Monday, September 23, 2013

like dollar store pregnancy tests, like rotting meat, trying to squeeze in between window bars, i forget but i lost my keys.

Friday, February 24, 2012


Nothing I do is right anymore.  From one perspective to the next it's all an unwanted reaction.  Someone deciding you're going to be wrong before you even say a word.  Times like these, you just want to scream it all out in one big frantic tirade but then it would never do as it is supposed to as chicken soup is to colds.  It's pathetic when all I can say is "i'm trying my best" and you mean it but then you have that part of you totally shot down.  Bearing your soul, speaking the gods honest truth, you ARE trying your best but that's not being recognized so along with running your mind into the ground until you're to exhausted to think or act the motivation along with it dwindles.  The things I miss cause problems  when I do them, like playing guitar or drink in with friends, the reasons I was loved in the first place are now things I'm discouraged from doing and so myself becomes unlovable and now others who still maintain that freedom are looked at by her better and more deserving of attention while the doormat I am on certain given nights no longer deserves anything except to be called miserable and annoyin. Fuck that though, the days I do what I want, I either deal with an apologetic girl explaining how it's not me but her who misdirects her suffering onto those she loves, how she knows it's wrong; that's  the best scenario and the worst is my evening of being care free, me doing me, is mistaken for neglect and that resurrects an anger in her and the little possessions I do have or treasure end up shattered and thrown across the bedroom until the end of the circle nears and it's back to apologies and the cycle begins again.  Just like how my mother was.  The main point is I'm all there is to blame but I simply do not have the energy or capacity to be blamed or resented for all that I am blamed or resented for, humanly impossible.  How can it all be my fault?  Fighting is my last attempt to alleviate myself of frustration and threats when I feel cornered like an animal.  And then we just fight until we are to tired to and I can regain composure and take a walk or lay down and think about things like ufo's or far off tropical beaches and to think, all this for someone who I say I love.  Someone who has the mentality of 'if you can't handle me when I'm at my worst, you don't deserve me at my best'.  Well where is the 'best' babe?  What happens when there is consistently more bad than good?  When you're not able to function normally because your head is so broke down with reassurances and trying to be the tough one who bites your tongue and comes up with some cheesy joke that makes the other person think less of you but laugh at the same time, so then in that second you're less respected but at least they feel better from that funny remark and will stop their crucifying diatribe of bullishit.  You interrupted a train of thought that was complete bullishit that's why and so she can't remember what she was even yelling at you for.  A masochist of sorts.  You sacrifice yourself to be saved, to save her….  you degrade yourself even more to keep from throwing her out a goddamn window.  The funny thing is if you threw her out a damn window she's probably be nice to you for about a month.  slapping a girl might get you a couple hours,  punching her might get you a couple days, so out the window I guess would be a month, murder would be forever, but those are all mean and all might get you jail time.  So be the better man.  You're misunderstood, you're resented, bloody and beaten into the fuckin ground, you're not happy, you have no sex life, you dysfunctional, not normal, she talks to her ex still, you don't care enough to hunt him down, you want to be away from her, you want her to leave, yet you still try your best to do any and everything to make her happier, to make mer feel like a princess.  Because love fucking sucks and you're a fucking sucker.

Wednesday, August 10, 2011

im so relieved.... im so confused..... i just wish i was dead

Monday, August 8, 2011


hit over the head by flying tempered glass.... to reunite is shattering.... almost.
aged to perfection, whiskey breath blessed us thou join our father in heaven and sentenced.

to be restless

destined to be distanced

by wandering saints, my armor as candle smoke....( just judge )
led away if not to ever stray.  she watches blooming brown roses from
moving camera lens hands. smoking time in both our heads our nightstands.
dead sheep rot. dead dear doe. dead wolf is forest as snow is the snow.
everybody dies homeless tomb. webbed branches braided like plastic covered furniture drapes down,
like bodies decay dipping in and out and down on the ground.   whiskey dick.
my heart hurt cause my chest was there to keep it from the sky.
so high nothin could pull me down.
i got over my addictions  like old baseball card covers,
kept in drawers hidden, not traded anymore
but kept in mint condition.
i kicked it weeks before you came.
like soccer ball at soccer game.
untrained, unglued, peeling the sheets off myself and putting them over you.
it's my funeral so everyone else gets to plan it.
just say i was a horrible man and a good liar,
and that i'll get what I want.

Thursday, July 28, 2011

i am...

i am done writing for now.  because there is nothing to write about that makes me feel better.

Friday, June 3, 2011

waitin on an ok next four days for 140 bucks....or ending of patterned leg sports/ spans... blood sport, expand....
out the ends of beds sit bedpans. my wildness ensues in passionate complasence, the dairy
component of my hands empty spaces, my shoes fitting on with untied laces. how you can
float on most cases, how my skin is coffin and still spacious
i saw baby dolls on shelves hooked on walls, that sprawled the length of young mexican girls daydreams.
clenched in the fingers of natural pulls, in CVS past shitty magazines to hardware tools, from revolutions of declarations of passions to school.  murdered inhibitions, fist fights, fucked. strung across skin carpets
after bar and street close down.  i still wish i got a magazine....could feel insane

Tuesday, April 19, 2011

i like when celebrities die

  I like when celebrities die by convict gypsy

you watch tv (couch)
you watch me(sunshine)
you like wen celerities die(siamese twins)
and fancy things (toys)
you never had (fuckup)
just your dreams (animals at windows)
ur fathers old hat (ugly)
why youd steal at school (pretty)
some girls kit caboodle (rich)
dont blame this child (childhood)
dont blame me child (regret)
and do u think we’ll survive (no)
i mean u and i (especially)
wen ur lonley beauty makes u cry (always)
like when celebrities die (princess diana)
in a fire  (meltin plastic fuckin skin)
or wreckin the cars (texting)
slit their throats( betrayel)
fallin off of boats (sharks )
we grew up to fast (done done done)
just like ur father had (dead)
to far in to hell to fast (heroin)
when he came home from work u wdnt speak(babies)
u watched me (infatuation)
when i watched tv (nothingness)
angled skin captured in light (fame)
my veins fall asleep (collapsed)
now when ur givin head (nice)
to ur new boyfriend (who cares)
he cant see ur haunted eyes( beautiful)
ur smile wen celebrites die(future)
hell isnt down its up( 666)