Seconds away from the breathing
That I’ve come to set my rhythm to
Drunken paradise and poetic reverie
Burning holes in pockets, side winding bottle rockets
No one in the darkness
Just a pointed finger
And some apathy
Dripping nose no longer
But I am speeding just the same
Home grown and lower tone
Then anyone, then anything
I come to see you through the lights
Holding hands with dynamite
But in that picture
It’s not the image
That I’ve grown accustomed to
Precipitation oozes down
the windshield –
dead eye stare.
Jolted back mind.
Every previous rainfall
strung together,
in a flicker past.
Present hopelessly lost,
replaced by a better picture.
Young rain down face.
Wish in the memory
I wasn't alone to wander street.
Thought sent elsewhere
when there was someone
heard through cold receiver.
The chord
Strip away the house of ideas.
The heavy apparatus of moving parts breathe down our necks.
Each panel of thought mined until
we stand bare.
Children pulse w/ wisdom from within –
they are collected and reprocessed to formula.
The machines listen and wait –
crimes of conversation whispered
w/ fear.
Eyes appear next door
and on the corners.
A piece of architecture
disappears each day.
Sign posts of something new appear
(some say it is old.)
But grandparents must take their leave
A spectacle of hard shapes.
Subtle delusion arouses me.
Drink up the town,
mad reason bleeds pure.
Eyes begin to dart,
speak in run-on.
Head is a storage for sweat -
everything closes in.
Crooked painting hangs
over broke beat typewriter.
Smoke sails into patterns.
Blink into new temptation.
Burn up candles all night,
wait for you.
Anxiousness inside,
eyes linger on walls.
'Hey, how are you?'
The question I dread to hear
The thought process behind answering it can go on for years
Don't worry I'm fine.
Wait am I crying.
Or am I slowly dieing.
I really don't know you put me on the spot
I wish I could redirect the question to you
But I can't it's a little bit to late for that
My mind is rushing from positive to negative
The good and bad things in my life
I can eat I'm not Ill I have a great family
I can't eat I'm mentally ill my family is a mess
My body wants to give up and let go
But I can't let you know
I've got a gallon of emotions
How am I supposed to ask for help
When I fear I'll just be a burden?
Please.
I need your help
To bring me back down.
Please.
You have to help me
Reach the ground.
I feel the heat in my face
The pounding of my heart
The tightness in my chest
The motion of my leg
The shaking of my hand
And the low self worth
May I go to the restroom please?
Before I pass out on this floor
My eyes arent actually seeing
My brain isnt actually thinking
Its not enacting any movement knowingly
But my fingers are hard at work
Peeling at my mouth
Pulling away translucent white and pink pieces
As my lips bleed
Ignoring my feelings
Hiding my issues with the feeling
Feeling my heartbeat in my exposed wound of my top lip
Feeling the sting of the contact
While my brain is floating in space
That's why I'm a lip picker
Maybe itll help
I dont like to think
My thoughts always turn
From one thing
To the next
To the next
Thinking is hard for me now
I cant think without having trouble breathing
Or without a knot in my stomach
A tightness in my heart
A pain in my head
It showing through my art
I can't think anymore
But I cant stop
I sleep to not think
But they invade my dreams
I eat to distract
I'm tired,
But I can't sleep.
I'm hungry,
But feel nauseous when I eat.
I'm not happy,
But I'm not necessarily sad.
I want to leave,
But I stay.
I want to breathe,
But the weight on my chest remains.
I want to be genuine,
But it's easier to put up a facade.
Why is everything I think,
And everything I do,
So contradictory?
the stars, they signal pain
i begged to mars,
"please let it rain!"
let the clouds cover
the horrors that
threaten to
remain
i begged to to jupiter,
"please make me sane!"
let the clouds cover
the nightmares that
threaten to
return
again