debussy softly playing in a dimly-lit room
i am watching the vinyl as it spins
and i can feel my head doing the same
only faster
my hair smells like peach and smoke
and you look like a hazy dream in your white shirt
mumbling about how we should've went
to that play instead of drinking
because we'd be sick in the morning
but you pour more alcohol into your glass and into mine
now all i taste is honey
as i get drunker and my giggles get louder,
smiles wider and hands braver
and maybe you're right
we should've just dressed nicely and went to watch
******* beowulf instead of playing russian roulette
because the bullet is supposed to bury into my head
so why does it feel like a cannon ball into my heart
every time you touch me and smile

Stark white papers drifting aimlessly
These purple footprints chasing,
Often failing, sometimes catching up
Reality surfacing-

Lady made out
of magic and mayhem
bottled along with stars
and flowers
and hurricanes
and volcanoes

A brutally lovely poetry

A work of art--
not post-modern but
pre-apocalyptic

and
if he lays his eyes on you
even Narcissus
will launch
his ship

A lengthy poem has smaller hits
but the author can push through the gist
of inerrant musings of the soul
until he bleeds pus in the sole.

Never meant to cause any disturbance
unless my words bother you like flatulence.
to gain a thought is to make a mind queasy
albeit structuring words to poems is not that easy.

A curtain of black hair
drapes across her
utopian face,
her lips pursed
in concentration.

I ask,

what are you
writing about?

and her mouth curves
into a deadly smile.

She says,

"A compilation of 21st century
horror stories and other
*catastrophes."

I think I need to find
More reasons to stay
I'm dangerously close
To running away

I constantly worry about
My reason to live
Because I never know
Which is the last breath I'll give

I keep comming back
To my existentalism
I wonder if I can be happy
With any belif system

Sometimes I wonder
If I'm obsessive
If my frequent musings
Cross the line into excessive

Sometimes I wonder
Going day to day
If I'll ever even
Get to have a say

Sometimes when I'm awake
In the middle of the night
I wonder if I'm normal
And, failing that, all right

the aftertaste of loss and failure coats my mouth
as i slur my apologies to the wind and
stumble my way to my front door

i try not to blame myself for how things
turned out to be but when people say there's
a whole universe inside of you it's hard to sleep
soundly at night

because how could i contain multitudes
but not be able to do anything when people come
and make me feel like a house
being emptied out of its furnitures and picture frames

even ghosts seem to shun my presence but
wouldn't it be perplexing to say that it's because
i am doing a better job of being a phantom than them?

or maybe it's because of this camouflage suit that
i'm always wearing that is making me invisible
and i want to know if stripping it off means
i am finally surrendering

when you see what the inside of my head looks like
you will see a ghost town inside a snow globe
and there are fault lines everywhere

You did not even have to ****
that pretty daisy
and watch as its petals rain
on the ground to know that
she loves you
not.

Tomorrows are for dreamers;
I suspect today I will sleep.