the tight ball of nerves sitting in my gut
has not left
only you, everything else is white noise

of course i dreamt about then
insidious, hazy but now all i smell is
vanilla and it reminds me of a heart
twinge the way it envelops my
sense of self. the hill i would die on is
the hill i ran from, the spiral
downward familiar i
wish you would see me burn

she came to me, freezing - and
that grounded me
there, because i could not stop
dreaming
of warmth and its elusivity after
the waking. and i
was glad
for the cold, because i knew it
meant she was real, that she wasn’t
another delusion

tempt me near a decade
thought myself Circe’s swine
multiple lives bear multiple aches
to sail is to leave behind

who wants to live forever?
reincarnation, rather
she could ruin every life i’d ever live
just mere pigs on her isle

some nights
i am there, flying over words, my brain voiding out the blank worlds it skipped in its impatient race to catch another glimpse of what i saw that night, you knee deep in the water with your eyes lost beyond the horizon when you said this should be enough but it never would be

other nights i am here, crawling over words, trying to get to there.

i am selfish, hungry
yearning for what i could never need
that my ego would smother any want in the crib
because i know what i become when
stripped bare, that i lose any sense of self and become an unfaithful anagram of all the things you
love and deplore

how did  a few nights with you
turn into months of restless sleep?
you haunt my fever dreams,
in them your fingers reach into my mouth
to pull me by the teeth

how are you telling me
that your existence is weightless?
i could drag you down, the way
my own being has dragged me down for as long as i’ve misunderstood its purpose

i’ve had them, resting their heads on my chest
listening
listening
listening
to the same ******* beat that my doctor tells me isn’t right, and they think it’s for them.

she slowed it down so well some nights i felt weightless, every ba-thump a microsecond offbeat, my entire being syncopated -


flit.

sometimes she forgets, and
she wakes me up by touch - i hate those
late nights, because i am robbed
then of hypnopompic tranquility.

most days i wonder what it’s
like, having zero obligations -
i dozed off in the surf, painted neon blue
by some nearby coral beast’s castoffs.
it wasn’t dawn i was waiting for,
but just the tide rising high enough
to submerge me completely -
my lovely wicked moon its accomplice.

tell me about the sadness you have squirrelled away. the one that threatens to show itself in every smile your eyes don’t quite follow. the one you nurture secretly, feeding it with short bursts of self-pity that no one’s ever privy to. your little guilty pleasure - because you cannot feel anything else, so this will have to do.

maybe i read more into it than i should have.

i doubted it most nights, but every once in a while you’d look at me that way and smile -

and all i ever wanted was someone to look at me that way, and smile.

its maddening.
trying to force the words, any words! out.
god ive never met anyone more deserving.
even still, anything i write? i doubt.

it could be said that i dwell in the past more than is healthy - it’s just that there are just certain nows that I live in infinitely, its shelf life in the murky recesses of my mind extended involuntarily whenever i slip into the haze between lucidity and oblivion.

the nows aren’t good or bad - but that’s par for the course, i haven’t seen anything but greys in the last decade

i’ve never seen her in the sun.
i wouldn’t care to,
to see light touch where i never have
to see light own what i could never

before any of this i never
would have questioned the stars.

i knew enough to know that i knew nothing, and it was never contentment i felt but resignation - far be it from me to think i deserve understanding.

but i’ve seen brighter things now, brash and clad in flannel, impulsive - and it was hard to tear my eyes away and force them skyward, but the stars never blinded me.

******* hurt me, *******.

just ******* do it.

when your world’s been throbbing grey for the better part of a decade you’d settle for the sharpness of red as well.


just let me ******* feel something

I knew an hour in that it wasn’t going
to work, and it was a unwelcome thought.

Maybe it was because I was gone three sheets to the wind, as I had to be to even leave the sanctity of my sanctuary - still the feeling that it wouldn’t hurt as good as I hoped it would felt full in my mouth, promising to ruin my inebriation, promising to ruin my night/week/life.

I suppose I hit on her after, but she must’ve not taken to it - I woke up 8 hours later on the side of the road, with just the vaguest memory of yelling at a cab driver to run me over, and the smell of dead babies in the air.

I just wish she was as ****** up as I needed her to be.

you asked once why everything
i write sounds like regret - and i
remember lying through my teeth, wanting so ******* hard to sound like as if i’ve never given a **** in my life and wasn’t about to start.

i mean, it worked with everyone else, didn’t it?

i was fuming. how dare you? deconstruct
me like that, and for that i mustered all of my boyish pride - and pretended I never knew you.

and that is why everything i
write sounds like regret.

words moved me, and
God
i wanted my fingers to blister and my
bones to ache
but my mind withers and my heart breaks
i swallowed ink and still i couldn’t
make the words flow like they used to as if
almost as if
they refuse to

seeing is believing, i avoid mirrors just to avoid the ****** with bloodshot eyes - but even eyelids scrunched shut i still see myself


I can only hope that one day the ache will outhurt the fear of whatever’s after

i hate seeing my reflection - it is a
stark reminder that i am here.
the call of the void is always fleeting - how easy would it be to step in front of a bus?
i struggle with coming to terms with this - even suicide is not an option, even dead i wouldn’t want the responsibility of my own death on me.

do you know this dream? tied
to a fence, barking. the mailman comes, afraid -
he confuses your overeager friendliness with ill feeling. do you
know this dream? the sun never goes away - your cratered imperfection never shows his face. do
you know this dream? on her sleeve worn, you wear away.
the wind never blows you straight - do you know
this dream?

still i wait. will the Stars deign
To reply? skyward i plead my case
but my best has fallen just shy
i see them leave, one by one
even the clouds have left the Sea behind

Still I wait.

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.

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.

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
**** helps, sober i overthink the bigger picture, sober i don’t stop to smell the flowers

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

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

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

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

you tell me about
love, and say I know nothing. But I know enough.

you tell me love is your parents grown
old, together, both
each other's pillar.

you tell me love is your man
walking you home and
leaving you giddy on the doorstep

but i know love.

love is my father yelling YOU ******* ***** when my mother tries to sneak in
in the dead of night

love is me, sitting outside the cold apartment, waiting for her to come visit her four children

love is my mother's boyfriend, and his clothes hangers on my
back, from being too noisy playing
Wheel of Fortune on the old white computer

love is me, smoking my weight in
chemicals

love is me, hiding my noose in the corner
of my cupboard, worried what my siblings would think

That is love.

it's always a little wet this time of
year. I don't mind the cold
so much as the dampness, but it fans
the anger a bit, when it should be tempered.

I am mad, yes, but not the
manic kind, I'm mad the way old men
rap on your windows with their
bony knuckles and yell at you through the thin glass for playing the guitar too loud. I'm mad the way the same ***** old men try to
drink and smoke and ****
themselves to death,
trying to drown old hurt or
some ******* like that but it all comes
out in the wee hours, covered in bile.

I've told no one this but I always did
love your madness. it was honest and intense. but i didn't come any closer because
it was like wildfire, and I'm more used
to the cold.
you were still in my head
then, and I kept myself out of your grip.
just out of your warmth. it was bad
enough to see other men burn but I never
did even once think I was above it all.
hell, i tried to smother your inferno. now I'm the one on fire.

"I'm not afraid to die," I said
If I was sure money wouldn't be wasted on a funeral
I'd **** myself anyway

Inconsequential, any of us
Why does it even matter, when all we are is dust?
"You inject meaning, and that's how you live how you do"
I reject that completely, what I've done is just not done.

i tried to shoot for the moon
But gravity reared its head
my dreams just couldn't escape orbit
now my dreams are dead

"Write about me," she said.

No. How could I?
I felt nothing.
I was nothing.
Putty in her hands,
just another boy in her bed.
Another notch on her bedpost
Another night she wanted head.

With all honesty, I was only
here because I wanted the same:
to dive in quick and after,
still feel sane.

"Stop writing about me," you said.

No.

I dream about you still
even in my waking hours you come, unsolicited, like bugs in the walls of an unkempt house
and I would let you in,
and warm you up by the firelight
but you insist on staying away
and I am left with soft echoes of you
haunting the recesses of my brain
I wish you would come back
completely, or leave forever
because I cannot live with halfdead memories
Only to wake up and feel empty again

I vaguely remember us on the edge of a canal
Fists clenched, holding the night sky
Standing, screaming that we were alive
Back then it wouldn't have been a lie

And on barstools as well, faint guitar riffs
Echoing through smoky pub air
Heads lain flat on damp tables
Wish we'd known then the difference between having purpose and simply breathing

Also our beds, with the lights dimmed
Asking questions neither could answer
Just two ignorant kids waxing philosophy
Just two ignorant kids already forgetting how to live

I couldn't look into the mirror today
I was afraid to meet the bloodshot eyes of someone I barely knew
I'd seen that look on a dozen faces before his, and I couldn't deal with disappointment right now.

what a riot.

I've read this before, in countless YA novels that ate away at my brain; the soda of the written word
"I don't recognise myself," he says to himself, fingers dancing over his reflection.
"I have to figure out who I am."

what a riot.

I took another hit, and another and another
I couldn't afford it, but needs must-
And I needed to forget.
I couldn't look into the mirror today.
I'd recognise him too well.

what a riot.

She felt like fire,
leaving scorch marks across
the inside of my chest

It burned everything I was
and I was left like residue
from a catalyst used wrong

I felt like ice
running from her flames
melting under her smoldering skin
I felt fluid and chill
but I was burning up too fast and


I feel like air.
Quiet.

2 am and I can't sleep
With you racing through my mind
How could I?
Leaving tracks and bitterness on my insides
The scent of flowers and putrid feelings linger on
Permeating the air around my soul
You left your imprints, you ******
They burned through and left a hole
I can't shake you out
I breathed you in too deeply
Poisoned my very being
Now I feel so ******* lonely

hello barbie
r u there?
It's been 4 years and 57 girls
But i dreamt of you two nights in a row
And this is why i tweak most nights
If i can't dream it's easier to believe that i'm doing just fine
Do people have somewhere to go when they're alone?
I feel like all i can do is roam and roam and roam
I'm privy to the big secret
That nothing really matters
And we ascribe as much importance to where we deem it most fitting
And i cannot for the life of me figure out after everything
Why it still stings

they say you lose the voice first
the way she sounds, the way her laugh makes your toes curl
i think you lose everything in a night
when you stay up late wondering how the two of you died

Must've known you in a previous life
You were the sun, and I was grass worshipping the sky
Must've known you in a previous life
You were the sea, and I was a cliff worn away by your tide
Must've known you in a previous life
You were a flower, and I was a bee heartbroken by your side

Would've known you in our current lives
Intertwined like vines but never really seeing eye-to eye

most normal nights it's about something stupid or other, like my mother's tendency to cry when I visit her

like my inability to find something I could stick with for all of adulthood other than writing terrible anecdotes on existentialism

like the look of abject disappointment on my father's face when he found out I was getting dropped from school again

like the whole of 2015, where I spent all year convalescing behind a bar counter, convinced I could save peanuts for a degree

like when I watch motes of dust wrestle in dim light and tell myself it's just a phase


it's just a phase

I felt like a thief, undeserving of the air around me
Every breath stolen from the lungs of someone less unworthy
Even then I couldn't stop breaking hearts
Despoiling souls, taking them apart
It filled me with completion
Causing another's destruction
Reducing them to shattered nerves,
Trembling hands and ****** curves
It made me feel significant, that I existed
Just only with the toll of self-hate

In a sea of gin you sailed,
To conquer a future you dreamt of
In a hallucinogen induced haze
You exhaled smoke with every breath,
Fogging the world over with your intoxicated ideas
Sentencing rebel thoughts to death
You figured you were in an epic,
The ones where the hero stood against the world alone
But only you were against you and it was tragic
That battle was lost when you sold your heart for a bottle of poison disguised as magic

Fire in my veins, blood in my mouth
Her mind was shattered, while mine travelled south
Did he cut himself on your pieces? Or did you learn to put yourself back together?
I hope you grew out of finding beauty in sadness, that you understood the possibility of happiness without depression.
I hope you learned never to fall in love with a broken mirror.