Twe12e

Crawling, creeping spinners working up my spine. Falling, fishing for a way across the finished line.

What more could they do; they aren’t like you or me. They have no hope beyond this simple mediocrity.

Take another hit.
Try this one too.
Once more.
Take another hit.

Once more.

I can’t help but notice the red encroaching on my eyes. The hestitation slipping away before my lies.

They turn their noses up at me, but everyone has to bow their head in order to fly.

I breathe you in, holding you in my chest until I collapse from the lights overhead. Voices arching louder as sight turns violently red.

What more could they do; they are’t like you or me. They have no hope beyond their simple sobriety.

Take another hit.
Try this one too.
Once more.
Take another hit.

Once more.

You push my brain into the sky, lungs smoldering from your touch. Spinning in rooms of pretentious cries but I still miss you so very much.

My dreams are white clouds of your embrace. The dainty legs of spiders dancing up my face.

I need to hold you, together we’ve grown so close. Weave your web inside my soul, a climax short of an overdose.

Too far up to hear them anymore. Just you and me, wrapped our waltz, dragging numb skin across the floor.

What more could they do; they aren’t like you or me. We have no more hope in this fragile mortality.

Once more.

Once more.

What more could they do; nothing left but you and me. I had no hope beyond this simple reality.

El Oh E11even

I wouldn’t even spare the two quarters it costs your pride to offer anyone a cheap and easy ride. No shortcut will absolve that body on your way out; you’ll stay locked up and slowly rot away from your blood, shit, and cum-crusted insides.

Start to finish. From Drop-Dead Gorgeous to a Victimless Crime. Thanks for the community service, you poor excuse for a botched suicide.

Stop me when the saturation gets excessive. I can only increase the font size until I wonder if you’ve gone blind. I’d ask “what will it take penetrate that skull”, but I’m fresh out of phallic tools to drill another wholesome orifice through your transparent head. Maybe being fisted inside is the closest anyone can get to really touching you.

Blame it on your parents, your job, your kids, your car, your home, your God, your Christ, and all the yellow garbage you call social media.

Blame it on your prophets, your books, your bank, your politics, your genetics, your circumstance, and let’s not forget that sad, sad shithole you sprouted from at the start of life.

Don’t think I don’t know what it’s like to fall asleep inside some body you used to know. It’s even harder to wake up inside someone else, wishing away the squalid reality waiting for you after the climax.

You’ve traded in all of your purpose and accountability for something as paperthin as currency. All your lies, drama, and self-indulgent ways, post-scripted with “nothing personal”. As if you could brush your choices off you. No words can disguise the smell of rancid bullshit from miles and miles away.

When you wake up fearful in the night, there won’t be any money left to peel off your skin. Nothing more to reassure you that your looks will never fade. It was only a dream shaken off with age. Used and filled like a zealous box of trojan horses, you never stopped to ask where that mouth has been. Consequences of letting the flood inside you. Washing yourself away. Eating up every bit of integrity.

From start to finish, your life and death has been a nonstop, victimless crime. Thanks for your contribution, all your community service, but all that’s left of you now is just another botched suicide.

Ninety-Nine + 10

109 points of light across the board.
Numbers dancing like needlework across my skin. Playing like the lights in your iris. Could this really be-

When your touch sets me ablaze, can you hear my heart pounding in my head? The simple smiles and gestures we exchange. Everything between us has its place.

Mutual pulse. These little scribbled sentiments. The most valuable paper we share bleeds with ink from our hearts and minds. Synchronized wavelengths kicking to the same bass-driven lifeline.

Can you feel it? Lovely feelings we wove together across so many connecting bridges. Streamers of affection knitting us tighter and tighter together as time unwinds.

If I told you that I-
                                   -could you really?

Hard Eightball

Beer makes me belligerent.
Wine makes me weak.

Coolers make me incessantly flirty.
Vodka makes me streak.

Whiskey makes me happy.
Tequila gets me down.

Rum makes me a dandy.
Bitters make me frown.

Alcohol, and all of its family, is a wonder,
But only Absinthe makes my heart grow fonder.

Lucky Number 7

There’s a girl I see every day. Always passing by, trying not to look. Not to notice. I don’t like looking at her, and, like me, I’m sure she hates being stared at. I’m still fairly unsure if I can like her or not.

Just won’t go away. What’re you doing all this for? I hate being alone with her. Behind locked doors. Shouting at me through glass. Why can’t you be pretty? Please? All you have to do is stop being so ugly.

Nothing but time can change her face. That chunky and clumsy flesh. It grows in piles of fat from disgusting human habits. I wish she would go away. That I could look in the mirror and see someone else. Anything else.

This has nothing to do with pleasing others. I’ve never cared about what others think, just as sure as I am that no one cares what I think. It’s all meaningless. But for myself, because I am all I will ever have. I need myself to be good, smart, attractive, and all these other words I can never quite measure up to. I need an unrealistic standard to hold myself to, because that’s what comforts me.

My awfully human imperfection.

Other people, they never understand. They don’t care and don’t want to care. If they did, they wouldn’t be so quick to open their mouths. Point their fingers. Judgement.

Humanity exhausts me. I wish I could shed this physical shell and wander endlessly. Pure ethereal essence. Not trapped here. With her. My physical prison.

Tolf. ToFFee. Which is it? What is Erica, for that matter? Why can’t there be just one? Go on and make me a thing. No one will ever know or care. How can they even see past the phones in their hands? I can see through most materials, but humans are so very enthralled by Tangible.

If you can shove it in an orifice, it must be real. Turn on. Plug in. Jack off. All catering to indulgence. My face is only another mirror. I can hide and watch behind her. Looking over her shoulder. Together but separate.  Omniscient yet individual. And always always always, we frequently change places.

More tea?

Sixth Cent

Something you’ll never see or hear again once they take our pennies away. A crest on the wave of inflation. Everything becomes five cents more expensive.

Yeah. It’ll happen. It saves the higher ups money by charging more. They only play with paper and data, what’s “change” to them? It’ll hit the worse off the hardest. People who only have pennies will then have nothing. Taking away from the poor to save for the already rich.

Oh. If you have trouble swallowing that, then just wait. Just think about it. When too few of us are spending enough money, they’ll find means of taking it. The more money we all have, the less it’s worth, so they’ll have to take money from others to cover the difference.

Hence why they all want a cut of each other’s business. Buying and selling. The greasy, chewy consumption of capitalism.

And we wonder why America is the nation of the homegrown money-grubbing and obese fucks.

Plead the Fifth

Peel myself off the mattress.
Flung forward back into the grey world.
A filthy wrapper with no place to rest.

The only headache medicine on hand is a pair of sunglasses.
My roommate’s dead friend’s sunglasses.

My head and chest are crumpled paper I left out overnight in the rain. Soggy. Incoherent.

I still can’t get that taste out of my mouth.

Headphones were more vital than I thought.

I really shouldn’t even be doing this.
The only way to break the mundane.

It’s not who I am; it’s something that just happened to me.
Paper thin resistance.
Just let it happen.

“I was only following orders.”

Trying to hold onto a sentiment that slips away as soon as it is perceived.

Good or bad, all experience is valuable.
I really felt in the mood for some at the time.
Something Different.

Fourway Stop

There’s so much more to you than this.
“I know this because Tyler knows this.”

Why did you have to open that door?
Why did you even go back there?

I told my reflection: You are worth less than the contents of a beer can. Know your place.

It was never my intention for you to see that side of me. I should’ve known better.

Third Party

I’m constantly wrestling with my face. My natural frown painted up into a serene smile. Pry those cheeks apart and show a little teeth. Can we really coexist like this forever? One can never be too careful…

Eyes watering and gums bleeding, I don’t know how much more painful optimism I can take. The skin on my face is stretching and starting to tear, and I’m afraid to face the person underneath. 

I don’t think I can live in this world with you anymore. The one we made together in the clouds. My pure and simple imagination. Meanwhile my heart is burning hotter with Hell. The nightmares and demons and never-ending lust for dancing with Misery. All erupting like blisters across this painting, fueled even brighter by the colorful oils we used to make this.

I wish I could say something reassuring. “It’s not the end of the world.” But I can’t lie with two sticks of dynamite behind my back. Cross my mind and hope to die. She loves me far too much to ever truly let go. Can you really say you can live with her gnawing at your rib cage?  Those sensual fingers always looking for a way to sneak in between the bones. A playful fist to slowly caress and crush your heart.

I don’t want to play anymore. Every time I throw my cards down she only has to rattle the chains to remind me where I stand. I could cripple myself to get away, living as even less than half of a self. You’d love to watch that, wouldn’t you? We could consume each other and pile the leftover bones into an elaborate throne. 

It’s not me. I need it to go away. Make it stop. All I ever wanted was to blend in and hide. All alone in my comfortable solitude, away from the painful sun and voices that laugh and hurt my head with their words like pinpricks across my skin. I hate them. Hate all of them. This is the only place I can’t hear her. Glorious silence.

I thought if I let her out outside, out where I couldn’t stand to be, she could live for me. That smile. That charisma. That insatiable appetite for more. Everyone loves her. Nobody even sees me anymore or remembers that I exist. I gave more than I could afford and her teeth keep biting through. Every spare thought and feeling. Every denial. Every secret. Anything I have. She’ll regurgitate it on anyone like paint. Staining the whole world around me at every turn.

Jacked up on emotional rocket fuel, I won’t be here when she burns out. I’ll be the smoke and ash in her wake. I’ll be what I always have been. Nothing. I won’t help or hold her this time. You’re on your own, little girl. Maybe this time you’ll learn to keep your hands out of the cookie jar. These flesh sacks only want us for entertainment. Something to look at. Something to touch. Taste. Something to stick themselves into.

I don’t know what I’m so afraid of. Being buried alive underneath this charlatan? I can’t stand the spotlight even when someone else is filling it for me. I don’t think she can really love anyone. Not even herself. I think she keeps me here because she needs me. Otherwise, I’m sure I wouldn’t be here at all. But I’m fading so fast. Starving. Everyone loves her so much more than me. Even without the urge to fight, I still have teeth and claws and instinct to keep me propelled forward. Don’t let her win. 

In the end, all you and I have to feed ourselves is each other.

Can you see it Two?

Coughing up crimson and snorting a compact full of blow.
Is it just me or are we hallucinating now?
The tacky 80′s hotel carpet is swimming around our heels,
drinking up our inspiration to flee.
I don’t even know what was in those pills she gave me.
Indulging myself in an evening of extravagance. 
All I wanted to do was dance.

My fingertips reek of tobacco and nicotine.
Breathing in smoke and exhaling the strangest shapes you’ve ever seen.
Even if I try, I’m not quite sure I know what I mean.

Half-assed art splattered throughout the halls.
While acts of indiscretion are pressing hard, crawling up the walls.
I drift along the current, floating atop on my cascading wave.
Solitude will always comfort me, and in darkness I am ever safe.