I Still Don’t Care For Decaf

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Are we back to not being friends?
The cycle that never ends,
and remember the time we
couldn’t breathe a single day without??

Passengers
In & out- left of center, progressed to doubt.
The longest sigh stretched into endless nights
no doubt; there’s no end when second chances are exhausted
into the longest regression you’ve ever endured.
And still, we come back for more.

Refuge
Withholding shelter, the safety of clenched hands
Singularity, now parallel lands-
worlds we couldn’t possible conceive.
Now my everyday view.

Strangers
And these words are for me
All the people that pass by
A life we couldn’t possibly perceive.

Rebirth
I have no control over what you think of me
So don’t look back
Just keep moving
We have a ways to go

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Humility on my mind, on your knees one last Time

I don’t know what I’m doing.
So what.

This is indigestible. The movement of my guts.
Shifting of the heart into throat and the burn of acid where air once flowed.
Sour taste-
The way I felt when we parted ways.

Look at me now. You’d be so proud.
But what’s left of us?
The scenery is stifling and your breath once draped around my neck.
Tight like thighs in late night dives and the satisfaction was that last cigarette.

Get off your hands and knees.
I’ll clean up the mess this time.
You couldn’t hold it all inside,
and you refused to swallow.
I don’t blame you.

I can’t digest no more, and I thought I was the whore.
That was a smokescreen.
I’m lost.

Release me back into the wild.
The streets are alive.
I will always come crawling back.

Kill the Lights

No coffee, no beer- no more late nights and false idols.
No love, no sex & No family.
No more using my hand for release. No relief
No pain, no regrets, but that’s a lie.
No more lying to myself.

Grease fires and pistol whipped, so sorry that I can’t take it with me.
I put faith in people and things
but they just let me down, and I let me down and now you look at me to share truth.

No more strip clubs, falling off stools- and throwing money at satin skin and broken homes
A life I could never possibly know.
Drown out the hollers for more- we forgive them
And can’t look at ourselves.

No more sleepless nights- you can’t tell them apart
The days bleed out, insomniac, double back & sewage
where the flies circle and circulate
no amount of liquid poured into your stomach allows you to forgive yourself.

No thoughts of death, no more Big Macs,
Pull the stopper on the tub
No more delusions or illusions
No pills for deafening the pain
No allusions that there’s any other way.
No forgiveness, just aftermath
No regrets

Night of the Dead Living

Your flesh was delicious.
I have no more time to reminisce.
You’re gone now,
and I’ve been running for days because they never stop chasing me- no need for open caskets.
No need for graves or wakes– Just Run…

Fail me once again, I can take it.
My legs will travel a few more miles. And I will survive
Force of will, or maybe just the will to live.
Feet ache and my mind already left;
the drop off point, helicopter never came, and the memory of you won’t go away.

Hysteria
Somewhere a boy in a field wonders where his parents went.
And why his best friend hunts him down- blood jettison in a mouth that shared Cheetos and juice boxes
I’m so paranoid that I’ll get bit and have to live each day like this

Wandering the town for people I once knew.
Now they just look like food.

Maybe when the dead came alive you thought you’d fit in
You saw more fall to the earth- but they can’t unhinge
the lost, the broken, falling skies – the news already broke.
Along with all hope.

Reality falters, when the stumbling creeps drift from street to street
and backyards where barbecues once smelled of charred meat.
Now streets caked with rotted flesh- everyone’s eyes hollowed out and no time for vanity

The butcher shop is all around you

Instill me with safety
The world doesn’t look the same to me
The stretch of time that paralyzes each one of us to be walking and not running in fear
Fuck the world around you where you felt safe

The dead need living things

By the Time You hear This, I will Have moved On

Deep into the splintered void- where the days of our youth were made.
Our unfamiliar waves cast shades of rain,
now depraved- with no more or less from what was saved.
Floundering under frosted skies,
fleshed into salt from tired eyes.
Peered out into the open road and then threw out everything I owned.

It’s just not easy to talk to you- to look at you, and to only think of two
once the world falls away.
What happens when you leave?

The novelty wore off, somehow we made it through the night anyway.
…and numbered days;
43..45..50.
Tears blur through these eyes- perennially on the receiving end.
Slipping past the conscious mind
the remains of a conscience friend.
This hurts you more than me… but I have stared down this mirror before.

Suppose the sheen outlasted you.
What love can do.
But it steals the night too.
The morning leaves more uprooted, coffee grounds and drool,
wiped away with only bloodshot eyes to attend to.
Enough to make a difference when I stroked my hair- brittle and falling to the floor.
How pretty I must look in my old age…

It used to be different, staring out the window somewhere around 6th period Chemistry.
What became of me?
The fantasies created aren’t guaranteed.
The phosphor mild under the fluorescence and arid smell stimulating my need to flee.

Not a dry eye in the house

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October 9, 2010

“Manic depression is a frustrating mess” – Jimi Hendrix

The intangible objects lay in front of me dancing to my dissatisfaction, restless and piercing the fever and impulses shutting down my brain. I didn’t know what time it was but everyone in the house was long asleep. There was an entire army of sleepless dreadnoughts waiting in the bay to fire at will. Chaos feels like order in the waning and sleep deprived hours between twilight and the next round of shells, fragmenting my mind– what was left of it anyway.

I wasn’t tired; I wasn’t coherent and was coming unglued as well. The scattered pile of ornate things, electronics and a silent television- my only companion; made sense to me and only me, any other person who’d have come in contact would have thought I was hoarding; and maybe I was. The practicality of insanity is that it is very unattractive to the unfamiliar. Fuck those people.

‘Crazy’ becomes a relative term and it still means little to me.

I knew the advent of my disorder was at hand after a late night session like this (and there were so many) and my first episode was a lucid dream or the worst ‘reality show’ you’ve ever seen, because no one could feel like this; no one in their right mind. In the waking hours, or the 25th hour of this new awareness; I would send text messages to my wife like “I am a god; I can smash through walls”. It must have been terrifying for her. Any true friends I had during this period must’ve wanted to float me out to sea and watch from the shoreline. It’s safer from a distance; anyone who’s been to the psych ward will tell you that.

And who would risk safety to push me to dry land?? I would have bailed on myself.

I should have been terrified but instead I was thrilled.

Trip Fantastic, and the Skyline Drive

No one rides for free, except for me.
The stretch of road leaves blisters,
where the soles tread- my soul to retreat.

I know you’ll be there with your shoulder so I can unload this weight.
The empathy of your neckline, your slight frame holding the warmth as if the sun blazed in the room.
My infernal sigh is the only sound you need.

It doesn’t look so far from here,
the distance has no face, blank expressions unfurl on the horizon.
Mist and clouds and dusk mutate into sunrise-
and you can almost see the skyline drive.

I somehow always new,
I’d find my way out
this place where I left you