Like the world around me is live art.
knows what to say. I love them so much.
I'm a spectator of life.
But not the people. Just him.
Watch it put on a show
Yell it louder so people can feel you.
Who knew a high could ever
"I'm happy just because." They don't
feel so low and cold.
have to be new and popular. Just
Rivers in my throat, frightening
popular because they're old. Yell it
my insides.
louder until my heart seams split
people are talking levels outside
*** *** *** *** ***
me. Why do they talk?
unnecessary marks on the paper because
let only the drummer a-****-
you were counting. I feel like they
a-pum-pum. Let it out.
should know. Ax me in half so a
look at yourself from inside
different part can move. Another ending.
the levels. I'm not the yellow
I can't handle these types of noises.
man. Purple blob in the corner.
Or writing between the lines. There's nothing
Why did they skip that part?
to hold that will let you hold still
That part's all I look forward to
How are people still thinking while I'm gone?
Until the end. No one can ever

This is a poem about nothing at all
and no one in particular

It's simply about my mistakes
that are an array of paints in front of me
Assorted by Roy G. Biv's rules of regulation
If I try to remove an acrylic faux pas
they won't be in order and nothing will make sense

So I guess all I can do is paint a self-portrait
using all of my colorful blunders
and attempt to make it beautiful

But I know I'm much too modern
and much too childish
for closed-minded critics to appreciate.

I've given up
on good mornings
and now everything
is only a
hello

Bittersweetness is
energy
without the
CRASH

I chase the waves and ride the current
but my feet are stuck in the sand
as I stand on the shore
the tide turns around my core
sinking my ankles under more

The water crawls up to my knees
Leaving scratches from the shells beneath it's fingernails
it ties them together with ease
I sway forward and my body derails
I no longer breathe the breeze.

When there's nothing to say
I'll say nothing at all

But I'll say the same thing
When there's everything to say.

Nothing at all.

There's no looking back as you're breaking away,
just really nice apathy.
There's no recognition of the distraction
that went somewhere else.
I wanted them all to stay,
but now I just want to move.
It's not recognized that this thing is bothering me.
That part of something else is disvalued.
I don't want to listen to sad music,
but where is my brain going?
Can you do it again?

I don't deserve love
because I've never given any out
but how can I begin to share love
when nobody is willing to share it with me?

**** this longing and missing and nostalgia for the past
I'm being cruelly punished for the worst of crimes
that I can't seem to figure out how to not commit.

and so I'll wallow and dream those sweet wonderful nightmares
of you and you and you and you and you and you and I.

*******.
Kiss her neck and her ribs and the middle of her chest
and drink wine and lay in her lap and distract her with kisses
while I drink and feel sick to my stomach
and more worthless than those days when my mother tied me to a leash.

*******.
and I'll dream nightmares I can't control
of hard kisses and your cherry pepper voice
while you laugh at the thought of how pathetic I am
and not give a **** about whether or not I'm still alive

Your laughter will haunt me and hold me to the ground.

****/..
I can'teven see anymore throuthg the clouds in my eyes
not that you give a single ****.

The trees in the painting have dancing hands,
        they're zombies for the future.
It's physically moving but I don't know how
        Because it isn't, but it so obviously is.
Neon lights blink at me,
        Singing the buzzing of a bubblegum melody.
Streaming eyes, screaming laughter.
Examine me.
Clinging to your lips like a cigarette.
We're in a perfect atmosphere,
     living in a perfect scene.
You're the king of the Starlite Motel,
     and I get to be the queen.

I see all kinds of lovers:

The young and the happy

The old and the cold

Ones that don't quite match up

Ones that live to love perfectly

Ones that live to not be lonely

Ones with nothing better to do

Ones with nothing but time

And then some with no time at all

And they all look picturesque and pretty on the outside;

but I can't help feeling sorry for them all.

Then I look away and feel sorry for myself.

Embracing the sound
of my new found
maniacal sobbing laughter

I do things in the dark
that nobody would suspect

I do things in the dark
and I speak in a different dialect

I do things in the dark
that I get embarrassed of when it's light outside

I do things in the dark
that I really shouldn't be afraid to hide

What I do in the dark
people normally aren't ashamed of

I only wait until it's dark
because I'm shy and don't know how to play the game

I wait until it's dark
because I'm scared of how things look in the light

I wait until it's dark
because I only know how do things at night

I wait until it's dark
because then I know it's safe to be myself

I wait until it's dark
because I can rearrange the perfect rows on my shelf

I do things when it's dark
that aren't even bad or weird or evil

I only do them when it's dark
because I'm scared and weak, and love is lethal

I only want love when it's dark
because it's when I notice that nobody's around

I only want people around when it's dark
because it's then that I start hearing the friendly and forbidden sounds

I only hear these sounds when it's dark
because my heart screams loudest when it's alone

I only listen to my heart when it's dark
because during the day it's deafened by everyone's moans and groans

I hear everything differently when it's dark
because moans don't sound dreary, they sound steamy and hot

I decipher the sounds when it's dark
because everything is never as it seems; it's just not

And I feel the most alone when it's dark
because at night I realize I'm sleeping alone and that's how it's always going to be

I'm lonely when it's dark
because it's when I realize that I've trapped myself and I'm never going to set myself free

and I do things when it's dark
I think and I scream without making any noise

I do things when it's dark
I wink at all the boys

Although we endure our breaths in this this shack upon the shore,
The icebergs lurk before us clearer than ever before.
Dancing animatedly in our Siberian tundra,
like a hero taking selfish refuge before the storm.

I think we should try on these tiny snow shoes anyway
and swim through the snow that's buried us beneath our fragile beating sleigh.  
I keep putting my thumb on display,
exposing my heart to these wolves that transpire around us day by day.

I envy their silent and still tails
that rest quietly, sturdy and as deadly as nails.
My thoughts recognize an after party to hide my pain
that I only partake in to seem less insane.

So I coach my brain to copulate with my emotions
rather than with the hurricane motions of the ocean of your brain.
It all seems transparent to me now,
a ghost in my chest pounding to get out somehow.

Sing softly and sweetly,
     for a single soul may listen
           and whisper your reprise.

Sometimes I think about myself
and how I'm a performer
a dancer,
and what that means.

And I think about other performers
and their labels
actors and actresses
and how I'm only a dancer.

Then I think,
Who am I kidding?
I act all the time,
I'm just so good that nobody can tell

And then I think about all the other actors
and how they're really dancers
and they're dancing all the time,
They're just so good that nobody can tell.

And then I think about all of the people
and how they're all performance
And how every morning the curtain is drawn
and we're watching a concrete stage on a sidewalk.

Just some people don't realize they're performing.

Graze of an elbow.
Grace of an elbow.
Trace of an elbow. We
Race to Hell, though.
                                      I have a
face that fell, though
if you couldn't tell.
                                     This
base is covering our old and beautiful tinkling bell.
                               Curl up with me inside my shell:

The one I built under our kitchen table.

Absence of ambition
dancing with the
presence of boredom.
I'm nothing and I'm nowhere.

eyelids drooping over the unseen pupils

they flicker and flutter as they fight to stay up

but once again

they collapse

too weak to carry on

they take a few seconds to pull themselves together

getting mentally prepared for their next attempt

and then with one more heaving breath

they muster the force within them to flip

revealing for a split second

a sea of green

that was hidden

so well

but the impact of the weight that rested upon them was too much

once again

the eyelids

were defeated

by

the unstoppable force

that was

sleep.

The thought bubbles of my mind pop and multiply
They scraggle around playing bumper cars
Avoiding the inevitable contact
they ram each other and bounce right back
Hopefully Sunday force will cause them to morph.

There's something about
the shift of saccharine eyes
in my mind
that give me false hope
to go along with my
humdrum voice.

I used to believe
that if I wore socks to bed
that they would cut off the circulation to feet
while I slept,
and I would have to amputate my feet off
when I woke up.

I still take my socks off before I go to sleep
because childhood fears make sense
in the darkness.

All it is is shifting;

Shifting weight from one leg to the next,
          to avoid the tingles that haunt my right side.
Shifting objects in my arms
          to avoid them falling to the ground.
Shifting positions in the night
          to avoid memories of spoons and nightmares of phantoms
Shifting levers in my brain
          putting all of my sleeping weight into the level labeled "loneliness"
Shifting anxiously
         standing with my arms crossed, eyes dodging.

The killers are callin' on me,
and when I realized it
there was a **** ton of screaming
by only one person.

And I used to be sick
of my new apartment
because it was an empty barrel
that made the loudest sound.

And it looks like we cracked
a second after
I crawled into my hole,
not understanding why
anyone would want me
like a big deal.

I'm not interested in a great first show
or keeping my friends close.

I'm just interested in the evils in my life.

I'm Sorry.

My bag of bones
is undead,
but only for you.

Pulsing without a brain,
it creates movement of passion.

My bag of bones
is a zombie
that I cannot control.

I pull my shoulder blades together
and stick out my chest
as I lengthen my arms to spread my wings
and I look up to the sky
as I wear a bullseye
on my back
and I can't see you from behind
but I sense that you're there
and as I inhale the sky
I see my fellows fly
forming a "V"
and I want to take off
and fly behind, on the side
that's shorter than the other
and yes, I know that you're still behind
I haven't forgotten
You with your crossbow
aiming an arrow
squinting with one eye
at the bullseye on my back
and me, I'll squint with both eyes
My left squinting at the sun in the sky
My right squinting in fear of what's behind
and as I anticipate your arrow skewering
the soft spot between my wings
My right eye is surprised
at the hail that gets dumped on my face.

You're
the part of the moon
that keeps the city
flipping switches
to see in the darkness

Sometimes I stand outside
and crane my neck at the sky
because you're only a sliver

I stare in awe
I shiver.

The polaroid.

The sidewalks.

Lake Calhoun.

Sleeping in the hot and sticky trunk.

The stars.

Hiding.

Your cave.

Being ashamed.

Saying goodbye.

Seeing the stars.

The paintings.

The polaroids.

The legs draped over the arm rest of the sofa.

Who's feet are these?

The stars of Minneapolis.

The courtyard.

My face.

Your beautiful ****** angel.

The Starlite Motel.

Seeing the stars of Minneapolis.

The cave.

The paint puddles in a Bible.

The most beautiful night you've ever had.

Don't paint anyone else.

Show me the stars of Minneapolis from inside your cave.

I didn't know 'till now.

I just didn't know.

I don't understand
why my attempt
at happiness
is making me so sad.

Remembering that water's in the clouds,
I'm suddenly drenched in their tears.
My head is always in the clouds
sleeping and drowning in all of my drenched fears.

I yearn for my insides to stop embarrassing me eternally
because feelings are so out of season,
and not in the vintage retro cool kind of way.

Everything I compose is a duet
but my shadow, though it can emulate me,
can't embrace me like you can.
My shadow and I can't surrender into each other
like my late partner.

Who am I going to wander with in the frigid rain?
and who am I going to share this hideaway with
that's nested in my frigid brain?

I keep guiding these invisible spectacles in my head
like a ghostly shepherd,
and perform them for my imaginary phantom inamorata
igniting and burning my ethereal phoenix bird.

and so I'll linger here helpless and conquered
longing for someone to hearken my silent
high pitched banshee shriek,
which continues to remain unheard.

Feel like a raindrop in an ocean,
just a teardrop in a dragon's eye.
Just an ant in a sand hill
scurrying from gargantuan shoes and haunting lies

And so I'll hideaway and bide my time
until it's gone and I evaporate
because these great expectations
will forever be far too great.

This is familiar ground I stand on.
This is familiar ground I fall to my knees on.
This is familiar ground I sleep upon.
This is familiar ground I'm buried beneath.

So I'm waiting for someone to say something.
I'm waiting for someone to stop asking me,
"Are you okay, miss?"
as if it makes a difference.

You've fooled me once, you've fooled me twice
you've fooled me thrice
you've fooled me everlastingly.
I'm a dazed and gullible fool.
You're the jester; I just wish the joke was on you.

Forever only a lady
and never anyone's rose to tame.
I long to be the rose just this once, maybe.
Please. Tame me.

So I stuff the holes in my chest with neon lights
and curled up currency and healthy pours
as my viscera seeps out my unhealthy pores
making muddled puddles on these many ***** floors.

and your attention lacerates me like a disembowelment
but my it's my affection that  is the Hari-Kari
while your schizophrenic agenda is the knife.
Together we're a daily ritual suicide.

I never knew we were born to die
because I've been forever blind.
Thought you could be my lucky cricket
until my heart ended up dead on the roadside.

So sing my neglected soul to sleep.
May it rest peacefully in pieces
while my severed heart wanders aimlessly.

I don't need a man
I need a friend
I don't need a leader
I need a friend
I don't need a role model
I need a friend
I don't need a bad example
I need a friend
I don't need a cat
I need a friend
I don't need a teacher
I need a friend
I don't need a hero
I need a friend
I don't need a guardian
I need a friend
I don't need a guardian angel
I need a friend
I don't need a an angel
I need a friend
I don't need a ghost
I need a friend
I don't need a lover
I need a friend
I don't need a companion
I need a friend
I don't need a mother
I need a friend
I don't need another
I need a friend
I don't need you
I need a friend
I don't need you either
I need a friend
and I definitely don't need you
I need a friend
I don't me
I need a friend

I'm the un-proud owner of a melody
that perpetually brings me to my dead end;
and my spirit has left without me
and I'm too sluggish to grasp it again.

It knew I'm a fool with a dream
that's far bigger than me;
and you ran away with my spirit
because it needs nothing from you,
unlike me;
and you ran away with my dream
when you could have stayed with me.

When I make my morning coffee
I mix it with tears
They're my secret ingredient

I let them drop
Just a pinch and a dash
and I stir them in with cream

My tears are my morning caffeine.

I don't know how to go fast
because if I go fast it's
going to be bad

The bar is existant
but it's still blue
and I'm still crazy
but I HEAR you
and I remember this song
but I hate the melody
so stop frolicking your
voice over my brows
I don't want to look up
and I'll keep my head forward
because my eyes belong on
this side of my face
looking at somebody else,
so hush,
shhhhhhh
I don't care
This is beautiful
and soulful
and I don't care
I don't care
not at all

Go away.

Everything was pointing in your direction
and now these arrows are choking me.

Being a person
is becoming a bit
too complicated
and a bit
too difficult

Your blood just runs warmer than I,
Mine slithers across my tongue
writing myths.

Why should anything matter
if we just run away?
Let's take this time to be nothing.

I'M SORRY FOR APOLOGIZING
I'M SORRY THAT I HAD TO
BUT I WILL FOREVER WEAR
MY APOLOGIES ON THE SLEEVE
OF YOUR STRIPED CARDIGAN

There are little kids playing around
and I don't know what that is.
They're primal,
but we're all mammals--
touchy and savage.
Primates.
Like characters from a journey.
It's instinctual,
so I'm not really worried.
It's different than what I'm used to.
Walking through a different attic than I'm used to.
But I still have a face and fingers in this evolution.
We're all apes, but there's still a different
australopithecus from Russia or somewhere.
It's Jane, and she's just a little kid.
She moves how she moves and not how she thinks.
She's getting negativity out of her body.
I'm working like little kids
wondering what's under the table.

Arms wrapped around air
in an unusually perfect circle
one too loose to hold onto anything
one too perfect to have any substance
one too big to for anything to fit into

My muscles clench tightly
wrapped around my bones
and they shake with exhaustion
but remain in that perfect circle
waiting for something
that will fit
something to hold

The monotonous sky tells my story
as rain rolls down my cheeks
in a silent car ride
(my screaming thoughts escaped out the window
with a dying wheezing sound)

Shivers have never been more comforting
on my already cold skin,
as the wind tangled my hair with
a pushing of a heavy glass door

The barista was far too happy,
I'm sure his paycheck doesn't allow him
to embrace his loneliness
and I ordered a coffee on the rocks
in a storm by the sea
with my arms crossed and knuckles clenched
against my sweater,
because the cold feels so familiar

as I wait for you to show up at this coffee shop,
I already know that you won't

My necklace is a rope,
and my pendant-- my boulder heart.
It snaps the nape of of my tired neck
while my knees quiver stubbornly, locked and trembling,
until they give way with my hollow spine.

A paralyzed portrait on the petrified pavement,
people walk all over me,
careful not to step on the cracks that engrave my porcelain corpse,
oozing out rivers into the soles of their soulless feet.

And now with my fragile frame and my heavy heart I wait
for the world to crash down beside me
and the debris from the wreckage to cover me
from the tepid breeze of the storm staring me down.

I sprinkle the ones I love
with flakes of pestilence
that season my skin.

Do you feel a somethin' coming on?
Something upbeat?
Why don't I feel sorry for anyone?
Play them. They're cool.
I'm feeling something upbeat.
In this land of white, packaging peanuts
and animals frolicking in the static.
All their blood cells have a pace.
One I wish I had.
Because in this place all there is  is
politics and religion and robots.
How can you love those things and
have that vision of love and
everyone holding hands?
I love the ugly and uncomfortable.
Not the people, but the feelings.

Not easily hurt,
just easy to hurt.

Not too weak
but it only takes two weeks

I'm never a keeper,
Next time you should keep her

With the sky so crystal
and the sun so giddy,
there is little reason for
this woebegone pace
in this abandoned place.

I like this time of night;
It feels like it's so late,
but at the same time...
the morning is a year away.

You can fill your case
with arguments and validity,
and get your knees *****
as you cry a maudlin plea

but in the end
none of that matters
because nobody has a heart
unless they're compensated for it.

I speak with the silence that listens to the woes of all things,
wishing I could live one day in it's heavy life,
whispering in it's ear, "I want you."
And I wish all this silent liquor could be champagne,
but my hands know I don't deserve that sort of luxury,
and I wish my gambling was done at the races,
rather than at this blurry basement fold-out table,
but my barren heart does not deserve that sort of luxury.

And I know,
Who knows? Who cares?
And I know,
that this is all embarrassing for me.
I know. Who cares?

And now that the air does not hurt my face anymore,
I can't hide under layers of wrapping.
Let me put on a show for you,
even if you miss the whole performance.
Let me prepare a show for you,
so I can hideaway in a spotlight.

We are walking on familiar ground
in an unfamiliar climate.
We have done this before,
and it'll be the same beneath a burning sun.
I know. Who cares?

And I've given up the sky raining lavender,
and I've settled for being a weekend lover,
and I've settled for being only one type of friend.
Oh! darling, tell me if the sky cries purple for you.

I've been holding this knife against your flesh
for some time now, and you've never been able to feel it.
And finally, I put the pressure on the soft side
and was shocked to see that you bleed my type of indigo.

If only we had fallen and scraped our knees on the pavement together
and I could have seen that you're made of invisible indigo,
then I could have seen that our blood was born to bleed brown together.

So leave me be to lie awake,
wishing for sleep.
So leave me be in this shelter
that I thought would be my healer.
So leave it be to collapse on me,
keeping me warm.

And I ask that I get what I want for just this time,
when I know that good things don't happen to those
who believe that guilt is a small price to pay for happiness.

And now I lie awake thinking about all the people I know
that will die someday.
And all the ugly things that make this world beautiful,
And all the ugly toxins making my body and mind feel beautiful,
and how they could **** me someday if they wanted to.

These days I settle for lovers I don't have to love,
these days I know I couldn't if I wanted to.

I'm just a piece of gum
that is ****** dry of flavor
and stuck on the bottom of your shoe.

But it's not my fault
you didn't watch your step
when you put your foot down.