I dread 2nd and King to this day.

I was born into a poor family:
dad the drunkard,
mom the **** addict,
brother abusive,
and sister wrist slitter,
in '84.

Mealtime portions measly.
The house's fragmented windows,
chipping paint
and carpet, ash stained beyond cleaning,
forced me to attempt an escape
several times.
Its a wonder we had a house at all!
I was the only one who worked.

From 10:00 until 7:00
in the dead of winter I used to stand
in clothes so thin
I was better off not even wearing them.
In '97 I was too young to work
legally.
But I wasn't too young for the men-
and I admit, some attractive-
who would pull up to
2nd and King.
I just crawled in the backseat,
assumed the position,
and took my beating
for not being born to the right family,
class,
city,
house...
...... corner...
..................men...
...........................­..­....

I can't look at that sign
marking the corner
without thinking of
crotch after crotch
until it was etched in my brain
that the male genitalia
was the epiphany of evil.
I have to turn my head.

I dread 2nd and King to this day.

watching the ****** suicides
it makes my wrists hurt
i see myself in cecelia’s eyes
the hurt and the pain
though i was always more of a pill popper
than a wrist slitter

watching the ****** suicides
my hands shake
mostly my right one
fingers trembling in tune to the beating
of my heart
bound to rip out of my chest

watching the ****** suicides
i feel the luke warm bathtub water
sloshing over my thighs
as i sat there
with the blade in my shaking hands
imaging the red water that remained clear

watching the ****** suicides
my head hurts
my chest tightens
i feel like crying
maybe dying
just resting for a little while

watching the ****** suicides
i thank god that i told someone
before it got any worse
the months spent cutting and overdosing
in silence
now i just regret them

watching the ****** suicides
i think of all my friends
that have hurt themselves or attempted
think of about how i am one of them
and a text message or a blog post
is a pretty ****** way to say goodbye

watching the ****** suicides
feeling like i am one of them
knowing what the signs look like
like the back of my hand
i am so glad
i have yet to become a statistic

We keep an abundance of boxes in the back
For the day we decide to leave the life we’ve made
Stumbling towards beginnings
That slitter away from my fingers
Before familiarity is gained
And our hearts ache from the loss
I once asked my mother
Why it was that we chased our on tails
Why it was that we run from customary things
And right in to unfamiliar once
Why we couldn’t stay and belong
While knowing it was the right place for our hearts to settle.
I once asked my mother
Why she never liked my friends
And had me cut ties as soon as possible
I asked her why she never favored any of them
Why she let me be alone with my thoughts
Until the only friends I could make
Where the squared once in my library
I once asked my mother
If what she told me about love was real
‘That it was a figment of an aching mind
Trying to make something more of its existence’
I asked her if I could love the way she loved him
Before he decided we weren’t worth his love anymore
Before his eyes fell on another
Perhaps more beautiful
Conceivably younger and better
Before we started this ludicrous run from our own emotions
Chased by a past that left its mark with ink that stung
I asked her questions that made my chest feel smaller
And its contents bloated
By hope and better things
Inflated to a point of pain and at the same time pleasure
I asked her to give me reasons
For our choices
Why we never chose to be happy
Even after we found happiness
Why we let the elephant grow in our own living room
Until it was chocking the very life out of us
And all she could say was
“Mother knows best.”

Es gold harrow seep duo's Love
emotions swin gently rain,
palmers kith whom/ love,
bitter till is better not slain.

lists much ago groan sweet Iovo
nor  de-zenith conduce axis path may
perch peril and float insect-grave,
thoughts kept stay hidden along day

'ivers before she temper trembled passed,
shout stalk fortune be-speak,
thy slitter salut en-grave
sow cutter-clots peer sleep?'

lone on a island, o joy being desert
till pierce a-moon reflection, behandle a word-stone
“lay ignition breast
she will orbitals known.”

sky lineark clouds image Sweetheart.
Jorney journals upon IY Return,
“hor hours class throne love,
markings or tember yearn.”

“may pay not circle anylonger, Sweetheart,
but kiss again & kiss again?”
“engine of ego-nis steam
eyes or march high horns again.”

slimeball dragon breathin as the time crawls
heathen got a mind all ballin on these rhymes
fallin for a reason to believe in why im thinkin
bout the twine saul sleek ona freeze of where
even their it sat and wallowed in a vat sleepin
attacked bleedin bad in the limbo mad for a
thimble ask not before the track falls after all
im eattin up the lyrics chewin spirit simple

tickle me shivers brick old be withered
pick of the litter bit of a bitter manchon
ants im prancin critter crampin on em
slide my slitter sinnfull convincer inner
demons lookin for a cookin knife to ride
so here i lye a dead define of mesage
lines i pressed to not be hesitant hookin
chase the night and let alow confide