Sunday, June 29, 2008

depression distills you

all i want
is to be done with today,
to crawl home and
hide underneath the covers,
for there is nothing else worth doing
except masturbating my own
and seeing if they'll
decide to stick around, this time
after the doing is over
and when drinking's the only thing
that lulls me to sleep anymore,
i know i might as well stop
sleeping, because at least
that's not toxic to my liver
only my mind
which i'm trying
to leave behind,
like an unwanted animal,
so it acts accordingly -
keeps staring with its
adorable eyes,
showing me the potential
good times
but it never follows through,
and only the truth will remain,
in the end -
the type
that pisses on the rug & then
cringes in
the corner, expecting a blow

Thursday, June 26, 2008


i wanted you to watch
my every move,
take it in hungrily,
as you do
and try to play it
off, as if your
concern somehow lies
within the saccharine
sentiments you spew;
am i okay, what in
my world is new

why do you care, and
what business is it
of yours,
the shape of my heart
and its unsteady beating,
the details of which
you relinquished
the rights to

i watch it snow
in my inner sanctuary
blanketing what is raw
with a sense of solitude,
and solace
in the masking
of what lies beneath
with something that obscures
my details
from your view.

Friday, June 20, 2008


sometimes i think maybe poets
are the least useful of all
wordsmiths, although
a friend likens us
to gods
maybe, if gods have
the ability to scrutinize
the things they create, and see
the changes -
we do have a way of eviscerating
the matter.
but all my skill's as
useless as anything else
i've ever found,
for, lacking an
audience, we mean nothing

so i stabilize myself
against the wall
and try to remember
why i matter, why
what i say
makes any difference at all
and i wish
i could know it did.
what we all
wouldn't give,
to have that kind of certainty
that what we do
has impact

Tuesday, June 17, 2008


i just want to be done,
and i don't even
care how,
or what that means
running is the wrong word, or idea
but i feel a sense of urgency,
a need for motion in
whichever direction will get me
the furthest distance away, the fastest.
of course, there is nothing left
to hold, which is easier,
when cutting ties
to reappear somewhere
completely untouched,
and alone.
the type of pose that
is maintainable
when no one knows your name.
and i am
willing to go
waiting on one hinging factor
as to whether
leaving is worth
the hassle, or
if it is the only thing left
of worth.
my hands twitch
with ideas i do not finish,
half-broken thoughts
of a life elsewhere
and nobody i know
to watch my devolution.

Friday, June 13, 2008

sinking, but not in

i will never forget
the look on your face
as you told me this -
such severe pain -

"i want to love someone else
the way you love me..."

and i?
i couldn't feel
a fucking thing

Sunday, June 8, 2008

wondering what becomes

i push
pulling process from
the parts of myself
i'm loathe to hold a
mirror to,
for everyone's interested
in something that bleeds
out fresh
there's no end to the curiosity
about the sorrow we accrue like bric-a-brac
glass ornaments on a shelf,
where they slowly splinter and crack
with the temperature fluctuation.
the ink i'm leaking i'll
slowly etch into my skin
over the years,
documenting frantically
before it all fades
with time
& i'm push pulling from
others, now
pleading poems from people
just as damaged as i am,
wondering what becomes
of our creations when unleashed,
what we discover
and exploit in others
and our own fragile heads
how are we somehow more qualified
& inclined to mine our minds
for chunks that sparkle?
i can't define
but i know what lens we view
through - the 50 - 200 zoom,
getting close in view
while holding ourselves removed,
lest we get
too mired in life
to continue on alone

Tuesday, June 3, 2008


spiraling slowly down
is thicker than water, and helixes
more quickly than
you'd imagine
dissemination is rarely what
you think it to be.
and after years
i finally have enough hair again
to cover my face
when i lean forward
long hair is good for hiding,
which is why i never quite
felt myself without it
the choppy locks i used to sculpt
in the mirror,
bemused at my
smaller, shrinking body,
the lack of hair to twist
between my fingers

it was a mohawk, once
and once was enough
as i stared at someone who
wasn't me in the mirror

now i just avoid
my gaze
and the face that's
so much thinner
as if the lack of smiling stained
into a loosely-clothed frame
that constantly surprises