms of a millipede.
"Come closer" said the Devil.
In a blink a thousand wails descended on the land.
Baring teeth and grabbing hands.
Reaching...
Reaching...
To grab hold of the light of the last soul holding claim to its life.
Stubborn, it resists the touch of darkness by force of will alone.
Until even the last spark of hope became entangled within the putrid hellscape,
Winking out of existence and forgotten;
Consumed by evil.
"Such is the price of the blood moon" cackled the fallen angel.

Sovereignty of thoughts
in the well of eyes. Something tells
about love. Who dictates the blood?

Morosity develops, when
alien hand catches you.Stark naked
buds of roses tear the sun.

It was anonymous to
open the eyes of flames.The lightning
will clear drops of my tears.

To live is to be proven
Again and again
About our consistency,
Our mechanisms.
But to be unscathed
Is to remain over time.

Every inch of growth
Comes from millions millimeters of inadequateness
Over parts of our body
Unaware to our nerves.

The same growth and changes
Are dying symptoms
But nevertheless symptoms of life.
Changes are cause and effect of living,.

There is no memory
In being unscathed,
There is no construction
In morosity,
There is no adaptation
In nihilism.

Never be where you are
Is to extrapolate life,
Is to neglect the absurdity of it,
Is to embrace riot to the nonsense,
Is to give meaning and spit it,
Move, ****, move,
And you'll die living too much,
But it's the only thing worth
Dying for.