I've been acquainted with the following
psychoactives compounds:

Depressants & Dissociatives;
Ethanol / EtOH / alcohol, drink, *****
γ-Hydroxybutyric acid / GHB / G, fantasy
β-Phenyl-γ-aminobutyric acid / PhGABA / Phenibut
Dextromethorphan / DXM / Benylin, Robitussin
Morphine / Papaver somniferum / *****
3-Methylmorphine / Codeine
Dihydrocodeine / DHC
Buprenorphine / Subutex, Suboxone
N-Allylnoroxymorphone / Naloxone / Suboxone, Narcan
Tramadol / Ultram
O-Desmethyltramadol/ O-DSMT / Omnitram
Thiopental / Sodium Pentothal
Diazepam / ******
2'-Chlorodiazepam / Ro5-3448 / Diclazepam
4'-Chlorodiazepam / Ro5-4864
Chlordiazepoxide / Librium
Gidazepam, hidazepam
Desalkylgidazepam / Bromonordiazepam
N-Desalkylfluarazepam / Norfluarazepam
Flubromazepam
Alprazolam / Xanax
Bromazolam / XLI-268
Clonazolam, Clonitrazolam / Clam
Etizolam / Etilaam, Etizest
Flualprazolam
Flubromazolam
Zopiclone / Zimovane
Pagoclone
Promethazine / Phenergan
Diphenhydramine / DPH / Benadryl, Nytol
Chlorphenamine, chlorpheniramine / CPM / Piriton
Cetirizine / Zyrtec
Amitriptyline / Elavil
Tianeptine / Coaxil, Stablon
Mirtazapine / Remeron
Quetiapine / Seroquel
Nitrous Oxide / N2O / laughing gas
Amyl Nitrite / Poppers
Ketamine [racemic] / K, Kitty
Esketamine [S-isomer] / Special K
Deschloroketamine / 2'-Oxo-PCM / DCK
N-ethyldeschloroketamine / 2'-Oxo-PCE / O-PCE / Eticyclidone
Deoxymethoxetamine / 3-Me-2′-Oxo-PCE / DMXE
Methoxetamine / 3-MeO-2'-Oxo-PCE / MXE / Mexxy
Hydroxetamine / 3-**-2'-Oxo-PCE / HXE / Hexxy
Methoxpropamine / 2-Oxo-3'-MeO-PCPr / MXPr
Methoxisopropamine / 2-Oxo-3'-MeO-PCiPr / MXiPr
3-Hydroxyphencyclidine / 3-**-***
3-Methoxyphencyclidine / 3-MeO-***
3-Methoxyeticyclidine / 3-MeO-PCE
3-Methyleticyclidine / 3-Me-PCE

Stimulants & Enhancers;
1,3,7-Trimethylxanthine / Caffeine / Coffea, Camellia sinensis / Coffee, Tea
3,7-dimethylxanthine / Theobromine / [constituent of] Chocolate
N-Ethyl-L-glutamine / L-Theanine / [constituent of] Green Tea
Nicotine / Nicotiana / Tobacco, cigarettes, smokes
Ephedrine / Ephedra
Pseudoephedrine / Ephedra, Sudafed
Adrenaline, Epinephrine
Choline bitartrate
L-alpha glycerylphosphorylcholine / Alpha-GPC, Choline alfoscerate
Cytidine 5'-diphosphocholine / CDP-choline, Citicoline
N-Acetylcysteine / NAC
2-Dimethylaminoethyl (4-chlorophenoxy)acetate / Meclofenoxate
N-Phenylacetyl-L-prolylglycine ethyl ester / Omberacetam / Noopept
Coluracetam / BCI-540
4-Phenylpiracetam
Propranolol
(±)-2-Benzhydrylsulfinyleth­anehydroxamic acid / Adrafinil
(±)-2-[(Diphenylmethyl)sulfinyl]acetamide / Modafinil
(–)-2-[(R)-(diphenylmethyl)sulfinyl]acetamide / Armodafinil
α-Methylphenethylamine / Amphetamine, αMP / Speed
N-Methylamphetamine / Methamphetamine / ****
Lisdexamfetamine / Vyvanse, Tyvense, Elvanse
2-Fluoromethamphetamine / 2-FMA
3-Fluoroamphetamine / 3-FA /  PAL-353
4-Fluoroamphetamine / 4-FA, 4-FMP /  PAL-303 / Flux
4-Methoxyamphetamine / PMA, 4-MA / Death
5-Methoxy-2-aminoindane / MEAI, 5-MeO-AI / Chaperone, Pace
Methythiolpropamine / MPA / Blow
3-Fluorophenmetrazine / 3-FPM / PAL-593
Methylphenidate / MPH / Ritalin, Concerta
4-Fluoromethylphenidate / 4F-MPH
4-Fluoroethylphenidate / 4F-EPH
3-Methylmethcathinone / 3-MMC / Metaphedrone
3-Methylethcathinone / 3-MEC
4-Methylmethcathinone / 4-MMC / Mephedrone
4-Methylethcathinone / 4-MEC
3-Chloro-N-tert-butyl-cathinone / Bupropion / Wellbutrin, Zyban
4-Chloromethcathinone / 4-CMC / Clephedrone
4-Fluoromethcathinone / 4-FMC / Flephedrone
4-Fluoro-α-methylaminovalerophenone / 4-Fluoropentedrone / 4-FPD
α-Ethylaminocaprophenone / N-Ethylhexedrone / NEH / Hexen
alpha-Pyrrolidinohexiophenone / α-PHP / PV-7
alpha-Pyrrolidinoisohexaphenone / α-PiHP, α-PHiP
3,4-Methylenedioxy-α-pyrrolidinohexiophenone / MDPHP
3,4-Methyl​enedioxy​pentedrone / βk-MBDP / Pentylone
3,4-Methylenedioxymethcathinone / βk-MDMA / MDMC / Methylone
3,4-Methylenedioxymethamphetamine / MDMA / ecstasy
5-(2-methylaminopropyl)benzofuran / 5-MAPB
6-(2-Aminopropyl)benzofuran / 6-APB / Benzofury
6-(2-Aminopropyl)-2,3-dihydrobenzofuran / 6-APDB / 4-desoxy-MDA
Mesembrine / Sceletium tortuosum, Kanna
Harmine / Peganum harmala / Syrian Rue
3,4,8-Trimethoxyphenanthrene-2,5-diol / Dendrobium nobile
NSI-189
4-chloro-N-(2-morpholin-4-ylethyl)benzamide / Moclobemide
Escitalopram / Cipralex, Lexapro
Fluoxetine / Prozac
Sertraline / Zoloft
Venlafaxine / Effexor
5-Hydroxytryptophan / 5-HTP / Oxitryptan

Hallucinogens & Psychedelics;
Cannabidiol / CBD / Cannabis
Cannabigerol / CBG / Cannabis
Δ9-Tetrahydrocannabinol / THC / Cannabis, Marijuana
Hexahydrocannabinol / HHC
AM-2201 / Synth-'noids, Spice
NM-2201 / CBL-2201
5C-AB-PINICA
Salvinorin A  / Salvia Divinorum / Diviner's Sage
d-Lysergic acid amide / d-Lysergamide / LSA / Ergine
Lysergic acid diethylamide / Lysergide / LSD, LAD / Acid, Lucy
Lysergic acid 2,4-dimethylazetidide / LSZ / Diazedine, Lambda, λ
1-Acetyl-lysergic acid diethylamide / 1A-LSD / ALD-52
1-Propionyl-lysergic acid diethylamide / 1P-LSD
1-Cyclopropionyl-N-Methyl-N-isopropyllysergamide / 1cP-MiPLA
6-Allyl-6-nor-lysergic acid diethylamide / AL-LAD / Aladdin
2,5-Dimethoxy-4-methylamphetamine / DOM / Dominic
2,5-Dimethoxy-4-bromoamphetamine / DOB / Aphrodite
2,5-Dimethoxy-4-chloroamphetamine / DOC / Doctor
2,5-Dimethoxy-4-methylthioamphetamine / DOT / Aleph
2,5-Dimethoxy-4-methyl-α-ethylphenethylamine / 4C-D / Ariadne
2,5-Dimethoxy-4-methylphenethylamine / 2C-D, 2C-M / Matrix
2,5-Dimethoxy-4-ethylphenethylamine / 2C-E / Eternity
2,5-Dimethoxy-4-bromophenethylamine / 2C-B / Nexus
2,5-Dimethoxy-4-chlorophenethylamine / 2C-C / Callisto
2,5-Dimethoxy-4-iodophenethylamine / 2C-I / Infinity
2,5-Dimethoxy-4-methylthiophenethylamine / 2C-T / Tesseract
2,5-Dimethoxy-4-ethylthiophenethylamine / 2C-T-2 / Rosy
2,5-Dimethoxy-4-fluoroethylthiophenethylamine / 2C-T-21 / Aurora
2,5-Dimethoxy-4-bromo-β-keto-phenethylamine / βk-2C-B
2,5-Dimethoxy-4-bromo-β-hydroxy-phenethylamine / βOH-2C-B / BOHB
2,3,6,7-Benzo-dihydro-difuran-8-bromo-ethylamine / 2C-B-FLY
2,5-Dimethoxy-N-(2-methoxybenzyl)-4-bromophenethylamine / 25B
2,5-Dimethoxy-N-(2-methoxybenzyl)-4-chlorophenethylamine / 25C
2,5-Dimethoxy-N-(2-methoxybenzyl)-4-iodophenethylamine / 25I
2,5-Dimethoxy-N-(2-hydroxybenzyl)-4-ethylphenethylamine / 25E-NBOH
3,4-Methylenedioxyamphetamine / MDA / Sass, Sally
3,4,5-Trimethoxyphenethylamine / Mescaline / M
3,5-Dimethoxy-4-ethoxyphenethylamine / Escaline
3,5-Dimethoxy-4-methallyloxyphenethylamine / Methallylescaline / MAL
α-Methyltryptamine / αMT / Indopan
N,N-dimethyltryptamine / DMT / The Spirit
N,N-dipropyltryptamine / DPT / The Light
N,N-Diisopropyltryptamine / DiPT / The Sound
N-Methyl-N-ethyltryptamine / MET / The Colour
N-Methyl-N-propyltryptamine / MPT
N-Ethyl-N-propyltryptamine / EPT
N-Methyl-N-isopropyltryptamine / MiPT / The Touch
4-Hydroxy-dimethyltryptamine / 4-**-DMT / Psilocybe / Psilocin
4-Phosphoryloxy-N,N-dimethyltryptamine / 4-PO-DMT / Psilocybin
4-Acetoxy-dimethyltryptamine / 4-AcO-DMT / Psilacetin
4-Hydroxy-N-methyl-N-ethyltryptamine / 4-**-MET / Metocin
4-Acetoxy-N-methyl-N-ethyltryptamine / 4-AcO-MET / Metacetin
4-Acetyloxy-N,N-dipropyltryptamine / 4-AcO-DPT / Pracetin
4-Acetoxy-N-methyl-N-cyclopropyltryptmine / 4-AcO-McPT
4-Acetoxy-N-methyl-N-isopropyltryptamine / 4-AcO-MiPT / Mipracetin
4-Hydroxy-N-methyl-N-isopropyltryptamine / 4-**-MiPT / Miprocin
5-Methoxy-N,N-dimethyltryptamine / 5-MeO-DMT / The God, The Power
5-Methoxy-N-methethyltryptamine / 5-MeO-MET / The Vision
5-Methoxy-N,N-diallyltryptamine / 5-MeO-DALT / Foxtrot
5-Methoxy-N-diisopropyltryptamine / 5-MeO-DiPT / Foxy
5-Methoxy-N-methyl-N-isopropyltryptamine / 5-MeO-MiPT / Moxy

Throwing themselves beneath the mechanized yard-work goliath,
Salvia flowers bow their heads, heralding my passing
Stooping to remove their violet hats,
Thrown to the ground, trampled underfoot by passing metal,
A muddled **** of
half-death, half-birth
Floral genitalia broken into fragments, shards of color
Yet always they bow
Stooping, self-subjugating, submissive, servile, stretched
to their absolute maximum, fibrous tendrils ripping from the bed of grass

Until they flutter gently
Half-mocking their half-living counterparts
Still rooted firmly in the mulchy beds.

Each body part
sizzled in pure pleasure
in the blissed wake
of your oral efforts
brought forth the waves
of rapturous delight...

                                       Spurs poetic inspiration
                                        in equal liberation
                                        of desires to please.
                                        Bodies transpose
                                        in fluid motion
                                        as brazen eyes meet.

        Savor the voluptuous image before you.
        Indulge your eyes in my carnal halo
        before they roll to the back of your head.

On all fours
knees between your thighs
tips of swollen breast
caress your chest
tasting fresh honey
upon lips in a kiss.

                                        Ripples of ardor
                                         hover
                                         by wet trails
                                         of sensual kisses
                                         suckling towards
                                         the apex.

Breathe in
the slow motion pace
that pulsates eagerness
to the fore tumescing bulge
leaking with anticipation
of viscous lava.

        Tickles of silken hair
        against flesh edges closer.

Emerging subtle grumbles
in deep resonance
betray your impatience .
Hands tightly twine
in tangled hair
to maneuver
the treasure hunt.

                                         Licked lips pause
                                         at the sight of fire
                                         burning in
                                         glazed gazes
                                         before engulfing
                                         the throbbing member.

Plump ruby lips
greet velvety texture
in a slow deep dive.
Tongue curls around
the flavor
in a dulcet embrace.

                                         Moans release
                                         as grip tightens
                                         in my hair
                                         settles the
                                         rhythmic pace
                                         to taste in an
                                         oscillating dance.

        The masculine aroma of heady musk
        lingering there, arouses my appetite.

With my enthusiasm
attuned to
your preferred rhythm
suckling, slurping
surface and dive
in measured unison.

                                          Break of breath
                                          allows tongue
                                          freedom to roam below,
                                          licking, soft kissing
                                          the tender hammock
                                          of testicles.

        Tongue and lips escalate higher
        to mount another assaulting dive
        deeper in the depths
        of the cusp in cavity.

Wetted fingers
probe even lower
circling superficially
as gasp escapes
your heavy breath;
flaming eyes lock.

                                          Finger dips in
                                          with expert finesse
                                          gorging hardened growth
                                          within a wrapped hand.

Thighs tighten
with rocking grip.
Head thrusts onward,
drilling forward
in each dive.

        Salvia slips
        fingers grip
        lips dip

Engorged swell, flesh tightens in an intensity
of volcanic eruption ...

        HALTS
        assault

Pace retracts.
Loosened lips kiss tip.

“Soon sweetheart, your time will ***
inside me as we surrender to synergy."

EXT - SUMMER NIGHT - THE INCLOSED COURTYARD OF A CONDEMED HOUSING BUILDING

I'm on a balcony on the third floor. I'm on my own. It's my first time trying Salvia. It's a mild form. The experience lasts approx 10 mins. I feel timid and tired afterward. It took strength not to leave my position on the balcony over the railing.

my furniture is sentient
and i am not as real
as i might like to be.
mild hallucinations,
like dramamine
without the paranoia.
is this a dissociative?
i did a little research
and i was going to have a sitter
but it came early and i
wanted to try it and - yes
i am just one bad decision
away from prison, one bad
decision away from lying
unconscious in a ditch.  
salvia is legal  and
causing me to calculate
the realities of the life
i am choosing to steer
with reckless ambition.

i think
i once read
salvador dalí
dreamed of worlds
full of divine creatures
that fell from the sky like
comets falling from the heavens.
and in his dreams, these creatures
appeared to be different from others.
they reflected a new beauty, a new way
to see the world.  and although he attempted
to create art so that others could see what he saw,
many thought that he was a madman.  many thought
that he was seeing a world that didn't exist; that couldn't --
but if you see it, who are we to say it doesn't exist; who are we?
salvador dalí once claimed to be both an anarchist and a monarchist.
i like to believe this is possible...if one believes in a world full of kings.
people probably thought dalí was viewing the world through drug-filled eyes,
but dock ellis pitched his one and only no-hitter while under the influence of LSD.
dalí saw, and created, surrealism because there is no other way to see and create the world.
but dock ellis pitched his one and only no-hitter while under the influence of LSD.
people probably thought dalí was viewing the world through drug-filled eyes,
i like to believe this is possible...if one believes in a world full of kings.
salvador dalí once claimed to be both an anarchist and a monarchist.
but if you see it, who are we to say it doesn't exist; who are we?
that he was seeing a world that didn't exist; that couldn't --
many thought that he was a madman.  many thought
to create art so that others could see what he saw,
to see the world.  and although he attempted
they reflected a new beauty, a new way
appeared to be different from others.
and in his dreams, these creatures
comets falling from the heavens.
that fell from the sky like
full of divine creatures
dreamed of worlds
salvador dalí
i once read
i think

"just talk about love, or ***, or starving hearts, or just shut up
and I'll go

but" - Jonathan Richman

(..NIGHT)

A drunken man is blown by bathroom paintings,
with shower curtains displaying crowned sparrows
who laugh at his
crowned ****!
and humor his life!
also crowned
(but only subjectively if you were to ask anyone else)
I'm a burning insomniac surrounded by a whole cast of characters tonight, including the one with with a lazy eye who mirrors Chaplin
and arrived to the party disoriented from recent Salvia.
Then there was the one with a sleek current-edge-type haircut
who spent a few good minutes telling me about the film works of Philip Glass
            B E A U T I F U L
They play Bowie,
the whole social palette disintegrated beneath the weight of intoxication.
I, too, am dazzled from pale alcohol already (eight minutes past Midnight!)
The Dancing Athlete ambiguously dances on an absent television while my head hurts from a blue bulb glowing from a nearby lamp because it's too late for all this
and I'm reminded that I know almost nobody here.

(...AND DAY)

Maybe thirteen hours later, walking with Dante the bearded dog,
my friend wheeled a stranger, narcotic-vacuum-cheeked amputee.
He begged for light, as in a lighter, not that light of GOD, no no,
all the while he showed off his stub leg (cut off at the knee) bleeding out all over the sidewalk when his accident first occurred.

"THIS GUY THREW ME FROM THE BALCONY!" he preached

Past the cathedral narcissus
"JESUS COME/
JESUS SAVE MAN/
JESUS MAKE FIRE/
JESUS WAS A HOLY INDIA"
Across the street, village of enduring tombs and firesmoke,
shadowed tent outlines
breathed-in
playing cards and tricks
mandolin reverberations among tents and tents of
sickly or addict, all listening in on the live performance, a blessed Alice with dreads, lively chords emitted from her skull of ideas.

The forgotten noose of man ****** in a parking lot
by a liquor store, while we pick up some wine, which is, and I quote here "DRY AND CHEAP"
A sunny quiet perched on the field
of gleaming downtown streetlights
thru thinning clouds.
Olympic mountains in view, the kind of mountains only seen in magazine articles to be experienced by those unafraid to die.
All these sad people out here, too!
Their faces expand beneath capital industry,
Elephants occupied with jackets sewn in an anonymous factory.
Quick tip, I wanna write it down before I forget: don't listen to that old music when you're feeling lonely, it's all about love and especially in tragedy this is a bad idea.

I'm sick and wept and my teeth have been growing cameras,
the youth are dressed in drag, carpet cleaners bob their heads to unheard tunes but you can see the sound thru a glass window.

This city, oh, this city..
with bodies sprinting hard by each other and who bike across train tracks associated with very vague childhood memories.
We all float on hands electrified by the night!

Jonathan Richman tonite, who's vocal deliveries have been honest
and romantic, in a passionate sort of way.
He's singing that live track "A Plea For Tenderness"
(I know you were waiting for me to get to this)
and past few days have been strange
and past few weeks stranger, still. Not as bad as a lot of people but man, strange..
that night, and day.
Walking by the Victoria Hospice care center and looking down on my wrists which'll soon be tattooed with loving hands yet oh
so
aggressively pained by abuse because of a terminal disease and attempted suicide (NOT my own life, to clarify)
and it got me thinking on how we're all mutually getting thru this place and every face has seen hearts and seen death almost equal.
It can get to be too much, that's why melancholy has been defined to begin with. But ******* Jonathan Richman had to make this song.

"if I'm better than the wall
(tell me now)"

"Because it's dark at night
and I'm alone at night
I'm so sad and I'm so scared"

Things I've said in my own head and felt in my own time
as has everyone else. I don't mean to specify that this has happened RECENTLY, but it's definitely happened before. These times.

"now, I've just read some writers
from the old days
because I knew, I knew that they'd understand"

but BUT everybody is accidental!
even Rimbaud has stubbed his toe and I know that it'll be fine
it'll be fine
it'll be fine
in Vietnam maybe
and it'll be finer in Varanasi
(maybe-r)
but for now I don't know
I can say it I can try and feel it and understand it and pretend I know it
I gotta get away from people to be replaced by a Hindu I've never seen before
and sleep on a mattress that (like a new pair of shoes) hasn't grown in to my spinal chord and hurts ****** bad at first and is unfamiliar and the weather is warmer than usual
and the horns of traffic will be frightening but that too, will dissipate with time.
I gotta save up my money and hug my wallet like a starved cat
Jonathan ******* Richman's "A Plea For Tenderness"
what a fitting title
for a time like this one now.

freshly picked off of the plant and dried out for 3 days.
as I inhale the smoke I try to concentrate on the flame.
I hold in its essence and then slowly exhale.
before my eyes there is another dimension.
shapes that collide and move into each other and colors that I never knew existed.
singing, I hear singing.
its a a dream while I am wide awake.
the led lights from my friends gloves bring huge trails and colors that make me dizzy.
trying to walk but I stumble.
laughing at the fact that my heels are stilts and the ******* the couch has a penguin face.
then I get ****** back into my own world.
dazed and buzzed and able to speak and explain.
a trip I would love to experience again

For you sweetheart I would....

...writhe in the ecstasy of the tragic
or behave violently,
enmeshed in ******,
heroic havoc

I would stalk the thing that hurt you and stab-it.
or quickly tie it up and drag it,
as I whisper as a crazed maverick ; click, click, son!
and swallow back the drip, drip, umm....
of the vial of acid...….as I sip, sip, yum-
Facing the truth of the mirror I find myself presently hung

For you sweetheart....!
I would sacrifice the self
relegate my identity to the bottom shelf

I would Focus on  opposites...
and pervert the lost truth of buddhists; preaching and installing the sinful cysts...

of consumerism & material wealth, I hope you get the gist.
I would Climb to the monastery & maliciously yell
“Come on you drunk monk Its for your helllth!”

Doing what you always wanted
by changing the state of truth
from overwhelming presence
...to an unseen, veiled stealth

for you I would jump out of the highest helicopter sans parachute
!ha! writing and dying, but for you,  its such a hoot

For you Sweet love,
I would divide by zero,
March up to physics and blackholes say “hey F-yourself” unceremoniously killing the hero
remembering so vividly
how we intoxicatedly emptied oil on the baby-seals relaxing on the soil of the now empty sea shelf

but for you oh dear, I would empty myself of fear
and empathize with a jellyfish
GAH!  
I hate Jellyfish.

Please Imagine sweet- love,
how we would get married,
and go through all the steps to have a sweet- baby
and in the birthing room while you’re extra weary,
I would ask the simple question to hold and carry
this special
special
little baby

I would look you in the eyes, smile widely and drop it
While you pleaded, choked eyes pleading for some God to stop it

But thats a little extreme so lets take time and rewind the scene
So that you wouldn’t think of little ol’ loving ego me as being so especially mean

Then, amidst candles start smoothly & sweeten the deal with cannibalistic clipart
Preparing to Dine on the sweet meal of a sweetheart’s sweet heart.

For you I would
I would **** a man and smoke salvia at his funeral
Then desperately plead my case,  
so surreal while I Appeal deliriously and unable
to the divine
or the courtroom of an esoteric, alien race

Oh love.
I would bury myself in venomous spiders
submit myself to mysterious haitian-zombie rituals
To keep you pure and far from pitiful
I would Self-immolate to distance you from pain and the sinful

Then
I would put the world to sleep
so that they won’t stir, wake,
or open their eyes to peep
the pain of the sun,
burning the Sea-t
of their corneas
with its brilliant and all-encompassing,
luminous heat



Oh for you bella, I would put down three 1/5ths of law and turn the key
Oh beautiful, now the mothers against drunk driving are sooo MADD at me
Because for YOU
I Crashed into their headquarters traveling erratically and so haphazardly

For you I would do everything
not just anything
but
everything.

I would chill with monks that do all the ****** up things
Go to a girls house, burn the family, burn the home
have ******* with the survivor hopefully alone
and afterwards take a long time to gnaw viciously through my bones.

for you I would discuss that maybe this voice Isn’t fit for the world
So i just wink out of existence
to protect everything from my impact, characterized as it is, so spun and twirled

For you sweetheart, I would even let this poem go unwritten.
Just so the world would not be smitten
With the space between the righteous and the wrong
the difference, is what we feel,
For you truth I write this song.

Ostensibly and indefinitely, I would infinitely
remember thee
and it all planning to never do it again.
...because my Circuitry is charged with the pain to amend me.

For your own amusement
I would help possibility incarnate
fulfill itself A-moral and without hate
the good the bad and the ugly because …..remember
When it comes to poetic possibility  
The U-and-I-verse doesn’t discriminate

I would free the slaves from freedom
I would emulate pagans and heathens
I’ll be all you don’t need when you seek to amend the world of men

For you sweetheart I would publish this as a children’s night time book

.i might have been an *******, on many occasions and with many instances of it being true... but attempting to take someone's life? even i couldn't be such a ******* in the worst of probable instances; no, i'm pretty sure we were doing the "sleeper game", and like i once asked myself cognitively, 'what will be the last song i'll ever hear?' well... it wasn't good morning, or godless, or muhammad... it was... sleep... from the 13 tales of urban bohemia album; befitting, don't you think?

there's no point investing in
the current narrative,
given, that, the moderns
do not entertain the notion
of a dialectics...
    personally i don't see
the point...
or a, point...
          how can there be
debate "concerning",
a, "freedom" of speech,
when one side speaks,
the other side listens,
and then exercises authority
over the former side,
that abolishes their,
"freedom" to continue discourse?
that's not a, "freedom"...
that's... taunting
for the sake of taunting
and subsequent obliteration...
this?
  this particular piece?
i'm not talking...
    i have a cat sleeping
in my bed, in a fetal
position like an alien embryo,
and i'm taking?
who's talking?!
hearing voices in your head?
oh don't worry...
whoever is in charge
will gravitate to moving on
the one politicized medical
condition, schizophrenia,
as an excuse to cage you...
i know... i was also uneasy
when it came to making
a protest...
and guess what...
i made the right accusations...
but i hear of no law suit...
kinda figures, if i'm not being
sued, "merely" labelled
mentally ill...
  hence the... perpetual silence
surrounding my claim...
i can eve give you the details...
he said it was Salvia...
  a south american hallucinogenic...
and he said he hallucinated
riding an elephant,
in India...
         and he also encouraged
the driver of the car to smoke
**** which included almost
veering of the road...
and prior to that fateful day,
we went to a party,
and he made marijuana brownies...
and i donned a cowboy hat
and posed for a picture
like some Buddha with slit
eyes...
         and his friend encouraged
me to do a, "sleeper" while listening
to some Dandy Warhols',
song?
coin toss:
either Muhammad,
  Good Morning...
                    or Godless...
  "sleeper"?
when you get high,
lie down...
  and have two speakers on each side
of your head
blasting music...
a gimmick, a revision of
the concept of headphones...
where?
Canterbury... with a good view
of the cathedral...
the next day...
   spring frost... lovely tinge on
the cathedral from the sunrise...
also went to a bookshop
in Canterbury...
lovely atypical market / cathedral
town narrow streets...
what book did i buy?
inevitable revolutions:
the united states in central america,
by walter lafeber...
so i guess i must be mad...
given that i remember so many details...
regarding the day
i experienced a psychotropic
poisoning,
experienced a brain hemorrhage...
with my face...
melting on the...
here's a problem...
was it the left hemisphere or the right?
i'm not sure...
left?
or right?
   but the sensation of being ingested
by the sofa, and having
difficulty breathing...
with his friend...
as i drowned...
    imitating riding a
Lego-land choo-choo train...
and the fear in his eyes,
the eyes of: someone who failed
to ****** someone
but at the same time fearful
of the intended act?
      i should be dead for...
oh... 21... i'm 32 now...
11 years...
         i might be an alcoholic,
but i have a memory like an elephant...
and i'd believe all the crap
i've heard over the past years...
but if they only drove me to
the hospital...
   out of a simple human empathy...
instead, i was driven home...
i'm surprised they didn't smother me
after witnessing me get up,
and get 4 shots to the head
of my consciousness retracting
from the hemorrhage...
as they recalled back to me,
i said: i'm looking for the 4 other Matthews.
but i'm not a rat...
i am waiting for karma...
i played happy birthday on
the guitar on one of his birthdays...
and i'm guessing...
my sweet sweet love...
Ilona, that russian *****...
hey... she proposed,
she chose the engagement ring,
and then she broke it off!
is behind all of this,
i'm guessing, thanks to social media,
they ****** and she complained
how she was planning to enslave
me by becoming pregnant...
baby... i was so going to propose
you donning a latex **** suit
to extend on the ******...
and he being a Muslim...
and all things quasi-Irish
with regards to my advice to her,
poor thing, only 19...
hey... get an abortion...
   was the Mullah in a bright
white turban, ready to save a damsel...
but i thought that abortion
was legal in England?
oh hell.. pro life and ****...
but a 19 year old?
so why didn't she move to London
with me?
  i had a job here... there was no
prospect for me back in Edinburgh!
   ah... two flats in St. Petersburg...
but i guess that's how law & justice works
in England...
i'm a ruined drunk,
he's a son of a radiologist
             and a mother working
in the perfume avenues of a John Lewis...
my father is a respect industrial
roofer,
   my mother is a housewife...
i guess... i guess me being a boorish
drunk and he becoming an esteemed
corporate lawyer is karma...
   i wish him all the best...
but his children?
   what my parents experienced when
the circus came to town...
all the possible misery,
in the whole, entire, world.

but coming back to current affairs...
there's no point,
absolutely none,
in expressing a, "freedom" of speech,
since expressing such
a "freedom",
is not met with an engagement
in dialectics...
none!
   so why bother...
let's join the four horsemen,
with ***** on either side of our
eye-sockets...
and just charge forward
like a hurricane might,
mindless and in perpetuation
of complete, and utter,
destruction...

i'm up for that explanation
with regards to an exit
policy,

mind you,
happiness could savor
a peace of mind...
but sarcastic humor,
once upon a time...
also could;
as it does...
dutiful to expecting
the final closure
of relying
on the uttermost,
relief.

You’re handed a pipe
it looks fine.
You’re told to relax.
You smile, too high to do anything but.
You flick the lighter, inhale and try to prepare
you can’t.

You’re moving
circling over some horizon that resembles the mashed combination of green hills at sunset
and the giant that lays across them has taken the only home base you could reach.

You’re twitching
you’re still.
You’re warm,
you’re not.
You’re cold,
you’re not.
You’re worried you are talking to the streetlamp through a window
you are.

You’ve lost all concept of time
but you’re pretty sure you’ve kept the same reality.
You’ve always breathed like Darth Vader.
You remember your first kiss
the dragon wouldn’t stop breathing fire and it, she, just felt too scaley,
thank god the pancakes were delicious.

You look at your friend and he is smiling,
but too wide.
His mouth grows to encompass his head, his body, the whole room.
His cat is rolling on his tongue.
lolling from side to side
never breaking eye contact.
You see the “meow” leak from the small hole in the back of a shrinking throat
and enter the cat’s ears before it shrieks and the sound finally hits you.

You hear “meow, meow, meow” on a laugh track that’s too loud
and it sounds like ears have hit the bass
because there are butterfly wings beating through your skull.
but the flutter murmurs to the back of your throat and the wings become whisps as they escape through your eyes.

You close your friend’s mouth and ask how long it’s been.
“Meow.”
Not long enough.

“Why, you think you’re coming down?”

“I don’t know man, but I hate your ******* cat.”

“Of course you do.”

I am not a strong person.
self medicating with cigarettes
long nights of smoke and mirrors
liquor and dilated pupils
my days turn to nights before I know
the light is summer
yellow and warm behind your skin
you smile and cheeks
forget me my troubles
what am I standing on

everything is waves
you are a wave and I am a wave
caressing together the sandy shores
what hasn't curled over yet
will

Coffee creamer rain drops,
wet and thirsty and cursing the turkey
who said too much water was too bad.

Bring on the damp leaves
and the damp seats of pants.
Splash on droplets dropping from branch
to sea level.

Salvia, spit it up, into your
baby bird's mouth and
drop some on me accidentally.

Flood tiny concrete rooms,
irrigate me.
Smother in luke-warm raindrops,
and I scream when stink-bugs press their
wet little pad toes on me.

Dampen everything!

i'm sorry we never made that grocery trip,
collecting ingredients for something simple,
homemade - like us

i didn't want to see you like this
we're aging too fast
you can't back pedal
you don't want to go back to a tricycle
you tell me i'm a little too late

how do you outrun apathy?
without tripping
or needing to

i'll push you in this shopping cart
we'll be little kids again
running in the sun

how did we get so depressed
we should still be able to bake pizzas
you were my sidewalk chalk best friend
and now, it feels like that won't be attainable ever again

they bulldozed through our favourite park
and we didn't shed a tear
and doesn't that just say it all

Paula is digging and shaping the loam of a salvia,
     Scarlet Chinese talker of summer.
Two petals of crabapple blossom blow fallen in Paula's
          hair,
     And fluff of white from a cottonwood.

a dissociated sound hums in awkward disharmony
it pleases, presently, not an ear
but nurtures mossy growth across guts of a population
who listen with cult-like enlightenment

when the bass descended with modest fanfare of plucked and buzzing strings
it announced the departure of the invisible figure
that lived where we thought we wanted to be

so long, ruler. it was your time
you had a meaningful life.
now i just want to be alone

I once killed a man.

Slew him with a joke
He laughed so hard that
He choked on his own spit
And drowned in the pooling salvia.

He died happily though,
And, in the end, isn’t that all that matters?

Poisonous resentment,
Dripping down my esophagus.
Like the salvia you coaxed down my throat,
Icy cold and bitter.

Purple chrysanthemums blooming,
On my pale, once innocent flesh.
Eyes fogged by deception,
I am unable to escape you.

The seed of regret plants itself in my heart,
Roots of the weeds rip through me,
Polluting the heart, tainting the blood.
Paralysed, you force me down and tear me apart.

Fog clears my vision
just like drug laced honey you fed me
I see your true form in the window of my future
Pathetic old man, I’m not afraid of you.

Your claws saturated with manipulation
Grasp and tear at my flesh
But you can’t trap me here any more
I’m not your hostage

Restless leg syndrome
A hindrance on my being
Retching foam dribbles out
the side of my mouth
South it goes, down
to the ground.

Wound tight with salvia my
self-hatred flows in unity with it
The acidity of the bite bursts to flames
as the earth hits it

Worth every penny, I chuckle as
I chuck a bottle of pills into the
billfold of my coat.

"Won't this hurt?"
That's the point.
Right, back to the top

Restless leg syndrome
Catching on?
My mind can't contain one thought at a time
I spin on a dime, fine dining is the drug of
the millennial nines.
Hi! I'm super high today.

Just kidding, I'll never smoke ****
see me judging you in the corner?
I'm a straight laced, even paced
large tempered feminist *****.
Pitch me your best rich boy pitch
to get a date and maybe I won't chuck
your ***** into a ditch.

Hitch a ride down the road
Follow it now, down it goes!
Drop out quick!
Here comes the gun
run from it fast, till you reach the sun

Worship me or hate me, I don't really care.
Stare at me until you see who you wish
I actually was

t'was a sad story I read
when I found out you would be dead
by nine o'clock this evening

Did I tell you I plotted this reaping?
I peep in on your life from time to time
Crime is the center of my kind
Find me in the dark deep corners of
your mind, I'm always there
Seeing and watching but never debauching.

Have I mentioned I suffer from
restless leg syndrome?
It really is a hindrance on my being.

"Won't this hurt?", you ask
That's the point.
Right, back to the top

An airless wind
Fills with sadness
Floating around
Whimpering
By words of uncomfort
Intricated noise
Pierce my very ear
Quenching tirely
From a world of emptiness
Expressions in Salvia
As my throat
Dryness with death

I miss the crickets. I miss the frogs.
I miss the smell of my skin, my perfume in my bed next to wood and hot night air that speaks more to things of mystery than the dark of the night can.
I miss the sky.

No, I really miss the sky.
The crop of trees and the clarity that allows for you to look at galaxies and talk about what it is
and how small it feels to be human.

How mortal it feels to be willed to wants at the tug and pull of every emotion.

I miss them.
I miss them.

I miss their arms, tangled legs, and sweaty curls.

Their smell that differentiated from the nape of their neck to their cheek to their thigh.
The sweetness of their salvia. The unbounded love. The innocence. The fresh, sensitive pain.

I am numb. I yearn for something greater such that my heart aches and I tremble with premature grief every time I close my eyes and breathe. I think of your face. Not a day has gone by.

I love your memory. I pray it lessens in it's hurt, but that it never leaves me.

I miss those California stars.

Mediaba el mes de julio. Era un hermoso día.
Yo, solo, por las quiebras del pedregal subía,
buscando los recodos de sombra, lentamente.
A trechos me paraba para enjugar mi frente
y dar algún respiro al pecho jadeante;
o bien, ahincando el paso, el cuerpo hacia adelante
y hacia la mano diestra vencido y apoyado
en un bastón, a guisa de pastoril cayado,
trepaba por los cerros que habitan las rapaces
aves de altura, hollando las hierbas montaraces
de fuerte olor -romero, tomillo, salvia, espliego-.
Sobre los agrios campos caía un sol de fuego.
      Un buitre de anchas alas con majestuoso vuelo
cruzaba solitario el puro azul del cielo.
Yo divisaba, lejos, un monte alto y agudo,
y una redonda loma cual recamado escudo,
y cárdenos alcores sobre la parda tierra
-harapos esparcidos de un viejo arnés de guerra-,
las serrezuelas calvas por donde tuerce el Duero
para formar la corva ballesta de un arquero
en torno a Soria. -Soria es una barbacana,
hacia Aragón, que tiene la torre castellana-.
Veía el horizonte cerrado por colinas
oscuras, coronadas de robles y de encinas;
desnudos peñascales, algún humilde prado
donde el merino pace y el toro, arrodillado
sobre la hierba, rumia; las márgenes de río
lucir sus verdes álamos al claro sol de estío,
y, silenciosamente, lejanos pasajeros,
¡tan diminutos! -carros, jinetes y arrieros-,
cruzar el largo puente, y bajo las arcadas
de piedra ensombrecerse las aguas plateadas
del Duero.
      El Duero cruza el corazón de roble
de Iberia y de Castilla.
            ¡Oh, tierra triste y noble,
la de los altos llanos y yermos y roquedas,
de campos sin arados, regatos ni arboledas;
decrépitas ciudades, caminos sin mesones,
y atónitos palurdos sin danzas ni canciones
que aún van, abandonando el mortecino hogar,
como tus largos ríos, Castilla, hacia la mar!
      Castilla miserable, ayer dominadora,
envuelta en sus andrajos desprecia cuanto ignora.
¿Espera, duerme o sueña? ¿La sangre derramada
recuerda, cuando tuvo la fiebre de la espada?
Todo se mueve, fluye, discurre, corre o gira;
cambian la mar y el monte y el ojo que los mira.
¿Pasó?  Sobre sus campos aún el fantasma yerta
de un pueblo que ponía a Dios sobre la guerra.
      La madre en otro tiempo fecunda en capitanes,
madrastra es hoy apenas de humildes ganapanes.
Castilla no es aquella tan generosa un día,
cuando Myo Cid Rodrigo el de Vivar volvía,
ufano de su nueva fortuna, y su opulencia,
a regalar a Alfonso los huertos de Valencia;
o que, tras la aventura que acreditó sus bríos,
pedía la conquista de los inmensos ríos
indianos a la corte, la madre de soldados,
guerreros y adalides que han de tornar, cargados
de plata y oro, a España, en regios galeones,
para la presa cuervos, para la lid leones.
Filósofos nutridos de sopa de convento
contemplan impasibles el amplio firmamento;
y si les llega en sueños, como un rumor distante,
clamor de mercaderes de muelles de Levante,
no acudirán siquiera a preguntar ¿qué pasa?
Y ya la guerra ha abierto las puertas de su casa.
      Castilla miserable, ayer dominadora,
envuelta en sus harapos desprecia cuanto ignora.
      El sol va declinando. De la ciudad lejana
me llega un armonioso tañido de campana
-ya irán a su rosario las enlutadas viejas-.
De entre las peñas salen dos lindas comadrejas;
me miran y se alejan, huyendo, y aparecen
de nuevo, ¡tan curiosas!... Los campos se obscurecen.
Hacia el camino blanco está el mesón abierto
al campo ensombrecido y al pedregal desierto.

I thought I heard you today

I was on my couch when I recognized your voice
Something struck my ears
I picked up on it
Quick
Then noticed I was by myself and the TV was off
The seat next to me on the couch started to vibrate
The fibers began to wrap together and grow
Slowly they took upon a large form
A body
Your body
With that body sprouted your face and smile
Fully clothed in that black dress I saw you wear
In a picture
To a dance
That you didn’t invite me to
Then you put your head on my shoulder

I only took one hit of salvia and already
I have what I want the most next to me

I wished someone had seen me
Just watch my ****** express drop and stare
At something that, in reality, isn’t even there

We talked; it was great
You said these funny jokes that reminded me of the time we
….never mind let’s skip that part
Tricking my brain to see you for not even 20 minutes has become
The best part of my day

That’s why I’ve stopped with hallucinogens
I can’t just watch you take your head off my shoulder
Sit up perfectly straight
And start to fade away back into the fibers of my couch

I swear, an hour went by
I swear I was done tripping
Then I saw
A long brown strain of hair on my shoulder
I plucked it out
And played with it
I thought I heard you today

Fingers
Chew chew chew
Through string flexible cords
Of peached chalked skin,
To the roughen sharped corners of the
Piles, piles pile of papers
Cutting into my head,
******* away to my very own writers tool,
Bite to bite,
Itch, blood and sting to the nails, skin
Aye aye cries the mind,
With the heart and soul echoing along.
Tingles from white aching tingling flesh that knows
No escape from my addicted mouth,
Salvia coated causing pain to durate the hours of sleepless
Nights and un-filled days.
Bite, till my very next appointment

Soon the northern sun has a corona
nations bound to its regal attitude tide
high sea son's tossed
a half crown head turning golden summer
seas on ends
to land shiny tails down south
as if every sea's on wings
away to seek or sink an immortal sun
I stand on
the divide
feeling the hesitation

two day's
the moon's
seas wax fuller
bridges
spangling love waves
from a salt shaker
on a pearl within
your aphrodisiac
world is my oyster

hinge wriggled open
to be held at bays
sliding into the mouth
of nature's hunger
for where a tan fades
into season spicy
summer's parting harvest
of farewells

surface mining to be done
by stripping vegetation
down to bare branched amber
ore deposit shafts
of light marking
the sun dial's changed number
with your toppled hourglass figure
a vase
pressed with dahlia
and salvia flower
upset without the friction
of pepper heat
milled into smooth skinny
latte malt
drunk on moisture
laden skies

layered over swaying
thought bubble dreams
of cloudy evenings
freckled rain
and streaming grain
fleeing the field seemingly overnight
as fleeting as goals
scored between our legs
running off home
hands full with harvest in
cartwheeling arcs
stored with the last gasp
solar flared nostrils
wild as meadow ripened
yearlings

in the joy of escape
we join their bare backed
flight circuiting dizzy
shamanic heights only to fall
back to earth like Pegasus
shaking off Bellerophon
striking a mount Helicon
with hooves whose marks
cause springs to channel
fountains of inspiration
after defeating a Chimera
with great spirited whinnying
breathing out tipi fire vents
gone sweat lodge native
skins lashed outside
keep the glow snug inside

rustling about the bite
incoming winds of change
fright the landscape
flocking to shower
in fresh cooler air
lifting us like birds to shadow
the moves to renewed
lighter climes leaving
soaked sticks
dripping acorn colour
scattering an autumnal quilt
around tired bed fellows
an interlocked cycle pattern
for coming riders on the storm
to be in memory trunks
splashed with mist
pooled effort

released to dry and recover
side-by-side
once the wardrobe fills wooly
headed
for warming coats of evening
russet
we settle tone down on a chill out
wish
list ridden dotty by a love chauffeur
cycle
ticked off sun set to be sent
to bed early
just when ours clock on two
four
season
happy hour

Melancholia
is not mine
but a fruit that I chew upon
slowly at first
nippling the bud at the tip
******* the juice from the tip
baby,

just
a little bite
creating trenches
in skin, tiny crooked marks,
the footprints of the biter,
the mark of treasure hidden.

And you look so tangerine sour,
baby, doesn't matter
it's a dream of my own
mine only
and i'll watch as
salvia lingers off your skin
slathering upon the constellations on that that is lanky and pure
and the hairy forestation of your past discretions
stretching wide from fingertip to fingertop

see x marks the spot
that bitemark there--
is the foible my strength.
bootlegged and stolen through
a many tear ago.
just hoping to find
moon craters and lagan lollies
once again.

watching a German substitute come on is a bit like watching the opening scenes of Gladiator... the German tribe north of the Rhine resounding to the decapitation of an envoy... painting in writing, ascribing the appropriate diacritical marks to the Venus bathing the alphabet the Anglos kept as source of their demise; naked unsupervised to stress certain sounds and thus unsupervised the slang emergence, and total ignorance of diacritical marks of football commentators, stemming from disengagement from dialectics as the supreme proof... from the film: 'tu bista ***! aß sēhta'h fuhta'h ūnna'h!' - das längezeichen, ein verlängerung (two definite articulations of the definite article, a quarter das, a quarter die) - the macron, an extension;
one H the vowel / breath catcher, former H the precursor of catching breath, the latter, a breath shortened, mildly operatic... from the cradle... to the grave... but watching a German match is like watching the battle speech in the opening scenes of Gladiator... a substitute comes on, the announcer says his first name, the horde bellow out: bastian... Schweinsteiger! macron v. umlaut, when did - also mean a horizontal colon above a letter? just now. i'm still surprised that the English are too proud of memories of the Empire to even allow the greeks to utilise diacritical marks, and leave themselves jaded with computer encryptions, ugly emoticons ( :) as a perfect e.g.) and acronyms... what a waste of when revelling in Ave Britannia, Empire of the Pond... ruler of mirror ripples rather than turbulent waves - but it's like that, whether in the Bundesliga or the UEFA championship... a substitute or a goal scorer... like a ******* german tribe antagonising the Roman expansion tactic, the bellowing grooming of a beast.

in terms of song subjects, i can't feel the vibe
of urban socialites and heavy affairs,
any more chromatics' songs akin to
the velvet underground and i'll just keep
staring at only having done marijuana,
whiskey, and the deadly Salvia Divinorum,
many a good Aztec died from this plant,
very few fared to become Proustian shamans
of changed perception - but seriously,
a second more with the haunting female voice
enticing me and i'm done.

but there are some extension i made from
having the oeuvre of Iron Maiden and Slayer,
post-2000 music to me is hardly represented:
the chromatics (**** for love),
the besnard lakes (until in excess, imperceptible ufo),
uncle acid & the deadbeats (blood lust) - i need
to get mind control for one song, under your spell,
naam (self-titled),
dead skeletons (black magik),
tame impala (lonerism),
wooden shjips (west),
moon duo (circles),
black ox orchestra (nisht azoy),
pop levi (medicine),
                                     allah las (self-titled)...
i mean, it's out there, the alternative, it's out there,
but people don't like sharing their personal tastes
for a public reason, but a personal reason,
as long as personal interests are necessary all
public coercion is lost in the art world for
a scrap heap... so true the myth and so also tiresome
the idea that art is best kept (at least the obscure type)
for a Don Giovanni adventure - i mean,
had i more money i'd invest in art more -
but the retaliation was inevitable,
the karaoke culture of philip k. ****'s prediction
of the *man in the high castle came true...
well, it wasn't a prediction but a fantasy...
karaoke culture took over, pop is karaoke, the few
brave souls are there, but the general public is starving,
1950s American cinema and 1970s American cinema,
music prowess in the 1960s -
well, if you steal from artists... why expect any art to
exist if that art isn't simply advertisement?
ever used the radio? i would have, kept my honour...
how many thieves prowl in western society
under the disguise of technological progress?
too many.

*if i were polish, i'd add the Czech utility, to change -sz- with š, and -cz- with a sharpened breve / upside-down circumflex above... and not learning the specific encoding of diacritical marks gave us the linguistic alphabet... -sz- with š as replacement, -cz- with č, to simply drop the z... this is painting, and the only painting you can have is with stresses on the sounds... so in example:
škoda że tak mało času
it's a shame that there's so little time.

Holidays have always been a tricky thing for me.

On Father's Day I stole my father's vicodin.
On Easter I got black out drunk.
On my sister's third birthday I smoked Salvia.
On Christmas I stole my Aunt's brandy.
On New Years I stayed home alone and smoked cigarettes 5 hours into the new year.
On St. Patrick's day I saw a lot of green. And smoked a lot of green as it happened.
On the first day of summer I was in summer school.
On the first day of school I ditched.
On Valentines Day I bought myself chocolate and cried.
On Halloween I dressed up as myself and got my stomach pumped.
On my birthday I stayed home from school sick and watched TV all day.

But on the day I first spoke with her I was in a black box.

We may have had no money
But we were fit for kings.
We used to steal from thrift stores
And sell eclectic thngs.
Sure we fought over dinner
And you occasionally roared my name.
But how was I supposed to know
It would never be the same.
You ransacked my apartment
And didn't leave a dime,
And so I called the cops
I was running out of time.
But the cops found our salvia
Hidden underneath the stairs.
I should've told them it was yours
But by then I didn't care.
I punched one in the gut
And ran as fast as I could.
I may have been a bit too rough
But I was always misunderstood.
I found an eerie park
And hid behind the gate.
I lit my last cigarette
And filled my thoughts with hate.
I thought of the time you pushed me
In a puddle of sticky mud.
Or the time you wouldn't answer my calls
And my eyes began to flood.
The time you refused to meet my sister
Because she was fat and gay
And the time you left me at a funeral
Even though I pleaded you to stay.
I'd come to terms that you were no good
So I brushed off my hands,
Stretched, and stood.
I ran through the traffic
Finally a free soul.
I discovered it wasn't my life that you stole.
But rather my boundaries is what you unchained.
My walls were bashed inward
And now they're out again.
The world is ending
Before my eyes.
And there is no one else that I want to despise.
But I can't hate you now
You set me free.
The sun is dripping and
The ground moves shakily.
Buildings crumble and children scream
Mothers think it's just a dream.
But the earth splits in half
And I hope you're okay.
As we slip into darkness
On this eventful day.
I wake up in hell
Missing you dearly I cried.
Only to find that you're
Right by my side.

I see a girl with pretty eyes
Smile at me across the party
And I know she’s thinking
“I hope this guy has the ***** to talk to me”
Which, I do

Just another name in my phone book
And another conversation that’s somewhat worth having
I’m not forcing myself but somewhere deep inside me
I want to

I compare her to you
Make a strike in my head every time she
Fails doing what you accomplished perfectly
She’s way easier than you
Which I believe is equivalent to five marks already

To the untrained eye
At least what we’re doing in this bed
Looks and smells honest
What I’m lacking is the tactile emotion
That makes bodies, hearts and minds bond

I won’t answer the next time she calls
She isn’t you and that’s something
I wish not to be apart of
Her and the past girls will cry themselves to sleep
While I sit on my bed and read letters you gave me
Hoping if I combine all the letters together
You’ll fall out of them
Sit next to me on my bed
Now, I’m all out of salvia
And that’s the only way I’ll hallucinate you tonight
I’ll just fall asleep and hope I see you else where with my eyes closed


I see a girl with pretty eyes
Smile at me across the party
And I know she’s thinking
“I hope this guy has the ***** to talk to me”
Which, I do

i remember how those jeans looked when you put them on one pant leg at a time, and then when both flickered glimmers of future false hope and came together, met with a zipper. you always told me that the mirror was a lot less friendly than reality, but now I'm not so sure that the reflection was an inaccurate piece of diction regarding the color you drain from the world, first in wavelengths smaller than your pinky toe, and then all at once, like a vacuum.

the skies have smiled and cried and wiped up old tears and crusted snot since you left. it seems like i've brought every single ******* cloud to this piece of paper, rain or shine. it's trite, it's boring, but it's the only sick and sad way of coping with losing every drop of precipitation that changed the dry cracks in the ground into sunflowers. i never cared if they were yellow or pink or black and white. they were real.

it's time to accept that cracked concrete is still concrete and can still grow flowers, even if they are black dahlias or dandelions that the people in my life that have told me that i'll never be good enough deem to just be common weeds. you can't drain my life anymore by draining the color from it. your presence is everywhere, but your presence is gone. i've had enough of fighting the validity of this doubt. i've had enough of enclosing the zipper from the hazel-stained, green dream scene on my lips to mute myself.

we survive by love, and today, there is so much love for every memory i've ever made. your departure is not my self worth. my departure with those who cared enough to stitch up my infected knees is my self worth. sitting in your Grand Prix before Elm talking about potential and wiping the blood off of blades. listening to Parachutes and smoking enough to forget everyone who ever hurt us. sunshine and werewolves. elevators and Aderall. Canada and Virginia. stone walls, long-distance calls, salvia that looked like fudge, dehydration in Williamsburg, the screen porch at Meadow, and choosing not to print out my suicide notes.

today we evolve because you do not define my evolution anymore. today we evolve because i have a voice that deserves to be heard. we all have stories that deserve to be heard. today we evolve because love will always be the stitches that any of our knees will require, infection or not. we will blossom, in darkness and in light, in color and in absence, in faith and in fear.

no matter how deep the planet decides to cave in, our hands will always be there to help pull you out.

and i'll never need you for me to be absolutely certain of that
ever again
.