a stillborn
is lit
by the three
teeth
since knocked
from its mother
as a life form
hangs itself
in the closet
of a nondescript
sister
spacecraft  
after imperceptibly
meditating
on the adventures
not had
by a golem

Hollow.
like veins that no longer support blood flow.
my mind is the canvas in which I destroy spirit.
I'm no longer harboring what it feels like to be alone.

The feeling is like bones breaking,
under the weight of the guilt that pins you down.
eyes lifeless like stone statues.
there is no creativity left in this vessel
only wrists that itch and fingers that shake
at the thought of being any where near the state
in which I am anything other than truthful
and that is happy.

Its overrated really.
Fake.
Processed and practiced.
Scripted.
Happiness is the mere idea
that the world is anything more than
what it will never be capable of.
Like me.

I'm just proving to the world
that backs don't break with the weight
of insanity on your shoulders.

I never had anything to give,
and now I no longer have the strength
to take back what was originally mine.
My self worth was stolen by your vicious words
and how I saw through the stare you held.
It said sadness..
but I know it was only masking hatred.

You think you're hiding
behind your own problems.
the fact that you had dreams no longer
stops me from believing that
you led yourself to your own downfall.
It was never my fault
that you couldn't make yourself
into who you wished to be.
Who you still wish you were.
No. My small body had nothing to do
with your inner demise.
You'd just like to believe that
to mask the truth of it.

You'd given up long before I was even thought of

there was a time
when we slept together in train cars
and you kissed my ***** cheek
like a mother

you used to say things like
it'll all be over soon
or
no hope out here today

and we were hungry and
lonely until the sun came up
and made sure we were fed
and held a conversation with us.

It's that time of night when i get feverish
in my dreams, ******* girls with **** loaded,
thighs gloating and supple, pressure of *******
in between us, when I hear the thump.

A slamming; a jarring; a catapaulting into never.

Carlos lost his wife, she dipped in the middle of the night
when he'd passed out, she'd slipped out, gripped the kids
over their hidden mouths and whispered something about tipping out,
Pop had gone insane now.

Carlos broke a month later.

Told me and Ash to take everything. Exhaled a marlboro,
shucked his shoulders, ripped open that tiny Celica
and shifted. Gone.

Burns black-eyed into the carpet, bottles on the sill, pacifiers thrown like condoms--
haphazard, but carefully placed.

Now the people living there
throw the girl around,
she cries.

Foolish roiling Krakken,
go back to your basin. old-timer,
No wit, no heart,
just energy enough for that last breach.

Old timer, schemin'
in the swirl,
wrapping those loose arms around me so tight.

It's hungry again, thirsty.

Krakken crackling through
all the fluid in my body
And making my lungs
howl in hatred.

I've seen your eyes in the mirror
again
not to deep below.

Hungry for oxygen.

Strange the way things are so easily broken.
                     Even stranger is how delicate they are when built.
                     Like hands, small... soft and gentle on a baby
                     But so easily destroyed by another.
                     Hearts... not an element of strength about them,
                     But they suffer the most and yet...
They continue to beat...
Sometimes slower like mine,
       I feel the force of time
                   Slowing
            Stuttering at points
              And even SHATTERING.
we               A world too arid... too destructive and self imploding
breathe                To allow any such existence..... A Hero...
  sin                             We slaughtered the ones we had.
  and                               Jesus beaten and nailed to a post...
   saviors                              Burnt at the stake... I suppose.
                                                     Because we are scared.
                                                        Petrified and screaming from a man
                                                        That had mastered redemption
                                                        we corrupted the only hint of peace we imagined.
                                                        we are the masters of nothing.

Now as he floats in space with the stars we murdered to save our "souls"
We bleed empty bones and blame everyone else for our guns to our head,
Shaking... will you smile when you die....