zak Jul 27
I’ve seen myself in the mirror.
it’s one thing to acknowledge your existence,
and another to question your place in the universe.

I sleep with the television turned on.
While I scream, it drones.
I don’t think I’ve watched a minute of it in the last three years though, I’m glued to my phone.
We’re glued to our phones.

I don’t yell much anymore.
Lack of living has beat the life out of me.
I’d worry about what any of this means, but being chemically inbalanced means I’m prospectively challenged.
So I don’t worry about it.

Maybe tomorrow will be different.
zak Jul 16
It is burning outside. I
argued with the stars too much
I think and now the
sun wants to melt me. And I
would let it, let it
thaw the tiredness from my
bones, let all of what I am
seep through the cracks
and dissipate like old ghosts
confronted by the sunrise
but instead
I am burning on the inside.
zak Apr 29
So out of it - it’s a shame you had to learn to write their names down on skin, because paper was left for better things, for obituaries and weddings
way past using, we’ve regressed into abusive but you don’t believe me when i say
shit helps, sober i overthink the bigger picture, sober i don’t stop to smell the flowers
zak Mar 6
my dreams have been wanting, as of late
it's a shame you cannot wake up dead
i dream of the shiny hook in my throat
of blue skin and bodies that just won't bloat

are we fishing for words here?
or do we want them to disappear?

my mouth is a graveyard, filled with everything I could never say. the musings, the ravings, they lose sense as soon as daylight graces them and they unravel and unravel and unravel into a giant headache, the kind only opiates can help with and even then

even then the yelling does not subside
zak Feb 13
you were my Yoko,
but i traded starfire for
a couple more thighs to keep the colder
nights away but I wouldn't
dare presume to be
Lennon, writing verses across the universe
instead I scrawl on the walls and hope to
god you never see your name
scribbled so facetiously
indelible, never forgotten but so undeserved
zak Feb 11
suffer in silence; i say
too much here and too
little elsewhere
every piece written, shuffled off
like clockwork
to the nearest bleeding heart
open 24/7, not out of
choice, but necessity like your
local convenience store
seeing its most loyal customers
only in the early AM
zak Jan 17
suppose we splinter at times.
i remember splitting knuckles on gravel and
tar. staring at the insides of my traitor hands, thinking it was remarkable how pain looked so
different, so comforting as opposed
to how it felt
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