war paint stains the
clothes i don.
it is old but lives on
in what comes to mind.

there was rot on
the battlefield. it is
stuck in my nose i cant
help but smell it
when i breathe.

i cant believe i
dwell in the past
like it has anything for me.

we do share a similar
sensibility and some
unfortunate similarities.

//

the best part of jumping off a bridge
is that everyone says you regret it
the second you do.

just another reminder
that we're all scared to die.

i might leave a greener pasture
for a field of blue roses.
and some time spent
on the coast.

these hands were built
for bricks and
failure. made for
disappointment like a
bowling alley gutter.

dont even get me
started on the rest of it.
i have too much of a
bad thing and we are all
children at play.

i am known to leave
a good thing behind.
but ive never had
a great thing before,
so im not sure
how to feel.

i could start softening
the mortar again,
or just suffer in silence.

by the power in my
boots i might walk
off the earth. i might
leave a thing behind.

she is so fast on the
draw, a knife in my ribs.
a bullet on my postcard.
let me make an excuse
for the rest of my life.

ive never been to
virginia, ive never been
to kansas.

just a mirror image
of a dream i had, that
looked so real it
****** me over
for the rest of my life.

i call myself a writer but
i dont write.
i call myself a student but
i stay in bed.
i call myself a good friend but
i am gone.
i call myself a person but
i cant breathe.

i ask how the boyfriend is
and you say he
leaves flowers around the house
because he knows you
like them.

but i already know
about the screaming matches
and the nights spent
locked in the bathroom.
drunk and afraid
alone but together.

i dont know what it is
about people. we let the trail
control the journey.
one bad apple and we
bleach the ******* farm.

so when i ask about
the boyfriend and you tell me
about the flowers i know
exactly what you mean.
i know exactly what
youre scared of.

this city brings out the
******* worst in me. ill
hate you like you
begged me too.

my skull is paper
and my brain is a
serotonin seesaw
never where its
supposed to be.

if we are four
i am fourth.
drag me by hand through
this ******* city like
i am clean in its plague.

the busses go so fast it
almost feels too easy
to get out of the game
while im ahead.

i could be obliterated
on the sidewalk
by a 55 headed home.
it might take me there,
it looks so sweet
and i miss my clothes.

who ever gave a knife
to these drunks?
they stumble around the
living room. Charlotte almost
breaks a painting.

i still hear the drums
through the door. and the
occasional scream.
whatever gene that is,
it skipped me. i am instead
burdened with dependence.
it is in my blood to
lean on drink like it might
save me.

that blue is no fun
for a boy. there is no
serenity just suffering and
following along with
the family business.

my room is a mess
yet i stumble so sweetly
into the arms of prophecy. it has been
calling my name like a lost dog.

but id much rather **** the
party than myself.