Thanks

for validating my paranoia.

Wait to save him. Distressed miracle. Fly above and strike when he's not looking. Had a feeling you were a fake. Efface the things that make you listen. Poison. Check his pulse before you leave. A surprise in every packet. The blue one makes you dream. I used to be calm. Collect bandages to heal your hysteria. Let it go. Fall is. Nothing.

When I was happy.

Truth circles in fields. Drink the nectar of your defeat. The power was hers, never yours but I'm sure if you look hard enough you can keep believing your own lies. If you look hard enough you can convince yourself that all of this makes sense. You shouldn't have stopped, but you did and now you want everything to be as it was. Still. Your ego betrays you.

What is it that it's about? You want answers but I don't have that many words because it transcends words and all we're dealing with now is dust. Ashes of memory, but which ones are mine and which ones are yours. We are not one, we are a distant derivation of one. I'm an a capella artist in a land where dreames expired.

If I had hope, you devoured it.

You took me lightly and now you're feeling all of my weight--let's hope it doesn't crush you. I'm a wreck inside, but know that I'd help you if I could.

Smother me with frailty, I don't want to quit. Crippled with self deceit, bring me the bag---it has the receipts.

Freestyle
Delicately until the pain skips out through the back door and maybe for a minute you can feel like a god. Pull apart the ideal and let it breathe. Let it circulate and then you can strangle it. I remember.

If I were.

Maybe I could be born.

Just not here.

Left behind. Ornate bandages. They didn't heal and now I'm thirsty. It's been so long since you gave me a glimpse of what it's like to be alive, but I'm through apologizing. I'll stay dead. That's what she said.

Let them ring, and I don't mean freedom.

Is it any wonder you start lines in cliches?

Lose the faith and bring the attitude--only your ego can save you now.

Brittle, little enemy teetering on the banks of your survival. What could he be trying to say with that red flag? The wind broke him and now he stares through the window counting cars as they fly off the bridge and into his sadness.

If I hurt you it's because I was afraid.

I'm still afraid so grow some skin.

Did I tell you how?

Move the pain this way, that way the neighbors won't see. Shift the shiftless, the shifter and the shifty. Quickly.

What is it you didn't like?

Your sad eyes still haunt me, I just wish I knew who the fuck you were and why I had to fall in love with you the way I did.

Take the ether and run but you won't get very far. I've tried.

End hunger.

End pain.

Migraine.

Peel off your skin and feed it to the sharks, they'll appreciate the gesture. I think.

And still I see all the things that try to stop me from dreaming, from trying to achieve all the things I'm destined to achieve. No time to pause it's best to stare right through them--translucent as they are.

The trail that that girl left me.

Sprinkled memories in a rotten place, but still I call it home. My bag is on the bed and I've been sweating for days trying to remember my name, trying to remember all the things that I said. It'll be quiet once the lights go out and the toxins settle just like they planned when I stepped onto the train.

Dubbing misnomers into the stream of abuse. He's got a turntable and hours of mistakes to uncover with each spin. He feels himself drifting into the abstract.

Turned.

The pasture is quite nice this time of day.

Play dead.

Pain is.

When I look alive, are the rest of them dead? Nothing is lucid, transparent maybe, but never lucid. I had a girl that murdered me in my sleep. I came back to life, but "it's never been the same since," I say with the gun underneath my pillow and my dreams tucked safely into my drawer.

Stop

With the matches.

First kiss that I could drown in, but it was full of alcohol and useless dreams. It was full of all the things that nightmares are made of and maybe that's why you shut me out. But it's alright because I'm all grown up now and those sad eyes that matched yours are even sadder. And all the dreams I had I threw into the fire and fused new ones but every once in a while my new dreams burn me and all I can do is choke back the tears with silence.

I know you want me to be happy but it's difficult to achieve that happiness when your dreams are built on misery and all you want to do is bleed to let tears the flow--to ease the pain of being human. You saved me but then you knocked me down but that's alright because I learned a while back that you can get back up and nobody cares. Nobody cares if you stand, fall, flop or die as long as you don't get in their way. As long as you don't become a problem because that's when they shoot you. They do it on a Thursday, while you're away chasing dreams. They tell you that it's nothing. That they'll be back, that it's nothing. You trust them don't you? You have no reason not to trust them do you? And then bang bang they shot you like a Tarantino film, except this time it's not funny. This time you don't see the humor in it. It's more like that sad tune that always makes you cry, the one that you carry in your heart. The one that haunts your dreams and doesn't let you sleep at night, because you had other dreams in mind. Dreams that would let you bleed to levitate the pain and float the memories. That's how it happens and there is nothing you can do about because when she left she took all the good memories with her and left you the bad ones. Don't hesitate to write her, I'm sure dead people still read. Read it in an article somewhere, just can't remember where.

Throwing images into the lake to test their buoyancy.

She has most of my poison ready to go. All they have to do is call and we'll show up at their door to take care of the problem. A slow day today, only fifteen served. We'll never catch up to McDonalds at this rate. We need to improve our marketing. Keep sales up. Let people know that there is nothing wrong with poison if handled by professionals.

Finsish the things you destroyed. I hope she rots. I hope pigs feed on her while she's alive.

Strip away her pain and feed it to the abyss.

Tell me what to do and I'll hire someone to do it. Tell me what to think and I'll suffocate on my lack of impulse.

I'm stranded where I crumble and I miss you--feeling like I killed you. Feeling no feeling, only nauseau. The threat of tears. Grating.

No crescent moon to guide me as I sink into the unreality of truth. As I survive powerless. Run for shelter. I'll stay searching for the best place to anchor and when that storm comes I hope it tears me apart, because I don't want to feel.