Our fates are constrained
by the lights that remain
in the skies at night

...so...

Don't ******* lecture me
about how hard it is
don't ******* walk away
I can make it simple

Shallow pools of rainwater
The sound of an engine running
Blue and bright
Between light and lofty whites
Wafting tendrils of steam
Curled and unfurling
Like fresh april blooms
Infant flowers and leaves
Flowers and levers
Flow and weave
Follow or leave
Floral trees
In the spring breeze

Can't quite find a way out.
Myself and my own capabilities
are the things that I doubt.

Sent it out, in the mail your
little package of sensibilities.
I'm just afraid of failure.

When the sun shines brightly in my eyes
with clear skies and blue eternity,
I can't seem to stay in this disguise.

It feels too **** good.
With perfect certainty.
Letting go, like I knew I would.

I'll be the slumpy man
caught on the clotheslines in the wind
strung out on powerlines
graced by the company of crows
and the circling buzzards
all hungry for my eyeballs

I'll be the slumpy man
hung over the sofa
draped across recliners
trying to dry out
before my braincells die out
trying to stay awake and sober

Let us take a waltz around the rings of Saturn,
without making a sound as our feet follow the pattern.
Let us sway and forever spin
every day in the solar wind.
Baby don't ever wake up from these fondest dreams
where we needn't make up, for everything is as it seems.
Let us never return to the dead-pet freezers and the bleeding,
haven't we yet earned our right to be together without pleading?


Baby there's a cafe on the moon
and we better get there soon
because I'm dying here on Earth
and a trip to Jupiter isn't what we're worth.

Because that place is a heap,
and the coffee there is the worst.

Met this broad on tinder,
she told me that she was hesitant about dating
due to the fact that she just got out of
an abusive relationship.

Sounds like just my type of gal,
I wonder how her relationship with her father is.
I'm salivating now.

I sympathized with her, and said that I too
had just gotten out of an abusive relationship.
I recounted the story about how, after two years
of daily emotional and physical abuse,
my ex had at last found the courage and support
that she needed to finally leave my ***. That ****.

I only like you when your drunk
so save me for later.
Because I don't really care about you
I just care how much you care about me.
So sail with me, are you seaworthy?
Seven shots of brandy,
seven beers,
try and keep up, okay?

Iterative of
my entire life.

There's barely any
haught to be had.
Instead of wondering,
now I'm dreaming, but
knowing would be ideal.
Instead of merely living,
no, instead of dying,
give me a reason to thrive.

All is gone
by the time I walk
outside.
Usually I can still find
the meaning.

You.

I can't remember
All the good things
That have happened
And
I can't forget
the things that
I wish never did happen.

But I get to decide
What to think about,
My thoughts don't tell me
What to feel.

Choose positivity, and
Watch the world change
Around you.

The hills rolled and faded away
in an obscuring gray snowfall daze
and he doesn't want her

A pair of pairs of jeans and a
gray hoodie with thermals underneath
couldn't warm him up to her

His head, three hoods deep, dreams
coddled in disbelief at the time passed between
the last she had him and now

These months, years they may seem,
are minuscule minutes in the eyes of history
and he keeps breathing without her

With the snow now up to his knees
and a want to be buried beneath the damp gray
he hitches deep and coughs

dead things
beautiful, horrid, dead things.

The routines come.

But they come silently,
and they slither,
and they crawl,
and they sneak into our lives
one inch at a time,
hiding in those missing minutes and seconds,
hidden in hours and days lost to the hubris
of our own sense of youth and permanence.

And all the time we've wasted is held so high,
high up above our heads,
just out of our reach,
just a whisper of familiar texture on our fingertips,
as we dance upon our tippy toes,
as our arms slowly tire
of trying to reach what we once held so easily,
as we look back on the shadows
stretched out behind us
overtop of our ever-lengthening timelines,
and we realize that time is indeed passing
and that the golden memories are just that,
memories,
and these stolid routines that we never noticed
aren't making any new ones.

The routines will come,
but ****** be if I'm going to sit idly by
and let them willingly take me.

I love seeing suicide survivors.

Like ****,
you **** at that too, huh?

Your hands look good for touching,
I'll feel them with mine.

When, at night, I'm alone with
chapped dryness on my lips
I close my eyes and just imagine
you giving me a Vaseline kiss.

Rose petals in the bathroom trash bin,
fervent phone calls in the morning.
Little bits of lavender stuck to my feet.
Debt. Balancing two lives into one,
sharing.

It's difficult, sure.

Were it easy,
it wouldn't be worth it.

No such thing as perfect.
Even if there was,
I'd still prefer it
the way things are.

She offers me more
than any drug could.
She feeds me her life
through those grey eyes.
I listen her sing and strum,
about how awful she has become
I got to love her in ways
other people would die for.
Now I pray to bigfoot.
Now two thousand four hundred and fifty five miles
just make me smile.
Now I don't know what to say to make her stay.
Now I don't want her to go away.

She breathes fire
but burns quietly.

To get her.
Together.
We're alone together.

Bled it out, one,
one day at a time.

I shouted at you.

You didn't cry.

I don't find none,
none is what I find.

I tried for you.

You didn't try.

Bled it out one day,
one day without time.

I don't like to write.
I write for the likes.
That being said, I don't hate to write either.

So ******* and the horse you rode in on.

So brightly her flame burns for me,
and no one can hold a candle to it.
When she says my name I only seem
to be less and less able to handle it.

Yet still she bathes me in white hot light
and I am relentlessly pulled closer.
Like fascinated moths on a summer's night
stuck inside of a streetlight enclosure.  

I was upon her fire, cast deep into that flame,
illuminated from my old soul to the tip of my brain.

When out stretched for miles my shadow became,
everything I've put behind me, now swaddled in shame.

Out, she reaches,
to touch my hand.
But I'm all dried up
and turned to sand.

In, she breathes, all of those
ridiculously stinky green ounces.
And now I'm lost, I suppose,
in the Sierra Nevada Mountains.

Were I only a critter
then maybe I could've stayed with her,

forever trapped in a locket
or suffocating deep inside of her pocket.

Mirrors and monitors
cloud my vision
with a dichotomy
between ignorance
and self indulgence.

This is misery
wrapped up in a tasty, flakey
egg roll pastry.

Bite right into me,
see what comes flowing
through your teeth.

This is misery,
we are history,
and we're never coming home.

This is misery it's
not a mystery
how we ended up alone.

It's distracting me
how the distance between
just never seems to shrink
at all.

This is misery,
somber symphony
of a thousand creaking bones.

We're still history,
a book brimming with grief
for what could've been
but now no one will ever know.
What happened to me?
Did I always bounce between
the present and futures unknown?

This is misery,
don't call out for me,
I'm never coming home.

What defines it?
Is there an innate sense
of purpose
grafted into the drywall?
Is it an undefined longing
for solitude,
for a little time?

I'll find it.
Coated with pine needles,
desperate for fresh lumber.
I'll find it buried
beneath seven years of therapy,
slathered in liquid doubt.
Dripping.
I'll find it dripping.

I ain't looking any harder today
than I was yesterday,
but I swear that I'll find it.

If you look hard enough
maybe you'll be able to see
a little bit of your father
deep inside of me.

Or maybe you won't.

But you can still
call me daddy.

Who's here
when I'm not?

Can they read this
as I write it,
does it carry across?

There's something
here
with me,
something that's
not me.

Together but not whole,
just a bifurcated hull
held together with flex tape.

We don't sink.

Ain't need to say it,
I'll let my actions
Speak for themselves.

That's all that really matters anyway.

hahaha

Remembering the time you lent me
your heart, underneath the bent tree
in your mother's back yard.

But god, how I'd rather be
your step-father.
And spend my days upon
your mother's front lawn.

I feel so

compelled

to bash your head in
with my love.

When you're dead,
I'll fashion a paintbrush
from a lock of your hair.

I'll paint you on the ceiling
in violent shades of burgundy.

I'll lick the bristles clean.

I'll paint my taste buds
with the vibrant flavors

of your love.

I'll craft a cradle from your bones,
and wrap it taught with your dermis.

Your

marrow

will seep out,

like the

love

from my heart.

I'll keep you.
Forever.
A shrine.
A memento.
A collectable.

A macabre reminder
of my

love.

The good ache, resonates.
I like the pain of a long day's work
and I like sharing yawns with you.
Blurry eyed and smiling, come give me a kiss
because baby I missed you today.
It was warm, but misty with rain,
and my boots slipped in the mud.
I tweaked my ankle a bit, but it's a good pain.
The kind of ache you get from working
hard for someone you love.

Turn all the lights off,
I want to read your skin
like braille.

so dull my tongue
with your sandpaper ears

and now that we're older
maybe the difference in years
just won't matter

because I don't care anymore
and you should've seen that
from the other side of the door

The voice of logic screams in pain
at the sight of my toothy, idiotic grin.
Heart beats drill into my brain
with a percussive pounding maintained
onward deep into the night and
following my thoughts throughout the day.

So sometimes reasoning goes away
when love is dripping from my face.

We wade and wait through the daily hate to
practice our fractured love each night.
We make and mate once it gets late, just
to have a day's worth of material to write.

Now you're the wet dreams
slowly rusting away my mettle,
and I just smile, nod, and
paint you a ****** portrait.

In the silence between dry heaves,
while waiting for my gorge to settle,
I pray to the porcelain god and
spit on my reflection in the toilet.

I venture outside then to choke on a smoke
and I **** your name into snowy leaves.

Can't afford a deathbed, I'm so ******* broke,
please just **** me on the loveseat.

I fancy the fierce fog,
backlit by the morning sun.

Burn off, slowly.
The day has just begun.