and it scares me because
the glow in her eyes and
melodious rhythm
in her words give me the impression
that she enjoys talking
about these things.

And it's not
one of those mindful zen
practicing acceptance
attitude of gratitude  type of
scenes where she loves it out
of herself and heals all
the heavy scars she wears.

It's like she revels in her misery--
I just don't get it man!
Maybe I'm doing some
wacko projection thing
or that I'm reading too much
into it all. I mean,
I am a bookworm. But,

There's just something about
the way, the feeling or
the tone that vibrates through
my soul like a friggin' red light Spider Sense
that gives me the creepers.

She'd say that she's simply
stating facts and, while that
may be true,
I just can't help but hear
some callous time ******* black-hole train crash rejoicing;
like a perverted hymn
to misfortune and gloom.

I don't know man, maybe
those are just the tunes my mom enjoys playing.
Could be that's just not my
style, or how I approach
something like that.
I try not to judge, but
some **** is just doesn't sit
well with me, you know?
I can't help that.

I don't know what it is
but I have grown very fond
of umbrellas
all shapes and sizes and colors
I never owned an umbrella
until a week ago
it was raining all day
and my mom gave
an umbrella
nothing fancy
just a black umbrella
then the rain let up
and I almost used
the umbrella
but I was worried
I wouldn't be able to dry it out
getting an umbrella wet
is a funny thing to worry about
but that's how I think
and that's not going to change
so when the sun comes back out
to dry the streets
only then
will I use
my first umbrella
for the first time
and it won't get wet

I am
a memory,
like the sweet sugar
of justice.

The tiniest droplets of my presence,
raining down from this frozen sky,
are so insignificant to your tongue,
as to make me important.

And I wish I  was.

Wishing like
a flower,
a seedling underneath the permafrost,
hardened against winter,
harder for summer.

They said:
"You on a path to get shot."

In the form of a bullet,
straight through my head,
pink mist and all.

How much is a life worth?
or how much does lead weigh?

In forms underlayed with venom,
I have perpetrated goodness.

In ways misunderstood
I have appeared evil,
and maybe this is so.

I am sorry for ruining all vaginas for you
I hope you can recover eventually
She said

I hate to burst your **** bubble
But I’ve slid some lies between your thighs
When howling at your moon wasn’t so much praise
As it was longing for a change of ***** scenery

People change?

How I feel right now
is like when one time I was sick
And my parents recorded a show I watched
so I could watch it later
And at the end of the show
there was a number for a contest to go to space camp

I called that number
It was disconnected
I always find out the important stuff
A little late

I cried that day

I just wanted to go to space camp

And I just wanted someone to love me like a black hole
A warm black hole to put all my love into
**** me in and fix me like there’s no turning back
I mean in the darkness of space
They all look the same
All yank at you turbulent and fiery head rush passion

I mean we all love the same

So I am sorry I overshot your Venus
To crash land in Uranus
A semi-purposeful curious passion

You coulda yelled ****
We felt like ****
When we walked away

Parts of me have always been missing
And I tried to fill the gaps with you
Problem is when you might be gay and are fighting it
Your closet is a ******

Not your fault your beard looked funny on my ****
You can’t wear a person like an accessory
I can’t slap her like masculinity till I feel straight again
Some things aren’t right
I’m not right
And you are so messed up now
Because you have this superpower to turn men gay

You can’t turn men gay
You can only remind them of the pain that lies
In lying to themselves when they know
None of this feels right

None of it will

Dear former lover
Former black hole body
Former holder of my confusion
And filler of my empty spots

I ****** up by ******* you

I ****** up