Sunday, December 14, 2014

The Earth Is Made Of Ass

Aghast, the man spoke in quivering tones.

His cadence more revealing than he'd like to believe, he made his way the three feet or so towards the door only to turn.

There she was, staring.

A look he couldn't understand.
The mattress on the floor, dirty sheets -
they continue to stare, uncertain.

On the nightstand lay the black cutting board, glass and all; lines still fresh from the recent cut of the metrocard. The silence still there. It (shame) coated the room thick, reminiscent of the humidity at the end of Florida heat.

Ash & smoke.
Unkempt & lost.

The harder parts were easier to remember.
Had they, he, been here before?
This silent, deafening hell?

It all seemed so familiar, so close, but he had no memory of ever actually leaving the room.
They continue to stare, but as the first tear began to make its way down her cheek, he suddenly felt a slight revulsion & turned to exit the room, open the door.

Anything he felt, to leave this place.
As his hand met the doorknob, there was flash.

Aghast, the man spoke in quivering tones;
his cadence more revealing than he'd like to believe.
He made his way the three feet or so towards the door only to turn -
there she was, staring.

It was then he realized,
this must be hell.


Friday, August 22, 2014

Ain't Nowhere

From before
again
an idea
a stream, flow
of comfort

A gauze
bandage made
from aesthetic

To begin with nothing
then only to believe in
the most abstract
to rattle the inside
& to begin newly from a place of meaning
& in most
you will lose meaning
of matter

Self preserve
a streetcar
hailed in rain
towards home
ain't no place to run

Sunday, July 20, 2014

Tell Me Anything You Want, Baby

I can hardly continue to sit & reminisce over past mistakes made when my brain sits in such a state of haggard disarray. I've filtered through endless scenarios of a better way to say things to the ghost but my mania is quickly becoming a very tangible thing.
My side hurts & my chest is tight.
Sometimes I'm angry, but mostly in the morning.
I know I should cut back on the cigarettes, but, with like most things, my apathy stops me from committing more self harm & who am I to care? A fucking ideologue without the slightest bit of desire to curb his own inhibitions. A few summers ago a good friend of mine made a joke about his favorite state to be in when getting drunk & remarked, "I don't ever like to black out, I would prefer it if I could just maintain a constant fog over my whole life." I thought it was funny then, & while I still think it's funny now, holy motherfucker how I can relate; my short term memory's gone to shit.

The road may be winding & slippery as hell, but fuck it.

I'd fall one-million times over & breath in the sweet decay of this goddamn city just to remember that I'm still alive.

Before I die I want to_________.



Wednesday, July 2, 2014

27 Days until

Blinding light
I cannot walk
a lump in my throat
a pain in my chest
a thorn in my side

Blood on my thumb
never again
a BLINDING light
all summed up into a decimal point
a body bag
a granulated bag

BLINDING light
crushed
the cylindrical shape is the method
the tunnel full of granular comfort
a rush of wind
flying quickly into my cerebrum
I cannot walk
my thoughts race

Mouth sewn shut

Monday, June 30, 2014

2:55 A.M.

I think if I tried to recall every pussy I've stuck (attempted to) my dick in, my sense of nausea would be a very tangible thing. I'm a son of a bitch, & according to most others, I'm the only one who's aware of it. Amphetamines by day, booze & dinner with the lady in the white dress by night. I'm pretty sure I've gained weight, which oddly enough seems contradictory considering the amount of bullshit I ingest that's supposed to curb my appetite.
What a goddamn hypocrite, that one.
The one with the head of fire & the fat ass.
The one who relies on a walking credit card for a sense of stability borne out of a want of normalcy;
The one who relies on the shithead for a sense of comfort borne out of the worst kind of idealism:
Romanticism.
These motherfuckers bog me down in their nothingness when all I want is another way to say goodbye.
& that's the case more often than not; an escape.
I'll see you all in your attempt.

Sunday, January 12, 2014

Ends

Tired & damp
only but a husk
of that which I was before
most likely to be again

This thing that sweeps me into oblivion
nor an absolute
more than anything
nothing

Tuesday, December 3, 2013

11:59

What is that sound?
Am I uncertain?
Did you hear that echo?

You surely did, your heart beats loudly.
Palpitations.
I stare down & that blue washes over me;
sometimes, it gently splashes my ankles;
other times, it knocks me over;
at times, I am caught in the riptide, unknowingly.

A moment of a moment, awash in happenstance.

You render me impotent with your ambiguity;
I am left torn.
The pain of longing;
the reach of nothing;
the weight of your anything.

Allow me this one thing;
to exhale the subtle yet quaking sigh of my
everything that I am unto you.