Guilt.

I wish I had jumped into the ocean after you instead of turning for colder climes, I feel like I could have saved a small bit of something that I abandoned
And truth be told I wanted to see that swirling green pool above me and that small perspective and understand our insignificance.
By the ocean can only pour from the blue of me that nearly matches you.
Don't worry about the burning in your eyes, you need to get some salt in those wounded portals every once in a while, but I'll be there to lick to sea from your cracked lips and tangle my arms in the weeds around yours and pretend like it's not too late to keep you warm.

February 13, 2008, the last of the old poems.

Please don’t Purge.

My heart if full and ripe.
To be plucked and swallowed
whole like a Forbidden Fruit of Eden
That knows better and is begging you not to
While giving you the eyes of woebegone lust.

--------------


Prize.

Startled in the darkness, I caught site of a beauty
I never thought to see. I held it in my heart
like a private memory,
of a childhood promise I never had.

-------------


Her body was a nanny and her soul was a baby in need of shaking
Antyhing to make the screaming stop

You left a junkie on the floor a few nights ago
like old clothes, threaded with track marks
Sewn by needle for a fix.

Crumpled body like tissue in a waste basket.
Not with grace or rage;
complete apathy.

Lying catatonic, I think she prefers it that way.
----------
Feargasm

I like to be terrified, it's a passion of mine
It makes me feel so young
Struck still by utter fear
Desperately wanting something you to grab me in the night.

Brett's music makes me want to stitch words.

Burn with the melody and flicker
like the words on the tip of your tongue
crisp and sedating and thickening
with each falling nod of your head
Love like giving in
to a disentegrating disenchantment
of a curse to your nervous system
that feels more like a blessing.
Blisfful and still alight
with a multicolored flame of your psyche
and maybe someday you can sit back and be happy in some place other than dreams.

These are seperate, and I know too well the business of seperation.

The space between you and everything else is by far my most seductive feature;
the drink in my hand is undressing you with it's eyes
and the lips of the glass want to slide over yours
and pour
in some kind of temporary toxic love potion
to lube your emotional gears
and dig up all those woebegone bones you'd thought you'd buried
in soils of apathy.
Back with a broken half-assed vengence
and a rattling breath exhaling burning vodka vapors
and filling the sheets with a blustery booze filled anger
that never quite came to fruition.
In winning and losing I celebrate the same;
And giving up is the same pink hue
Of cranberry juice diluted with Fleischmann's finest.

----------------------------


I can't call you from beneath a silencing slipping wave of water.
Fills my mouth and the hollows of my scars that can be traced
like a maze of many different and deceptive outcomes
that are truly the same path seen in differing shades or bruising lights,
hot like summer, but really a cold winter night.
How does the view look to you?
Is the fog too thick to see my face or are you pretending to be blind?
I am your mirror masquerding as a flattering painting of our weaknesses;
turning excuses to reasons.
Let's make a blanket over us instead of inbetween.

January 21, 2008 - Monday

2:04 PM - A Faint Moment.

Break your back brain trying to sabotage the pattern recognition machine
running in your mind on a diet of paranoia and adrenaline.
Anxiety like a plastic shell coating your arms and extremities.
Eyes like clocks ticking from side to side
Above your Cheshire cat smile
False like the feeling in your spine
Converting your shocking steps into light buoyancy.
The light in the corner of your eye blinks
with mad pulsating intentions and calls your sanity into question.
Grip the table edge harder and realize swallowing
won't grind away the numbing of your throat.

January 7, 2008 - Monday

1:59 AM - I have no skeletons in my closet, just zombies.

I can feel so painfully out of touch when I am haunting my own house
And all these people may be dead to me
But I still see their corpses rotting on my bedroom floor
What scares me the most are the still twitching bodies in the armour
Comprised entirely of people I miss
Bulging against the wood grain and repeating my name
I have no skeletons in my closet, just zombies.
I save the bones for the dresser drawers I never open.

January 6, 2008 - Sunday

11:18 PM - When it hits you that you aren’t human.

The sharp rise in temperature causes me to shiver
And it's times like this I wonder if I'm the Devil
It takes two cracked steps to draw in just that one breath
And a shaky recourse for an exhale
Gritting your teeth won't mask the sound of your brain disintegrating
And you can try and peel off that layer of skin
If you can just get under your own alabaster shell
You're scared of the lack of color you may find
Pray your organs aren't as bloodless as your complexion
A funnel of nothing went in my throat
And filled me with a weight sound couldn't travel through
There goes the heartbeat and here comes the silence of my personality
My vocal chords knot like a noose around my neck
But I realize I had nothing to say anyway.

January 22, 2008 - Tuesday

1:14 AM - Winter Mournings.

We are painting pictures of the sun like we'll never see it again
And holding on to the hope in our chests like a light on guard from the cold.
Wind chapped hearts float papery words from parched lips
Like lovers in bed with Laryngitis having dry and unsatisfying sex
Apocalypse blinding grey cloudless nuclear holocaust sky

And this is my tail stuttering in fear.

I like to dream of you
Waking up sweating like I do,
Mouth dry and heart raw,
Pleading like a magnet for
All the iron in your blood,
Sliding like a tide,
Only few hundred miles
To make up for the lack of mine.
I'm anemic in my dreams,
And you are finally ready to rescue me.
Despite the blinding headlights and blinding fevers,
You can drive as fast as you want if all the roads lead here.

Have you ever felt it like a physical burning rollercoasting pain?

Sour and fucked, what is this granny smith in my chest?
And where did my blood pumping organ pumps itself off to?
It forgets it's kind of vital for when I want to function best.
It probably left and ran bouncing after you.
And now there's a mouth puckering sucker
in a cavity
meant for an alkaline entity
burning (is it heart burn?)
and reminding me how my heart will never learn.
It has to move on its own
and not suck my chest in like the tissues were soft like my cheeks.

Nothing really

Compacting and balling a body like a fist,
so tight and shocked and ready to shatter colorful
like nitrogen to explosive stained glass

Everyone as in You.

Everyone I know is dying
I'm afraid I'll be the only one left alive
What a burden, to be left behind
Everyone is consumed by one another
Each other
Eating over vats of chemical waste
While the mind expands
Chemically progressing
At very rapid speeds
Fatty tissues and fake smiles
Absorbing all that fills the air
Right this way,
I'll guide you to the lungs
And I'll train your eyes to avert others
And to let the capillaries expand
And the blood vessels to break
Into the same ones
That lie to your mother
About where you were last night

The tussin.

I want to indulge in the splendor of sound surrounded
by blackness, but speak the beautiful words of my melting subconscious and let a thousand words paint you the most exquisite picture
you've ever heard with sweeping crescendos of cascading red and orange colliding with blue bass lines on a black invisible pallet of infinity churning
unspoken loud reverberations of emotional discourse
that raises your conscious right of your chair and dances and screams.

I love romance and peaches, but both can go sour quickly.

Give up, it's always going to end up dry and bitter like fruit withered
and gone bad where there was once plump life and happiness to feast on,
tender and juicy and running done your chin and spilling
like sunlight warm on your cheek with nothing to do but
crack your face into a brilliant smile and making
you feel youthful again. You can't bite dust and wish
for the same results as you will end up chalky
and brittle boned with age and despair
with nothing but your blood and tears to re-hydrate
the split lip your laugh has become
from stretching arrogantly too wide and hopeful.
I love romance and peaches, but both can go sour quickly,
and who knows what worms slither
in the rot of the next apple's true insides.

Sometimes it's hard to cross the street.

The lines painted on Lincoln are like crooked broken teeth looking to swallow me after being mangled by oncoming traffic in this game of real life Frogger.

I guess this deformity is not so bad, Autmn forever.

I still remember in ways I don't want to
and it cracks my clavicle like a wishbone with nothing to lose.
What do you wish for?
Breaking my bones like twigs in rough bare hands?
Too late,
I recovered clumsily with some Scotch tape
and I'm a smiling pathetic wraith
with adhesive for eyes that stick to every vulnerable male possibility.
I sway awkwardly in a grotesque gait
past cemetery gates like it will never be
Winter and my optimism and love of the chill
will suspend Fall forever like a snow globe of vibrant raining leaves
and never snow.
I am a tree without roots, rotting,
bending and not breaking,
riding the wind with a twisted smile,
And singing along with it in perfect time.

A bottle a day.

A bottle a day keeps the Devil at your doorstep and a disharmony in my palpitating heart. You didn't think twice about throwing my corpse on the front lawn; I'm not appreciating your wayward necromancy. Stop trying to wake the dead only to drown me when you're through. I never want to see you on my front porch again.

North Pole

I put magnets to my chest and they cling to my stainless steel heart. I'm drawn to the metallic; my wrought iron skeleton is wrought with too pillowy of flesh. I clank, my gears grind unlubricated. I'll rust myself to sleep at night. I click away hours spent making a a cadence with my steel tongue on a bear trap. I creak in the wind and sway like sky scraper in heels before I think myself to death

Let me tell you what charcoal tastes like

Bittersweet grill licking.

Sometimes I can recall losing my mind, briefly.

It broke apart in my hands like a block of sod
but it bled like brain matter and I worried about the carpet. I remembered
the guttural sounds and my fingers
on the window screen;

some storm guard that was,


it kept me inside instead of keeping the weather out when
(I was the weather.)
the joints like trees violently shaking in the wind of my confusion;
I was raining pretty hard of course.
The wild urge of my debris to spin and destroy left my arms numb
when I knew I was an egg fallen off a wall
and I had stained a reminder to outlast any scar
mapped out on the organs I gutted from myself
that the steak knife wasn't for opening CD cases.

Bullet Train Hoping (Hopping)

Bullet train hopping to heart attack.
Riding the rails again, showing you Heaven before
swift delivery
to slow Hell.
Push-pins going through my fingers tips with a cloud of hope floating out of reach.
To claw at.
Dust breathing ghost whispers linger in my ear; Where have you been?


(I missed you too.)

Block.

Torrents of unbridled recall flashing across the terrain of my notched spine in sync with your finger tips, like a vivid memory of a violent car crash, but the powers are not so negative when I remember the everything that comprises every me when I'm soaking in every You, and the wreckage is beautiful and for once I wake to dance among it.

I Fear For Your Wrist Watch,

Everyday the landscape is evolving
and the stars look different every night
but really they are the exact same
with a new view from the bottom
reminding you that you are running
out of time to count them all
and that this is only the beginning.

Maybe a Tractor or a Back Hoe.

I was out there wondering how much longer I had to burn
and how the fires don't look so pretty when you are in them.
My jubilee burns out every once in a while,
and I get mechanical aching in my gears
my jaw locks up

decides to hibernate like farm machinery put away for the winter
and the wells dry up
and my skeleton sits in a tool shed picked clean by rats in the night time;
the right time for me to be playing solitaire in a too-warm computer chair
wishing I had a stable leg to walk on.
I am sitting here wondering how much longer I have to burn

Bright Green Smog Filter.

Spectral people walk the streets on thin concrete with a pulse like molten rocks floating on lava. Bodies disjointed, solid limbs held together by veins of mist while walking with robotic legs carrying a plasma torso. The air is thicker than we are and the industrial wastes streaming from hundred foot towers is dense, not unlike the clouds of thought clamoring for attention storming in my brain. You are cart-wheeling in a grotesque fashion; Your body rolls with your direction, head never upside down but at some point below the knees. Every thing You thought You knew was wrong.

So Hot.

Like an over-exposed Polaroid
left to bleach on a dashboard,
I may appear dull,
but I have life left in me and stories to tell.
But the sun has a heat like hate
that might just burn me up one of these days.
The anger gets so hot sometimes.
Outside rage may be the death of me.
Please be my moon.
(The non-conflict seeking kind)

Sharper than Cheddar.

Hungry and hollow
Bones chewing air grinding against each other
Your sternum creaks from the effort of sucking me thin
I can feel the ends of your teeth in my mouth
Worn down at the tines from the stress of your words
That break your incisors
That dry out your tongue
That will never come out
Did you have something to say or just something to hate?
Or were your ribs looking for some padding?
Or some substance for your actions?
The wind won't feed you
It's just taking your words away.
And breaking their brittle spines
I never knew cheekbones were effective razor blades
Until you ran out of things to say
When there was nothing left of me for you to eat

[09 May 2006 | Tuesday]

Oh, how it hurts to blink-
(But oh how it glistens)
All that glitters isn't gold,
It's the glass of our shattered lives
Still starstruck in our bloodshot eyes
(We've been playing hearts like terrible songs
We wish we had never written)
Sometimes inspiration is ugly,
But the street is beautiful to me
It's as close as your next heartbeat
With the painful satisfaction of tomorrow's tattoo
We're the sparse characters of this alleyway fairy tale
We bleed sex, drugs, and vodka
From wounds of rock and roll
Children of the night like liquid black
In the streetlight
(Boys will be girls)
The pierced preteen with a face of eyeliner,
With the aftertaste kiss of sin and lies
For once the truth escapes her teeth's prison:
"I haven't done half the things I've said I've done"
Me either baby, I've done twice more.
..>..>..>..>

I'll Have Some Grated Mozzerella.

I have three aligning focuses of pain.
My head,
my heart,
my warm gooey insides.
I bet they'd taste of cheese and marinara.
Intestine Pasta.
Maybe I'm just hungry.

Love like Giving In.

So kiss me like you are hungry
With a tongue alive like drugs
And burnt by yesterday's coffee.
And hope.

On abuse.

[09 Jan 2007 Tuesday]
Tell Me Lies.

And angels can sometimes speak with tarlungs and whiskey on their breath
with a cadence like a broken soldier who's marched himself to death
God speaks through gin tongues when he's got nowhere else to go,
And there's plenty of things he has to say
But just like us there's a lot he doesn't know
And you can watch your life like a video tape
And laugh right along with him,
And it's like you were both there,
but never really to begin with.

These lyrics were made into a lovely little folk/punk song by Hunger Strike Riot.

[29 Dec 2006 Friday]
Midnight Drug Ballads for the Insomniac in All of Us.

There's drinking and there's driving
Drinking for a sex drive
Driving your brain/your heart
Combined with alarming frequency
The kind I completely deserve
The kind that makes me smile at night
Like the amphetamines I smile for in the morning
And scream for on the inside when they don't exist
And it will go on in euphoria
Like the first time I saw the stars through the ceiling
Melting on my face like wax
Onto the numbest cheeks
And the lights and sound were more than I could handle
And my heart would laugh with the bass line
And it will go on
Til our livers explode and our hearts attack.

Portrait in a Window Pain

I couldn't help but wonder from the window
If the snow on the pine boughs tasted like gin.
On the drive home the sun was pregnant and bleeding.
What a very unfortunate state to be in.

I wrote this driving home from my step-mom's familys house around Christmas time 2005, upset with the visit. I ran the lines over and over in my head until I got home and was able to hammer them out.

Incinerating the Addict.

This is my oldest poem that I have posted to date. It was created by a list of phrases and inspirations from the local phone book yellow pages. I love it.




So much for your sisters wedding at the drive-in
Prefabricated problems are nursed at the bar
Fused by the pulse of live music to your heart attack
After the purchase of pain pills
From the gloves behind the counter at Snyder's Drug
With your valu-rite price card at the drive-through
Is that prescription for here or to go?
We'll consult the Gastro-Intenstinal Associates
At the nurses station before they get to the tavern to meet you
You roll over in coronary demise
And you cry your way to Dibbles and Son Remodeling
Before having your eyes checked in our optical organization
For your television and service repair
Walgreen's won't take you anymore
So you turned your ass to the Junk dealers and their scrap metals
Build a solid rock future back together
"Over thirty years experience in furniture restoration"
None today because U-hauls taken you
To Alpha-Crematory by Gaffney-Bush Funeral Home Directors
The pediatrics dismissed you on terms of adolescence
No embalming fluid for you
And now you're sitting in the crematorium
But you wish you were in a HELLO sauna.

Pulling my teeth.

I used to dream about them falling out
Spitting white chips onto the table
Like throwing down a bet on the cards of my future
I am pulling my teeth
the growing pile in my palm
trying to prevent myself from growing crooked
and letting the inner twisting reveal itself.
I hope someone notices the enamel clinking to my bathroom floor
before my chest caves in and I starve
Unable to naw my way out of this mess.