Gradations

Shades of blue

are you asleep now?

I hail the street car

yell (yell, shout, scream)

his memory of the incident remains hazy

Her moment awash in emotion

black (right, grey, blue)

shades of black

Beyond their notion of good for one another 

lay absolute end

cry (cry, move, shut)
their remembrance both eventually marred
by their mutual spit

And anger directed towards such things

not of their own desire

is an untimely occurrence- 

darker now

A shade of blue

have I remained asleep? 

astray?
amongst (lost, without, within)

Is it such?

That that which scorns me makes me whole?

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.

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

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_________.

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

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.

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

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.

15:44 he's always tired

You get tired eventually.
I'm finally resigned. There are some things you just can't control. I put in the effort, time, work. Did what I did & now it's time to let everything unravel. To be quite honest, that's really hard for me to say,  but that's how its gotta be. I'm mostly resigned because I can't keep waking up like this. I feel nothing right now & it's great. I've always been one to embrace the darkness & I believe there is some virtue in that, but in this case, I'm too tired. I have to give myself a break.
We're all still full of shit.

Glutton

What is it then?
Its true that you're here. Its true that you just paid for a whiskey. That reminds me. Ech. You can wash windows with this shit. There's the burn though, makes me feel all nice & cozy. A woman led you here. You traced your memories out to queens. Bedbugs. This cycle is vicious. I'm positive thanksgiving is a bullshit holiday. Thankful for what? Jesus. Be happy that you're alive. Save your thanks & your praise, I deserve nor want either.
I'm finding that the solution to this whole mess is to bury myself in cunt. I like booze enough, but it doesn't hold me. I drop the pants, climb in, & set up for the foreseeable future. I tend to walk out drenched in all regards, but at least I get to push the pain off for a little while.
This bar-top isn't level, everything keeps sliding away. I'll consider that a microcosm. How much is too much? Honestly. On that note as well, what is vice? What a load of nonsense, this idea of vice. You do what you do & you use these supposed "ills" to your advantage. Addictions are for the weak kneed. That's not entirely true. I know some tough motherfuckers who've smelled the earth.
Someone recently told me that I was a glutton for suffering.
I think they were right.

19:06

I've got dirt on my hands. I've been running. I recognize it. Not sure where to. The only saving grace is that eventually I'll end up somewhere. Long trips. Long, long, long. I can't break it. A long pause. I stare at you dead in the face. Nothing to say. You once told me a story of your youth. You made a bad choice you said. You left one for another. You regretted that. I told you the same thing. In that moment, by your door, when we locked eyes, that moment lasted for a long time. I told you you were going to regret it & I left.
You did the same thing.
I guess some people just don't learn from their mistakes.
I'm still helping you & you don't even know it. That conversation you had with her? That was me. You take a trip for 2 days. Try & distract yourself. The white lady was there & she brought booze. He read me some Henry Miller, something about swelling cunts. The day broke & neither of us knew.
I was angry that night after dealing with the game so I took a walk to find someone to take it all out on.
A whole lot of nothing.
I'm full of shit.
At least I'm honest. I'd like to think that's a rare quality, but who am I kidding?
Whatever.
I asked her for a nude photo & so as to make her feel comfortable, I offered one in exchange. I then suggested that we fuck & she could take it or leave it. Most of all I wanted the photograph & could give a damn whether we did or not, I was just angry. She agreed & we walked to the basement. I guess she appreciated the honesty. We undressed slowly, or at least I felt slow about it; booze. I positioned her, took the picture & handed her the camera. She snapped one of me, nearly identical to mine of her. She said something about meeting a friend so we got dressed & fucked off.
I don't know what it is, or how you do it, but I think this game is rigged.
People expect bullshit, so we've created bullshit, on top that pre-existing bullshit, to respond to some other type of bullshit, which inevitably ends up still being bullshit.
We've created all of this bullshit to make things easy.
We've created all of this bullshit to boost our own inflated sense of self.
I think you gotta get out there. Sometimes I don't eat. I barely get by. It does something for you though. You learn to understand your own nothingness & the beauty that is that in those types of situations. When your stomach is on fire & you feel on the verge of puking & that subsides because you've smoked enough cigarettes to curb your appetite, you really learn to cut the bullshit 'cause most of it ain't really important.
Being alive is a good thing & I'm happy for it.

Leave

Remember that thing you told me about regret?
Well, you'll regret this one too.

13:50, P.M.

Two Pilsners

Here I am, carrying your socks around with me in my pocket like a goddamn lunatic. I used them as gloves. Kept my hands warm. I swell with anger. My tide recedes, then the anger turns into nothing. Kind of like how footprints wash away in the sand. Or some other bullshit. Allegorical nonsense. Whaddya got left? Well, for starters, you've got your hands, that's pretty huge. People ask me how I'm doing & I tell them that I'm alive. That's a good thing. I think. Being alive is tough though; most things are aimless, arbitrary. Whatever. Kind of like this diatribe I'm going on. Although, there are moments of good. I suppose nothing is without its opposite. I'll spare you anymore.
& I step down off of my soapbox.
Young,
dumb,
Hopeful, & full of beer.
I stare off.
You're here.
That bridge,
big & beautiful,
tired & weathered like me.
& I pause.
A refrain.
Love, swelling.
Rising.
& I'll say no more,
because something's are better off felt.
Myself & the hole that is in me.
All is okay.

Now I think I know what you meant when you told me you hated me.

Miss

I miss it. I missed it. I miss those smells. I miss that voluminous gaze. I miss the valley, oh how I do. Remember that one time? I remember them all. I've missed it. Rapture. Infinite complacency. I missed the signs. The exit. That place. I miss a certain type of blue. Bullets & bullets, chains atop chains that you wrangle me in with. I'm locked in your cellar. I missed it. Then, not now. I see it. In some other town, you'll be there. It'll be there. It's always with you. Bound to mediocrity now. There ain't nothing there. You've missed it too. You have your own chains, kept tied up by another. Hazy rooms, cigar smoke & the smell of cognac. A gamble you've taken. Nothing. There ain't nothing. Use that, if you want. Happiness CAN be vice. A motherfucker, destined to achieve that which is so easy to find. A man of simple. Redundant. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. This way, up here, you can have it. It's a hard climb up, but at the peak is a view insuperable to anything down there. I'm no shepherd, but I am a rock. I've missed it & now you do too. I'll set up here for a while, that's alright. Good things never come easy.

Why/How

Can you understand it? I cant. Or, at least I don't think I do. The rapid movement of my right hand makes the table shake, which leads me to see the liquid in my drink quiver. Periphery. Pulp. They say your periphery is better than your straight on. I won't take their word for it though, I have no idea who "they" are. Still here. Sort of. You take 5 steps back. I was sitting on a curb the other day, early morning, still drunk, that big, beautiful sun shitting all over my face. Some guy with a scar on his face walks by & I ask him, "Hey, you ever been in love"? He pauses. "I've been married 4 times, I learned to let go". "You have a nice day". I'm trying to fill up the dark spaces in my mind, the hole thats in my chest. These bottles sure as hell ain't no gauze. That wound there is still gaping, that blood still flows freely. I watch it wind its way down towards my dick. That asshole. I let him get too far ahead of himself, think too much for me. Now look at us. He's covered in blood (not to say that blood isn't something he's not used to being around), & I'm twiddling my thumbs, blundering. It ain't about WHY, it's about HOW. Speaking of which, what the hell are you going on about?

Osmosis

No, no. That ain't it. Ramble some more. He was a sick son of a bitch. In & out, always offering you a bump or 2. Only in exchange for something, though. I saw him move back & forth real fast like the way a body does after its neck's been snapped. Going on & on about god or something, blowing hot air onto anyone close enough to stand listening to him talk. Thankfully it was cold outside, it sure as hell kept me warm. It's cold now too. You laid on the floor with her. She told you you were handsome. I needed that at the time, things were looking grim. These GODDAMN aloe plants. The Wolf. I hung around one for a while, it spoke a language I barely understood. I liked it though. It told me things I'll never know, sent out into the ether. Some lucky son of a bitch probably got the satisfaction out of those words just by virtue of osmosis. I could've used those words then too. It's still cold. You come up, you come down. You've felt it all. Now, you feel nothing. A little taste & you'll be back. I'm not really sure if it's such a bad thing.

Off With You

Kind of. I'm in some fucked up emotional purgatory. I don't feel anything. At least for now. I've watched him cascade from up to low. He was there for it, but he was no witness. Only until he came down, & let me tell you, he came down HARD. The sky was grey then. It's grey most of the time. Grey, grey, grey. All of the termites are out there geared up for some fraternity style fuckfest. "Hey man, you holdin"? "Only if you kiss the tip"! "Fuck off"!! That's about it. The PINNACLE of culture. That's what we're here for! It ain't your god, it ain't no metaphysical, things happen for a reason, she's the one, it was meant to be type bullshit, no. FUCK. That's it. We're here to fuck. From your boss, who fucks you in the ass on your pay, to that coworker who you've been sticking it to on the sly, to that green ass 21 year old NYU student from Ann Arbor with too much money & too many bad ideas, who ends up going home with that creep from the bar with the leather jacket on who gives her so much cocaine it makes her sick & she can't scrub the guilt off for 3 days straight, that's about it. Let's all fuck ourselves into oblivion then, cause there ain't much else to do.

Break

I couldn't imagine it any other way. Or maybe I could, I'd like to. Either way, things go as they do. It's been sometime now. I always go. Memories, moments. I'm always here & there. It ain't easy. When the woman you love tells you she wants you, tells you that it feels right, tells you that it hurts & then goes off & fucks another, your brain just melts. I feel like a goddamn rug. I'd like to assert myself more. Grab her, shake her, bellow my unconditional love for her to the goddamn sky, but it's most likely useless. GODDAMN. I'm 23 at the time of this writing but I feel 3 times that. Every night, same routine. I shrink myself down to 6 inches & go for a swim in a bottle of god's amber liquid. I'm 23 at the time of writing this & my everything hurts. I couldn't shake the feeling, so I just bummed around waiting for something to break. I couldn't see it, so that's why I'm here. If you were in my shoes, would you?

Face

You send a message out into the ether, knowing full well the repercussions you face. You pause to follow the face. The sting is too sharp. The mark is left. You'll feel that one again in the A.M. Paid 6 dollars. 4 for the beer, 2 for the tip. 2 because I'm in the industry. I understand the plight of this occupation . Unless you really give a shit. Then you're just dull. That also depends, though. I'm burning up inside. That bathroom had walls covered in chalkboard paint. I LOVE YOU was scribbled on them. Chicken-scratch. You can tell a lot about that one by their handwriting. GODDAMN. Eh, what hell, I'm in love. I could drink up every ounce of that woman if she'd let me. Unfortunately, I can't. Probably wont ever again. You never know. In this place, where the pain never dulls. In this place, where the bulk of everything you dislike surrounds you, yet you somehow feel comfortable. In this place, where you're not found & on the way home, you burn bridges. Goddamnit. Goddamnit is all I have to say.