Alligator! Alligator! Alligator! Alligator!
Bite me whole and take me to space.
Staple my **** and spaz my face,
Plaice defrosting in the refrigerator.

These things all seem to come together,
Throw them far apart will be for the better.
I hate this ******* verse,
‘cos it all rhymed from Alligator!

Hell hath no fury like
a stapler jammed.

Hold me together
Pierce me with your silver
Mend me

sometimes,
the s y l l a b l e s of your name
still feel like staples in my chest.

As I bind these sheets in a monotonous routine way
I neglect to see what they are or hear what they talk about
Was it just some information they needed to convey?
Maybe just some words that hold some uncertainty or doubt

My metal decreases and turns to rust
Still I go on until my very last one
Continue with no hesitation, I must
Till the time will come when I say, ‘I am done’

I cannot resist, else I shall be obsolete
Nor can I continue without making a mistake
As my opponent does faster, I have accepted my defeat
Whilst I do my last attempt, I stop and break

I was used and discarded like the inanimate thing I am
Pushed away from the place I called home for many years
Thinking of a way to be used again, ideas I cram
But to no avail, I stay in the dark bin, crying without tears

The departure of the swallows took place on                                
My birthday this year, winter began.
They’re beautiful birds aren’t they Chris. Grasp the hand slowly.
Oh and it’s mild weather we’re having isn’t it?
Just splendid for a chance to wander through the forest.

Every man’s got a field to plow but where will I harvest              
When my niche ran south just to sit amongst the rats
And converse through the evening about Ivan’s insecurities.
Edward, grasp me quick and sever me from society.
Sip from the spring, grab a loaf and run cause
I’ve grown reckless and thrown off my yoke.                              
This young man is naturally far ahead of time,
That’s from the nurture of his hard of hearing mother Catherine.  
Where do I rest where do I eat, the dust in my mind
Is subjected to a sweeping repeat without being collected.
A slow rise, I hate taking off the covers but this night I walked
Without them yea I was nocturnal negation of Shadrach.
And boy you’ve taken far too long to deliver the paper!
My coffee’s been hot for half an hour and cold for two.
(Tap on the window) Excuse me which way is Beersheba?          
Now I know you know so please just bare with me and listen.
Yea yea Jason get out of here I know those tricks, I’ll
Get there some day and when I do it’ll all be worth it
Don’t you dear try to break my ankles. Hey drop the razor
Little boy you can’t shave yet and November is approaching.
Nothings equal to this and everything I’ve ever know
Makes perfect sense now, the explanation is certainly
The longest. Where have I been all my life,
Were you hiding under the desk waiting for an atomic
Bomb to drop, no I was just sitting in the subway counting
Change when the little black girl came up to me and
Asked me for two dollars so I gave her four and somehow
Five turned back to nine, the paper transported, my split
Identity got sewn back together and the cosmos is on my side.

Oh extra large I know what you’re talkin about.
Out there I walked through walls let me circumvent
Iron and brick with a gaseous coronary torrent.
I’ll eat my own heart out with one gentle bite
And smash that lime against the wall at your words.
I grow tired…
I need to get out of here I need to get out of here.
Through the yellow hallways around the corner open the green door.
I want to be on the top bunk so I can see the son rise,
After all that’s me don’t you know, genetically Japanese.
Get down from there!
Like a monkey? Okay!
I am the greyhound come to eat the wolf, just let me out.
These feathers are not clipped yet you can’t do this
(As long as I know right from wrong I’ll be okay I’ll sing my song)
I’ve seen them do it on TV just follow through…
**** the wrong force broke, just gotta set this straight.
What the hell are you doing kid?
I don’t know ask him.
And then he said tighten the bolt it’s gonna fall apart.
Yea the center cannot hold.
Gophers are amazing creatures you know, it’s not easy to tunnel under ground.
But if you’re not a gopher don’t go down the hole,
You might get lost.
I took a trip up to Lake Placid last summer, my kids loved it.
I’ve been holding my breath for five days now.
What’s this muscular leprechaun doing in my way,
If I could get those keys off your belt I could probably **** you.
Try it and I’ll break your head.
That’s a good idea, maybe then the light
Will finally be turned out.
Try repelling all of the moisture from your cells
Well now I guess now I just need to wait for my pants to dry.

Opening my mouth for a female will corrupt me.
Okay stapler I hear you but this is serious now,
Almost time for Vinny to come south. I have no need
For ink anymore check the flesh tattoo it’ll spit out a seed.
Stick that tranquilizer in me, I will remain tranquil and awake,
While I stare at the wall and connect unseen signs with familiar phrases.
You’re dreaming kid, no I’m reopening the wells of my father.    
Reuben, Simeon, Levi, Judah, Dan, Naphtali, Gad, Asher,
Issachar, Zebulun, Joseph, Benjamin.
Hey have you seen this kids coat?
It’s far away but you can find me where I wrote.

Sear me sear me I see it coming anyway
Wait wait wait, I take it all back.

inaantok ako
sa tunog ng printer
kung paanong ang mga ngipin nito
ay kumikiskis sa papel
na tila ba kinakagat ito
ngunit hindi ganoon kasakit
may halong harot sa pagitan nila
landian ng mga bagay

inaantok ako sa tunog ng maraming papel
bulto bultong pinapantay
at iniuuntog sa mesa
na tila ba'y naghahalinghingan
na dulot ng pagtatalik
may halong harot sa pagitan ng mga ito
landian ng mga bagay

inaantok ako sa paglagapak
ng stapler sa sahig
na tila ba'y unang pagkikita
bugso ng damdamin sa muling pagsasama
may halong harot sa pagitan nila
landian ng mga bagay

inaantok ako sa walang humpay
na pagbukas ng pinto
ang sayaw na nagmumula sa kahoy na ito
tila ba'y sinasayawan ang lahat
at kinukumbinsi na umuwi na tayo
may halong harot sa pagitan nito
landian ng mga bagay

inaantok na ko

I could smell your polo cologne from a mile away…

It wasn’t an overpowering smell but I knew it was coming
Even before I could smell it
I can still remember walking to the shower and passing by your room
Fumes drifting out like the vapor in a Hollister doorway
Only the dark clothing store was never as inviting as your room
Not in a comforting way, like a quaint house or camp fire invites you closer
                But in the way that apple invited Eve
   As if to say… “I dare you”

I will never hear jingle bells the same
Or be able to listen to Mac Miller without your voice singing in my head
Because it was so annoying having you loudly sing at the side of my head
But now it’s quiet, too quiet
Your croaking voice isn’t mutilating the symphony of car horns and street noises any more
I realize now however I preferred the musical chaos of having you hang out with me

This is not a love poem
This is a…
This is an…
This is an I guess I know how I feel too late poem
An I guess I should have said this poem

But without the absence of something we often don’t realize what it meant to us

You’re gone…
Not dead, you didn’t leave me, not a dramatic departure
You were forced to move
Due to your own stupid actions

After all I guess it was me who told you the reason to stay in a certain place can’t be a person

I would eat my words in my sleep if I could, because my common logic won’t allow it
but in my dreams I will; in my dreams I have a hopeless side of me, not counting every tick in a day to make sure it still runs the same as all the others, unlike the waking me does

But when I wake up those words still hang in the air and I realize they were best left said anyways

I think I wish I had said good bye
But with one too many letters un-replied to, I wouldn’t know how to say it
Because I don’t know which you to say good bye to
The you sitting in the hall with me at midnight
                The you who’s face drifts a little too close to mine
The you who can cry and admit he isn’t perfect
The you who knocks over stuff and makes a mess when we are cooking
The you who holds a stapler over his chest saying “dare me”
The you pretending he doesn’t know me
Or the one pretending that he hates me
I saw your many faces and don’t know which one to say goodbye to

So it’s probably best no good bye was said at all but I still feel unresolved
You stick to me, like a burr or a thorn
This feeling that I could have done more
I could have told you how beautiful you were so you wouldn’t try too hard to fool people into thinking it
Because your price tags and diet made you look appealing to some but not me

No… I was drawn to your eyes and how they always match your shirt
Your chipped tooth framed in your goofy smile
The laugh that escaped your nervous lips as you say something I know you don’t tell most people

I wish I could have told you it was going to be okay:
You would be okay if you learned who you was
It would get better if you stopped trying so hard
You can’t help your ****** orientation so you need not hide
You don’t have to hate yourself because you think some people hate you
Because some people didn’t and you made them want to try…

In ways I was an improved vision of yourself
And you were an improved vision of myself

If only I could run the football field, be attractive, be cool
Have people wanting me and wanting to be me
If only you were confident in who you were, able to sing, dance and express yourself,
Have people trust you and see that you aren’t afraid of judgment

But I’m not you and you aren’t me, I smell like trees and you smell like Polo
I am not afraid of myself, and you are
I try to be honest and you try to be someone else
I am still standing here and you aren’t…

Go ****** your opinions and your political minions up another ***’s *******, or maybe take that noise, and show some glamour and some poise like the bigs wigs on capital hill, filled with the ideals of the real, reality sets in with a pen on paper and a veto or a stapler to add another pile to another pile stacked high with paper and anger and a wager on top of all that to rate his and her, him and them, freedom or not, this is when the world goes black, back to a rack of what was and what wasn’t and isn’t and hasn’t been or whatever may come, from, whatever’s the machine in charge of the largest country on a scale of humility to ego, eating eggos daily, watching bombs drop and proms go on like any other day, a dance filled way too high with alter personalities and ratchet fatalities. This is another normality in this bleak reality of life. Full of wisdom, full of strife, take your knife and force it down someone’s throat, coat it with words, thoughts, sought after beliefs and chiefs of the mind. Find what’s real, what’s good, something borrowed something bought, this freedom we fought for, blood sweat and tears for, die for, cry for, ride it till its outlasted every past and bold and rash incision upon decisions. Fission fusion and confusion driven, is a country with stripes stars and bars, filled with past and present Heros, veterans, bet again they’re there for the third night in a row, about to row away down te river of blood and dirt and dignity, until the tugging of righteous voices slices the void of sorrow, but that’s tomorrow, today is just a work in progress.

Before you judge me, Let me tell you my life story
I sure hope its not boring


In middle school
i was the little fool
getting beat up in the bathroom for being to critical
What, you think my remarks are too cynical
Hey squidward tentacles, you got a big nose, want me to break it
no you must be mistaken
so they beat me up and striped me naked, and left me shaking
thank god they left my clothes in the next stall
woulda been pretty awkward walking **** in the hall
But this was just the fall, haven't mentioned winter or spring at all

So from sixth to eighth grade you could see the bruises on my face
from where those jerks tried to tell me that that was their place

one day in art class i was painting on the paper
when some guy sitting behind me shot me with a stapler
Now if my mind had been stabler I woulda let it slide
but i was crazy back then so i tried to fight
punched em in the head, he musta been high
cuz he didn't flinch at all not a single inch
he grabbed me by my hair and threw me down
started punching me in the face like a ticked off Chris Brown
Now there is nothing you can do to wipe off this frown
Ive been a sociopath ever since that day

"Neither him nor I could decide for ourselves if we wanted to outlive the night.”

- Tomas Kalnoky of Streetlight Manifesto, The Big Sleep

It wasn't necessarily bad,
It was just different.
It was slower,
It was bend, bend, tremolo,
It was high, low, high, low, high
It was nowhere and
It was everywhere.
It was soft, but
It was growing harder.
It was but
It wasn't.
It was never a dull moment.
It wasn't up nor was it down
It was hidden
It was you, you, you, you, you
It was nigh and
It was sudden but
It was bound for the floor.
It was 80 proof
It was strong enough to knock out a lightweight, but
It was medicine to the depressed
It was a drug you **** for hours and
It was a fake ******. Above all
It was a blue eye,
It was a stapler
I was in your head and
It was in my hand.
It was straight and narrow
It was at least 50 miles per hour against traffic.
It was a grape
It was peeled and
It was a strange set of values.
It was live in 1970, but
It was rerecorded
It was redistributed to the public in 1991.
It was 1992,
It was cloudy and
It was red.
It was an open sore
It was lingering for sun.
It wasn't like this hadn't happened before.
It was run of the mill
It was a pop fly, 80 ft high.
It was a million other people
It was true but
It was true to a fault.
It was one lie after another after another.
It was a chance for redemption but
It was a Christmas on Easter.
It was thick and
It was slushy and
It was nothing out of the ordinary.
It was a mistaken interest
It was a mistaken identity... above all
It was a mistake.
It was the best mistake, but
It was a mistake.
It was dry then
It was wet then
It was yellow then
It was wet.
It was rise, fall, lift, rise, fall, fall
It was a bag full of nothing.
It was a wall of notes
It was a wall of sound
It was low-end techno mixed with high quality
FLACK.
It was it was it was it
It was, was it?
It was it.
It was braille.
It was written and
It was the start of the end.
It was just junk, and
It was a shame.
It was potential, sheer potential.
Now,
It is just ***** in a sink.

They tell me, "Your fulfillment is to be your husbands help mate"
That my goal in life is to simply help?

I'm sorry
I'll still get married, and have children,
but I will do more then just help.
Me as the over used stapler,
the poorly kept kitchen tool
is not gonna cut it for me

Instead I will be the words of Solomon
the grace of Mary
the faith of Ruth
the kiss of the beloved
I...will be...his muse
his lover

I will not be a the helper
to come when called on
and put away, to be sent back to the kitchen.

Be mindful of the gap between
the stapler and tape dispenser.
That my boy,
is where evil breeds hate.

Bacteria waiting for the right moment.
A sickly blitzkrieg.

We are alive,
here in the office,
Looking for the next paid holiday.
One that will come too soon.

Forgive me for rambling,
it is what I do best.
Alone in my thoughts
and feeling like I am back home.
The road to ruin.

How can I help you today?
Oh,
I can't really do anything for you.
I do not care.

I respectfully request that you stop.
This poem will ruin your day.
I would feel bad.

Let's forget this ever happened and
get back to what we do best.
Staring into space and hoping it reverses.

Time,
oh time is a silly thing,
it proves things right
and it proves them wrong.
Its’ seemingly long years change you and all that can be touched.
Time-
this illusion we base our lives around, this illusion we obsess over
(don’t deny it, we all do).
It confines us to a routine, to a norm.
The time spent at desks makes us into zombies.
The time spent after chokes us with copious amounts of papers and projects.
But occasionally it grants us a wondrous thing called
wisdom.
It bestows upon us insight and growth.
My always shrewd teenage self has grown to believe that time…
can go **** itself.
I want to fall into a slumber that is a day or two long,
catch up on rest and miss the trials of everyday life.
Of course, once several days pass or several thousand ticks of a clock,
I’ll crave another respite.
Life.
Life is hard.
It’s tiring.
And somehow there is never enough time to
work,
work on the work,
rework the work,
eat,
sleep,
take a couple deep breathes to keep from jamming a stapler into any eyeballs,
be a healthy person,
and do all the things that society tells you to do.
Maybe a designated sleep day would be nice.
If we only need 8 hours of peaceful slumber
for every 16 hours of traumatizing wakefulness,
then sleeping for 24 hours would give us
48 hours of working.
Right?
No.
But it’s a proportion,
so theoretically it should make sense.
Which leads me to conclude that 8 hours is not merely enough time to rest.
Unless you’re under the age of 6.
Or you’re retired.
Or in a coma.
Or…
But no.
No, no, no, no, no.
We must keep going.
Like good little soldiers
on and on
for 60 years,
70 years,
80 years?
I’m sorry but that just does not appeal to me.
Why oh why would I want to work my body to unhealthy levels.
Why oh why would I want to exhaust my mind to points of breakdowns
nearly
every
day.
It’s silly to want to have enough time to eat healthily.
And hit the gym 3 or 4 times a week.
And sleep until recharged.
Yes that’s preposterous.
Ridiculous.
Time is an illusion
that is ruining lives.
If we have an illusion
destroying us from the inside out,
does that make us
crazy?

I write this for those
Who are complicated like me
Too busy to find a relationship
But not busy enough to be

Lonely as ****,
And when I say that to some,
They are puzzled and befuddled
A single parent raising his son?

How can you be lonely?
That's when I feel the guilt,
Like I'm ungrateful, cuz it's painful
Explaining a brain full of silk

Emotions, that aren't fulfilled
By a child who's a dependent
I can't express the stress on my chest
And secretly lie like a defendant

And whisper everything will work out
When I'm not even sure it will
And it's emasculating to mask the failing
Without someone to distill

Like I do my son, and fill
My head with optimism
That I reciprocate and return, concerned
When they feel like earths a prison

And I'm not asking, ans this isn't
For the pity I despise when given
I just miss, the bliss of a hug and kiss
To remind me I'm still livin

And yes my son gives me this in
The daily grind, but my mind
When I get a minute that's mine
Always wander to nostalgic times

When I didn't question if I'm
In the place that fate with signs
Led me to. Or like many do
Am I lost where you can't find

A lost in found, lost in frowns
Can't find what I lost, no solid ground
Where you say fake smiles are around
And hate it. Only to realize that now

You do the same, another clown
Who seems anything but profound
I use to be royalty. Had loyalty,
but somewhere it all crashed down

So in my Burger King crown
And my throne, built with a stapler
Made of cardboard, matching my scepter Made of
that hallow cardboard tube you get from wrapping paper

You wrap Xmas gifts with,,
and if you Wonder what the paper was used for
It was used by the me in my past, high off his ***.
Who wrapped up my future

And inside was a dead end job,
Sobriety, and some ****
So when life ***** me, I can be lucky
And slap it on my rusty, ... Well you....

Get the picture. And if it sounds familiar
Or not. But still feel a spot
Inside that you tried filling with ***
An unfillable void, u avoid, but can't stop

Feeling it, when you stop. And got
A moment to yourself
I hope this consolation, for the constellations,
not aligning, is a help

Cause I write this, to get it out,
But I post it publicly, for those at home
Who feel the emptiness. When the phone isn't ringing ....
Your not alone

In being alone, which sounds
Like another of life's contradiction
But contradiction is a literary term,
Almost as if to give u a vision

Of poeticness. Where mine is given,
But the give of irony can be fun
Leaving only humor, left for the tumor
That teaches us, that when the sun

Is out. Not not to take it for granted
So I circle back to my son
And I'm sure, that if still unsecure or
Unsure, whenever this poem Is done

Maybe it's time to train your brain,
To regain a perception, that we
Inadvertently trained it to ignore, in horror
Witnessing what wasn't meant to be

And find solace in all or it ...
I know, I sound like a clicheè
Like a cheesy, hallmark card,
that makes you wish, the author had aids

Ok.. Not aids ... But ******, or something
Now I sound like a *****,
But sometimes I see public display of affection
from couples, and I think

You ******* PPL MAKE ME SICK
HES PROBABLY FUVKING UR SISTER
AND WHEN YOUR AT WORK SHES PROBABLY ....
Wait... I can't be bitter

And you shouldn't be either ..
I know it's easier that it sounds
When robin Williams committed suicide
I swear i couldn't help drown

In thoughts. Of how, somebody, so famed  And Loved,
would want to die
which means there's no chance for me..
But logically, it proves that inside

We all have that void. Annoyed,
Wanting it to just fuvk off
But the hard part in life is concentrating on.
What we have. And not, .... the have nots

And remember what you forgot..,
The annoying, overbearing, ones who
Actually do care, about you, are priceless
And trust me, if you have one too,

A mother. Who tries to smother,
so u run For cover and don't visit
Are the ones you give away, on the days
You rather be Alone to pivot

In worthless worries, only to revisit
The same pain, u feed as you fear it
And as I write this I'm rolling my ****** Eyes too,
cuz nobody wants to hear it

But the truth is *****, just like ur mom
But in end it's the only honesty
Left in a life full of broken dreams and fake smiles
toco-sign the promising

Promises no one kept,
when they said "I love you" or I'll never leave
So I'll try to take my own cheesy advice 
 Left in this poem if u do the same for me

So I gift this to you. And my future self
As well, and I can only hope he
Takes the message inside and abide, or try ...
And Remember,lastly, when coping

That just because your lonely,
It doesn't mean your alone ...
Just because your lonely doesn't mean your alone ...
For u.. I wrote this poem ...

Love is nothing
but a stapler
to staple invisible pin
between two hearts..

You don't get dark when you fall apart
It's when you're putting it back together, that you see the damage from the bad weather,
Mom I can't come inside my clothes are soaked

I guess it's not so serious in the end,
I'm not made of glass I don't break I bend,
So I'm bent out of shape,
I'll take some yoga,
Get a massage,
Focus on my breathing,

I'll do a bunch of stuff and sort out my kinks.
Give me a high five, promise I won't flinch,

I didn't do this to myself,
But I'm here by myself,
I won't be bitter,
I'll be better,
See:
I burned all the sweaters,
I've moved somewhere with better weather,

So I should be getting lighter and I think I am.
But on Tuesday I cried because of a printer jam.
I wasn't worried about the printer but I was worried about my boss. Would they yell at me? Did I **** up? Am I worthless? Do I deserve this?

My boss is nice don't get me wrong, but I was told for four years that I am what's wrong. I am what's wrong. I am wrong.

So anyway I had to reload the paper,
I missed a therapy session and misplaced the stapler.  

So I didn't do this to myself,
But I am what I am and I'm dark,
Im here by myself not afraid of the dark,
Maybe in the end I win,
Maybe in the dark I'm better,
Maybe my night vision will save me next time,
Maybe my clothes won't be soaked.

You asked
What being fourteen felt like.
Well,
It feels like when your teacher drops all of her papers
In the parking lot after school
And it’s windy and you help her pick them up
Chasing down every last one.
And then in class you help her erase the board sometimes.
But still,
When someone plays a prank
Her eyes are on you.
Because your parents are divorced.
And your brother was a troublemaker.
But was he?
He’s been diagnosed,
They call it autism now.
And so you TP her house
Just proving that she’s right
Because after three years in her class
She still can’t spell your name right.
And it’s an easy one.
And then she holds you after class
Because someone stole her stapler
And you’ve never stolen anything
In your whole life
And you don’t know why she’s asking you.
But you do.
So you spray paint her garage
And the whole school knows it’s you.
There aren’t any other suspects.
Because they know that your mom
Doesn’t even believe in God
And they’re pretty sure
You don’t either.
So then you’re standing in her yard
And for some reason the cop that drove you there
Left his lights flashing across the lawn.
And she’s saying things like
I don’t know why this happened.
I’ve always been nice to her.
She needs someone to look out for her.
The adults nod along and she says to you now
If you ever want to come to my house
We can talk or bake cookies and hang out.
And you laugh because you want to cry
Because she’s talking for the cop
As red lights flash across her garage
But you hope she means it.
And you write her a note saying
I’m sorry
And I’d love to come make cookies
But she never writes you back
And she never calls on you in class.
And her son is younger than you
But still he pushes you in the hallways
So you’re even meaner to him.
And now it’s not just her
that knows that you’re a bad kid.
And still sometimes you help her erase the chalkboards.

That’s what being fourteen feels like.

He lost it.
He could feel his sanity draining from his body and coming out through beads of sweat, the anger rising up into his now blood-red face and the infamous smoke shooting out of his ears, the earthquake taking place inside his body causing him to tremble and shake uncontrollably, the white flag that the first tear waved in an attempt to go back to the way things used to be, and the poor excuse for carpet now beneath what used to be his sanctuary but now was as much of any enemy as the world: his body. He could feel the stares of his curious killers glaring down at him with their judgement-filled eyes.
With no sense of time or care in the world, he closed his eyes and slipped away from the world in that moment on the carpet, holding an open and empty stapler and the knife he used to cut out the last bit of pain the world and his enemies had left behind.
He had not just lost it in one immediate mental breakdown over something trivial to society. No. His body and mind had been gradually giving up on him as the days of stress and hatred went by and the nights filled with tears and sorrow counted down until his demise.
It isn’t some immediate thing like a stab that cuts into your heart. It usually never is, but that is all people on the outside see: a sudden, quick, and inconvenient loss.
The pain and severity of the world crashing down around you and ultimately burying you into its eternal embrace, does not strike fast and leave just as quickly. Rather it drags the pain out until there is only a thin thread holding that person together. The littlest things can be what cuts that thread into two dangling and useless pieces of thread in the end. Though they may be seen as trivial, they are the person’s lasts hope that was then crushed right before them.
It never seems to be a clean cut either, but more of a dull and rigid cut that is, like the internal destruction of the world around you, dragged out until its end.
The littlest things, such as no more staples, can be the end of something so precious yet poisoned by the world: a beautiful life.

you drink cocktails on wednesday mornings
to feel the rush past your tastebuds
telling your brain
this is good- this makes me happy- give me more
i gave you my all till i had nothing left to give
now you kept my heart
got it stuffed and propped up on your desk
right next to the post it’s and the stapler you stole
propped up like a proud taxidermist
showing off the new addition to the collection
the rare one- it put up a good fight but you
you conquered
in the end.

proud trophy hunter
you
are the animal.

Tuesday, November 29, 2016,
living room, Freshwater.
4:12 AM: I woke like any other morning
which means my eyes opened
my voluntary muscular system switched on.
This time.
Slowly.

But it wasn't like any other morning.
I woke up in the living room,
lying on the floor
next to Gunther, my dog.
He's not doing well.
He's old
and I spent the night with him.
Mostly.

5:24 AM: Woke up again next to Gunther,
cold and sore after disappointing moist dream;
went upstairs to bed for another 165 minutes.
Whatever 165 minutes later is:

Woke up, got out of bed,
dragged a comb across my head.
Somebody spoke and I went into a dream.

7:12 AM: Drove to work
knowing how many holes you need
to fill the Albert Hall:
12,347,023. Plus or minus.

8:47 AM: during my morning constitutional,
I noticed:
Catastrophic Trouser Failure.
Colleague saw me leave the
East Genderless Restroom
in the basement of House 54 at
8:53 AM with stapler in hand.

I moved cautiously through my day
not wanting to rip my metallic stitches.

9:12 AM: Over the last 7 1/2 minutes
I have flicked 17 ants off the top of my desk.

2:40 PM: After carefully maneuvering around campus
and getting through my day without exposure,
it was time to go home—but not quite yet.
The file uploaded that my students needed NOW
was corrupted and inaccessible.

Workarounds ensued.
Another day at the office.

3:54 PM: The black army has arrived.
My desk is aswarm—
anticipating their conquest—
my desk has fallen.

4:47 PM: Arrived at home.
Used PBS to relax.

9:03 PM: Moved on to Brandy.

Better.

The other day I was told to stop throwing staples
       when I wasnt throwing them
                  they were falling
                          falling out of my skin
                                      Once they were all down my legs
                                                all along my arms around my waist
                                                     and all over my face
And most of all they kept me smiling
        and when someone hurts me they fall out
               I stapled my mouth so I could smile
                 and now they have fallen out
                        I'm afraid I won't smile
                              and everyone has turned and gasped in fear
                                     and I look in the mirror and my mouth
                                             its bigger and black and scarier
                                                 and everyone screams  
" STOP SMILING!"
  "PLS STOP! YOUR SCARING ME!"
    and I look at all of them as the look away
           all the people who have bullied me and harmed me
                now screaming in fear... but I don't feel joy
                        I run and hide because there scared
                          and I sit in a dark corner and cry
                                 and I cry. not because I look like a monster
                                        but no one loves me for me
                                              that I'm alone in this dark world
                                                  and I look at all the staples
some blood stands and bent
          but I notice there are two staples remaining
                two staples struggling to hold together my broken heart
                       but suddenly I realize..... that I'm the way I am
                             and I pick up the stapler and say
                                    "its those who were mean to me who needs a    smile."

Yesterday I swallowed a tiny glass capsule
much like that
I've been walking around in for years
amongst these picture people.
My palm clung to walls made sticky by the heat,
skin to pane,
I could not bear to let go.
I wanted to enjoy their stapler smiles
but the fog made it impossible to see.
I only called it what it was
when I breathed it into the glass.
It was always there.
I wished it would fill the whole thing,
wished I had a match,
so it would serve some purpose.
So my capsule becomes gray and troubling
against its paper background.
So they stop and stare,
Look at the girl in the bubble.
I think she's suffocating.
Like it's a revelation.
Like Gabriel himself hand-delivered
tiny glass pills for them to swallow.
Let me be their spectacle.
Let me be the object of their pity.
Let me be a one-woman-glass-capsule miniature show.
I'll be their tired metaphor.
I'll choke on shimmering shards so they can watch my blood color their roses.
I'll drink until I'm heavy with turpentine.
I will destroy myself.
I will make it clean.
Tiny glass capsule
in my wooden palm
who did you once hold?

First couple days back from the hospital
And already I am hostile
I see razors and want to bleed out
I see rope and want to hang

This is probably going to be a bad thing

I see socks that make good chokers when knotted together
I see paint that makes good poison when drunk
I've lost my innocence
I've found the ugly side of life

I used to see things as mere objects, not weapons

Staples, used to be just a utility for a stapler
Glass used to be something you sweeped away
Detergent used to be a laundry item
And knives used to be eating utensils

All I see now is suicide

I dream about slitting my wrist open
Watching the red spill from my arm
Smiling as I bleed to death
Sweet serenity

I've been writing notes

One to my friend
One to my brother
One to my teacher
And one to a ex-lover

I've become what I once thought improbable
I've become suicidal

Filling the pin in stapler
stock enough papers in printer
sharpened pencil
charging power in UPS
preparing and serving coffee
transfer money based on her balance
these....
are small love
expressed to my Girlfriend...