A car occupied by ghosts
Barreling down a busy highway.
I wipe the snow from my cuff.

I don't know what home is
But I am looking.

i turn 19 today.
i feel the same
as 18
which felt alot
like 17
not much different
from 16 either.

i feel my age
i see my wall
i see the light
behind it.

She packs a parachute on every flight.
She keeps my number in her phone.

Just in case.

She knows theyre both there.
She prays she'll never need to use them.

it's great to be here.
i always say it's not
and i never feel like it is.
but its great to be here.

everything ive ever loved is here
in the meadow,
swanning for all of us.
singing our names.

i focus so much on the cold
i forget july
i forget august.

its great to be here
its always great to be here.

Asylum white walls
Bear a single feather.
A work of art.

I am left all alone again.
Peace and tranquility.

Spoon feeding ******
That tastes more like maple syrup
And relief
Than anything I've ever known.

i cant promise you
that god exists.
i dont know it for certain.

but i do find myself
wondering how
i can even see the sky
in the night time.

i dont know if god exists.
or of all the different ones,
which is most true.

sometimes we are so blinded
by uniform
we forget what lies beneath it.

watch me stumble into
something nice.
the sweater i bought
at the thrift store
turned out to be worth
a little more
than the price
i paid.

chalk it up
in the win column
i say as i
slip it on
wondering
praying
dreaming
of whoever wore
it before me.

just hoping they lived
a life
full
of life
and maybe if i
never wash
some life might
rub off on me

I do not have a happy song.

I just bathe in whatever it is
I decide to feel that day.

I sit at my window seat
and watch the train ride backwards
while the trees and hillsides shoot in front of me
as though each leaf and branch were being spawned
and that if I were to look behind me
there would be nothing to see.

A simulation
ran by an absentee landlord
who forgot he left the game running
who forgot he left the oven on.

Someone asks me how I'm doing
and I just say very sad because sometimes
I forget that I pretend to be a poet on the internet
and that I know better words to describe it other than very sad
but why bother when you come to the same conclusion.

I do not have a happy song.

I just bathe in whatever it is
I decide to feel that day.

love is all i know
in all its forms.
puzzled faces ask how could i know
at so young.

i've given away every part of me.
as everyone says it's noble
to give so much.
but I've seen no open arms
no one knows how to treat something they've never seen.

a whole world built on blissful ignorance.
where following all the rules doesn't actually make you happy.

i could power this ******* city
with the time i've wasted
pouring my soul into someone else
to make sure they're full.

i wear my nice sweater
for the performance.
but i still put on the makeup
the wig
the shoes.
never let anyone
decide when im ready
even me.

i danced for my supper.
and ate it with the fork
from the road that divides me.

two tall blondes
brought me flowers
we took pictures.
i left the roses at the show

i don't have enough ram
to process all the ****
i hear sometimes.

i could yell
every secret ive ever heard
from the top
of the cn tower.
and the cars
would keep driving,
id still be afraid of heights,
and she probably
wouldn't care for me
anymore than she already
didn't.

well what's the fun in that then

my hometown waits for me
like a lover
on the wrong side of a passing train window.

ill be back
but i wont be the same.

and we'll both be disappointed
in each other.

i am just now coming to terms with
the fact that i may be scary

time bomb, pocket bomb.
if there can be a universe in a fingernail

mine is long, protruding, sharp.
piercing through the styrofoam of a stressball.

please do not keep me in that dark thing.

i could make you orange slices or
a little figurine, of a moose.

It's been said that sleep is for the weak.
I disagree.
Sleep is for those who have time.
I'm far too busy
Forcing myself to swim upstream,
Trying to fix people
That don't even know
Whats wrong.

There is not enough cement to build the bridge.
Let it fall.
Go to bed.

i bought beer
for the first time today.
ive never been drunk before.
that's not hyperbole
or some kind of metaphor.
ive literally never been drunk before.

never been me.
i just know what it does
and what it would do to me.
but here we are
the end of whatever is left.

i cut my hand on the cap
when i put it in my bag.

i slide down a mud hill
to get to the bus

the bus driver
wouldn't let me back on the bus.
it was the same ******* bus driver
that handed me the transfer
to take the ******* bus home.

i dont think god wants me to buy beer

all i want to do
is buy wine
and chocolate chip muffins
but i wheel my cart past the aisles
and i see a familiar face.
waiting in line.

of course
its not really her
the real one
is a thousand miles away
the real one is anywhere but here

I bought groceries today,
and held my bags in my hands
while i waited for my car to arrive.
leaning by the carts
bundled in a winter coat
cursing the wind
watching the family's walk in and out.

A cashier walks out and stands beside me
Bags under her eyes, a little smile
She comments on the cold weather
and lights up a smoke.
coughing with each breath.
A few more puffs
and she throws it on the pavement
and goes back to work.
the smoke still rises
I am still waiting
for my car.

A garbage man walks up to me
he smiles brightly, his eyes big and warm.
and says that mother nature only got it half right today,
the suns out but its too **** cold.
I chuckle and nod as he removes the filled trash from the can
"she never loses that ******* does she? I think she likes us cold"

"haha, I guess so!"
We exchange a smile, and he goes off to the next can.

I wait for my car.

The cigarette that the cashier left is still burning
the wind pushed it back to the door
And I watch closely as every leg danced around it
and every wheel rolled beside it.
The smoke kept coming.

A family of three exits the store
a handsome man in his mid thirties
and a burgundy coat pushed the cart with his wife
while his young son walked ahead of them.
The son pulled out a flyer and began to read
His father approached him
and ripped it from his hand,
crumpled it
and threw it in the garbage beside me.
He looked his son in his eyes
"you're being ridiculous"

They kept walking
The smoke kept rising
The can isn't empty anymore
and I'm still waiting for my car.

I'm proud to say that I figured out
Where the corner piece is
That fills out that puzzle
Of a blood red farm, with a haystack,
And a glistening sun.
A life we only see in loathing.
A shelf too high
For our stubby arms
To reach.

A table covered with chase
And playing cards
Plays the gatekeeper
For stories I've never heard before.
Blank cheques and white space.
Room for error
Room for improvement.

Shallow gold doesn't exist
And its never worth much anyway.
Whats real lies far
Under the mud.
And if you find it
You dont let it go.

I've been close enough
To see the rocks break
Under me.
And fall into the sea,
Scraping every branch
On the way down.
There's still lead on my lips
And blood on my clothes.

I'll check into the hotel
And leave my bags at the front desk
While I sit over the sink
And watch the cold water
Run down my hands.
Spewing out my fingers
Like a superpower.

And when the magic fades
I'll break all the china
To make sure they still make sound.

I'll try to checkout.
I want to checkout.
But before I do,
A movie I've never seen
Shows up on the TV
And I decide to stay awhile.

Every morning I wake to bleeding fingers.
I sleep on a bed made from loose grenade pins.
Just reminders of a past life.
A former self.
Traits and abilities I haven't unlocked yet.

I will never be enough.

Even a glass full of water
Looks empty
From far enough away.

i worry about my purpose a lot.
it's a pretentious thing to write down i know.
but if i didnt have purpose to contemplate
than all the screwdrivers downed
would be for nothing
all the evenings still in bed
would be for nothing
all of my short comings
would be for nothing.

if there's no corner piece
for me to slide into,
i might just bang my head into my desk
until i cant feel it anymore.

Dust of the earth
Put fear in my heart
And black in my eyes.
How blessed I've been
To live a life so short
And play so many roles.

I've played the bull.
I've played the victim.
I've been the bull.
I've been the victim.

A tac pricked through a wool shirt
Keeps the sunlight out of my room.
I watch the black paint boil over.

Being everyone makes me nobody.

Finding the line
And walking it.
Not giving a ****
Which side I fall into.

Kids like me die
Because of
Kids like me.

A *** and coke
On a Sunday evening.
The perfect prize
For a vacation I'm paying for.

My first drink runs through me
Like blood does
But I still remember the dates
Like tattoos in my eyelids.
Images and memories I could never unsee.

A therapy session with an empty chair beside me.
Begging for somebody.
The headache wasn't as bad as I thought it would be.

sometimes i cant tell if this is good for me.
poetry, the broken mans art form.
i give up on all people
at least once a month
and i think im doing it again.

//

i dont like heights,
but i always thought
maybe id like being an astronaut
i could use a break.
read a book,
enjoy the view,
walk through nothing.
maybe then
id have a reason
to feel so alone
instead of drowning
in a sea of people
i cant feel when they touch me.

i want to write about leaving home
how it feels to not know where the grocery store is
how it feels to try and convince the people around you
that you're not crazy
before they find out for themselves that you probably are.

everytime i try to write about leaving home
all i do is think of home.

a place that tried to **** me.
a place i could have been a better grandson.
a place that feels warm in my mind
but cold on my skin.

can i really blame the riverbed
and that old rope swing
for taking away the only thing
i ever really loved.
maybe we could have found
some other way to get there.
we were too young to know better.

last night
i had a dream
so real-
i wish it was.

theres a burrow in there.
a nook.
a tunnel.
that wakes at its mention.
like a marionette
for its final dance.

i try to keep all the ****
i dont have figured out
in there.

theres a lock on it
but i kept the key too.
its somewhere on my chain
with the others.

the key might be
two gin cocktailes
and not eating for awhile.

i found a place that i left behind.
it still holds the things i look for.