You'll always be my favorite kind of film. The sitcom without the laugh tracks or a romance without the actors. The kind of irony that could make me laugh till it hurt. The way I went from pining for you to vivisecting you against the metal of a surgical table, because maybe if I cracked open that soft, stupid flesh I'd finally be able to understand why. How you unspool me, all these years between us but you're still the only boy that's ever made me cry without hitting me first. Mum says she liked me better before I got off the pills. Honestly, I only cut them up once they're dead mother, we all have our hobbies.  I used to rewrite scene after scene of the woulda-coulda-shoulda's of our script and hide them from you. I used to be a lot of things. Don't we all miss me on pills.

Such sweet songs
Fall from faces full
Of open
Hearts holding hands.
Generally great groups gather
Quixotic questions,
Ponder personal perceptions,
Emulating ever entranced emotions.
Love loses leaps, leaves
Broad bruises bypassing
Catastrophically closed creations.
What wonder, what wildly whimsical
Rejoice remains?
In individualistic idioms.
As all allowed anatomical
Differences deal dictations,
Juxtaposed jesters join
Monstrous masterminds
Trivially tinkering, tryingly,
Near non-subjective nothingness
Under unusual
Vectors. Vivisecting voracious,
Zeppelin-esque, zygotes,
Xenophobic
Yodels yell,
"****! **** kindheartedness!"

It’s clear to me now
Why some burdened men and women
Try to lose themselves

Before I saw no intent
For drowning oneself in the sticky entrapment of alcohol
For burning away one’s heart and one’s fingertips
For vivisecting the pain and stopping the pulse of the problem
For inhaling the stench of despair and smokey desires
For wrapping oneself in the poison arms of another, if only for a night,
As a desperate attempt to seek comfort and affection

Not that I am not loved
For I know how much is given up for me
I know how much is sacrificed that I may walk the paths of my peers
If only to saturate the steps as a shadow

Not that I am a burden
Of this I am also made sure
‘Till the sleeping guardian of days awakens and sends his horsemen unto the earth-
I could be told that I am loved and I am treasured
I could be told
Yes, told

Temptation was a distant planet
Floating in the same path as I, yet, too far for concern and too different for comparison
But yet
It seems that I am even unsure of the physics of this world
And some unseen force that I should have accounted for (and failed)
****** me into its many tearing, sharp moons and blazing, sarcastic stars
Until I found myself composed of their same dust

Sometimes I think that I am disadvantaged by love
That because I am nurtured and privileged to some recognizable degree
I have no excuses
That because I can venture the haven of my room and come back
With all of my bones intact
And all of the neurons firing
I have no excuse for physical pain of the embodiment of my heart
That because I am told, “I love you”
Everyday
An automatic response
I have no excuse for the damp, echoing void I feel
That perhaps is the lack thereof
If someone would just hit me…

But I must haul myself across the fields
And I must carry myself onwards
Yanking on the lifeless pieces dragging behind
Because to fall into false help and lying love
Until two years time-
Or, worse yet,
To be ungrateful
Is worse than the weight of bearing all and being carried
Clueless, obtuse, waste
When they already suffer enough

I only feel the kindling of warmth when I bring the fire to others
But even then
Daddy locks Prometheus up
Because somehow, the little brat even managed to ***** that up

And now I’ve gone and wasted an hour
Thrown away the precious gift of time
For writing this spineless catharsis of complain
When I should be thanking
As I’m working,
Studying,
Reading,
Mending,
Anything but creating this raging text of teenage angst and ill-excuse

I only encourage myself when I fall back into the white riverbeds begging me to fill them with life
It’s no wonder that when I picture myself happy
My queen and I reside miles past the familiar horizons
Alone in an uncharted temperate road that stretches
On and on
Taking me forever away

Two more years

Lately at night I’ve been feeling listless, my mind churning thoughts in the tepid cauldron of my brain and spinning about how my name is erased from fond memories and funny stories, replaced with "someone" and my heart is no longer on my sleeve but on my feet and the only time it rests is when I sleep after a day of walking and crushing it with every beat but I can’t sleep, not til 5 am, an hour before my alarm clock screams and I dream of old women birthing cherubs, their angelic hair like hot wire vivisecting their poor hosts’ bodies and a picture of me is sent to you and you say God, remember when we were friends? And then you laugh

2300
Quantum Computers
Turing Test Defeated

Somewhere beautiful
A man casts his line into a lake
And lifts his wrist
Up towards his lips
Asking the tiny chip
Within his flesh
“Hey Siri,
Know the best way
To gut a fish?”

An Infinity Expands

every knife slicing into every animal
the blood and organs
the hands that hold them
the chemicals of blood
oxidation reactions
chemicals congealing blood
chemicals melting the bones?
bones inside the hands
pulling apart the flesh
vivisecting organs
falling to the surface
blood cascading
upon countertops stainless steel rocks dirt animals water grande canyons grand castles within the scaffolding
do humans think like this within the scaffolding of their minds?
of castles countertops stumps
the nervous system
active after death
fish whipping
twisting blades into the second hands
pain rippling through the other nervous system
electricity nerves muscles contractions force matter flesh  nerves again electric energy
pills swallowed before procedure
wielding knives while deep in stupor
wearing gloves to guard the hands
guarding the second hand
a single glove
blades slicing up the gloves
particles from gloves exploding
embedding within the fish
toxins
skin leathers wood synthetics plastics polycarbonates leathers
an infinity of leather guarded hands slicing pulling flesh bones muscles bleeding upon stumps organs crashing through the dirt

All of this
Before he inhales
All this infinity
Collapsed
Into a sentence.

“No ****, *******”
Spills out from the chip.

there is nothing here, much fill of
the vacuous – just tired mesh;
a precise ruling
     of chaos, like how my mother told
me over folding clothes that i have
   my own way of destroying things.

dizzied and then clamped by my
way of default fixtures past furnitures
and a break on the lip of the wound
having knelt on a shard of glass
   age 7 in familial entrails —

knowing how heavy my steps were
by looking justly at worn-out shoes,
pieces of the Earth jammed on slits,
  their countenance earthen, exhausted
from the mundane. walls chaffed
from childish gnaws, drunk on turpentine.
stock-still hands of an old watch with
   dents for portrayal of agonies

in the dresser, clothes pretending not
  much to do

  and when it started to place its
  affect, i have learned enough to love
   was commonplace for hurt,
  and that there is a false horizon
  staring back through tough heads
of protruding nails, giving back a dignified
  image of contrition — in the mirror
a furiously slaughtered conjuring
   of what i once held in my hands
vivisecting to discover evidence
  fingers painted red, running the fugitive,
rogue without emphasis,
    
               hurrying back to home
  photographs nailed to their stations
  with cases fractured, deep into halved
   smiles, mother locating me with
an old chipped drinking glass, telling me
    i have my way
          of ruining things.

i wanted you to feel exactly how you already feel under corona to feel exactly how you feel i wanted corona under you miserable exactly to feel to feel outside yourself and you without yourself

you wanted lines of passengers vivisecting boxes and makeshift interiors

i wanted exactitude nectar falling from the split of the earth above and the buzzing of wilderness and the shrill call of warblers beneath the parking lot as attendants squirt hand sanitiser into open palms

the other day night fell and i never made it back the next day everything was as it was again i woke a blinding white expanse ceaseless static clinging to my arms like cobweb falls

i wanted a holy verification in the cantaloupe and the cattail

did you know? it grows on the edges of highways and undisturbed plateaus. it brokers nothing. you find it between being and becoming. the panic of not.