Dying slow in the mountains seemed much easier than simply breathing at sea level.

I've been thinking that maybe I was happier when I was still drinking.

I tried to write a poem called Pointless and never made it beyond the title.

Dying seems easier than breathing at sea level.

r ~ 11/7/14

the flesh covers the bone
and they put a mind
in there and
sometimes a soul,
and the women break
vases against the walls
and the men drink too
much
and nobody finds the
one
but keep
looking
crawling in and out
of beds.
flesh covers
the bone and the
flesh searches
for more than
flesh.

there's no chance
at all:
we are all trapped
by a singular
fate.

nobody ever finds
the one.

the city dumps fill
the junkyards fill
the madhouses fill
the hospitals fill
the graveyards fill

nothing else
fills.

Dining on copious amounts of serotonin
Dopamine fiend
I get called a terrible teen
Lack of melotonin

Sleepless dreams
Of seizing opportunities
But I don't participate in life; truancy
I guess I'm nothing more than another one of ******'s machines

What is the perfume of life?
The smell of fresh mown grass
The rich aroma of freshly turned soil
That beautiful milky buiscuity smell of a young puppy
This then is the perfume of life

These dead stares across the shopping mall
Wouldn't I care if I could have them all
Fingerpainting these eyes
**** photos: camera shutter sighs

But her breath is morse code
And my words are falling
Her dial tone dilates
As her moans are calling

She fell in love with a filter
And I fell in love with someone's daughter
We took pictures in the summer time
And she threw them into the water

When she lies, her cheeks flush
She swears that she doesn't care much,
as she sits in her underwear
with a light grin and a heavy heart.

She felt her pulse by the bed light
She was sad that she was alright
I watched her paint her dad on fire
while holding infant her.

I heard the window shatter
She never said what was the matter
I found her on the driveway,
broken like a family picture frame