A blood stain on a piece of paper
shows so **** much.

The great rolling thunder
inside of your head
left your body like a cut flower,
slowly wilting in bed.
I see the lightning
still burned in your eyes,
I collect your petals
that fall to the side.
And your love shines eternal
bringing our hearts to a boil,
as you return to the earth
and are one with the soil.

The virtuous voice
of father time
is singing
bittersweet lullabies
that I don't
even recognize.

My ears ring,
and I squinch up my face
in revulsion.

The blustery winter sky sighs her name,
and my eyes pulse with the beat of the rain.
I can't help but ponder 'what if'
we hadn't been so **** selfish,
and I've grown so **** tired instead
from being so **** stuck in my head.

But my head
just ain't what it used to be,
then again
what's the point anyway.

black sweaters
black tights
black jeans
black hair
black heels
black chucks
black socks
black jackets
black nails
black glasses
black eyes

Strip enough lights from our lives
and you'll find that we're all blind.

Feeling along walls,
and stubbing our toes
in the long darkness.

Be my light, my Polaris,
be my full moon in the night,
and save me from myself.

Save me from this begotten hell
that we've so carefully crafted
within our own hearts and minds.

Whether on an evening dinner date
or out for a long walk in the afternoon
I see them glare vapidly
at little rectangles of doom.

Time accelerated.
Everything will be gone so soon
yet still I see their eyes glued
to little rectangles of doom.

In joy and despair
love and contempt
the feelings are there
and they feel so true.
When black rectangles of doom
gaze right back into you.

Become abyss.

Remember when
I was me
and you were you.

Now we're just
the things we've watched,
rectangles of doom.

Until you hate me,

you'll love me.

Liquor, and love lost.
Left.
Leaving.

Right?

Everyone leaves,
no one is left.
What's right?

What's
wrong?


What's
write?

Some people get upset
when I'm a bit too honest.

Sometimes my grandfather
(known to me as my Pap)
will ask me
if I want to go to a toy train convention
at 8:00 AM on a Sunday,
and I'll say
"I don't want to, but I definitely will"
and he'll tell me
to just
forget it.

It's like this for other things too,
with other people.
Usually loved ones.

My cousin Jake
is sometimes late
for a birthday dinner,
and I'll say
"If you don't want to come, then don't."
Then I'll smile
because I'm hearing my Pap's words
coming out of my own mouth.

Pap.

He doesn't want someone to tag along
just because it's the right thing to do,
he wants someone to be as excited as he is.
He wants someone to want what he wants.

What do I want? How does anyone figure that out?
I feel like I've lived a life
wanting the wrong things.
Not wanting what others
have wanted for me.
Throwing away opportunities
to make others proud,
people like my mother.
She wanted me to be a man,
but I've lived these wandering years
as but a man-child who squanders
the days away with menial hobbies.
Lazy and unfocused I am,
I've been.
Always wanting the wrong things.

...
If I had a grandson
what would I want him
to tag along with me for?

What would I want my child
to want?

I don't know.

Do you?

Hey I'm feeling ****** for myself,
so let's write some ****** poetry!

Oh boy I'm getting drunk!
*Again

I've got a six pack, flexing
at the mirror with these beer muscles
and I'm in a fist fight
with my very life tonight
but reality just keeps
knocking me on my ****** ***.

I parked here first
so where'd these cars come from
surrounding my dented truck
like a ******* funeral
around a hearse.

What's a little distance and time,
when they're the only two things
left standing between you and I?

An ocean on land, sprawling, rippling
in the invisible wind.
Let's roll down that hill again,
if we can.

I still think anger is foolish
I still hope sadness fulfills
I still want happiness to fade
I still wish for fears to embrace
I still doubt my love
I still trust in myself
I still sympathize with pain
I still long for the rain
I still dream of yesterday

I still hate
I still hate
I still hate

Baby, I wanna be buried
in your tight clutch.
I wanna see God
in the midst of your love.

Baby, I wanna hear you
singing my name.
I wanna watch the blood course
through your pulsing veins.

Keep reading, it gets better.














Told you.

Would you rather
eat a bowl of banana strings,
or drink a glass of hotdog water?

I didn't pursue an intimate relationship
with this little eighteen-year-old,
but when she told me she was surprised
that I never tried to kiss her,
I really wish I had.

Now my fingers imagine her firm flesh
whilst wrapped around my purple thing,
pulsing away in the darkness
and reveling in the unknown
pleasures of her love long lost.

When finished I lay
and I wonder,
with longing doubt,
if her spindly fingers
ever imagine me.

Let's get lost together,
you can lead me on.
I don't know where to go anyway,
I'll happily tag along.
Call me your sad puppy,
or don't call me at all.
You can lead me on.

I found myself
in this repeating song
of when we were right
and when we were wrong
but I never complained,
or doubted your love,
I just led you on.

So baby it's your turn,
now that I need you
you can lead me on.

I just hope it doesn't burn
because I can't leave you
when you're already gone.

Twenty-six is meaningless,
for at least two years.
I'm too busy living in the past
to endorse future fears.

What are these words?
What are words at all?
Am I expressing?
Am I conveying an ideal?
I don't think I'm using words right.
I think I'm writing wrong.

Crunchy,
heavy taste.
I love them
as much as paste.
Now free
from the burden
of intelligency,
happy
as can bee.
Green smiles
from me,
that's the color
the parlor
used to be.
Let's brake a
thermometer
so we can play
with the mercury.
I like the way it beads
in my palm,
but it gets smaller
and smaller
until it's gone.
It's okay
I still feel
relieved.
I still feel.
It's okay.
See?