i have never felt

so, not myself. like, I just woke up and you stripped me of all of my childhood in a matter of seconds. The excitement of santa clause is gone. I have no excitement. I woke up, and I had no christmas tree. I couldn't sleep 'cause I thought I was a kid again, tossing and turning in my little footie pajamas. I thought I could smell him, the candy canes and the reindeer piss. I thought I heard a fat man upstairs, but it turns out, it was only the other guy. The guy who fucking ruined my inner-child, and his dad that ruined halloween. This time of year, used to be my favorite. But I can honestly say, I will NEVER get excited again. All I wanted, was to wake up one last time before I fucking grew up. I DON'T WANT TO GROW UP I'M STILL A FUCKING KID I'M A 6 YEAR OLD KID RUNNING AROUND THE PLAYGROUND WITH MY NIGHTIE ON. But when will you understand, that this is only self pity. Because you've got everything you wanted. All the million dollar things all the material things. Fuck you and fuck this.





MERRY FUCKING CHRISTMAS.

it's not like

YOU were there or anything. it's not like you really heard what happened. nor did i really. things just have been passing me up lately. leaving me on the road lonely and sad. it's not like i was fully paying attention or anything. when you told me that i was a sick, sad, horrible human being. i was actually tuning you out listening to the frozen birds singing and squealing. i hope you know, i hope you wonk i hope you know, that i am very tired of the same old thing, and i am very tired of hearing you, pestering you, smelling you, and touching you. because it's not like, you actually WANT it. you don't NEED it. nor do i. it's not like, i actually look at you and automatically want to be you. because your drawings, they..they don't MEAN anything. they're not significant at all. they don't really paint a picture in my mind, you can't even paint. i just started to and you suck. you act like you have a creative key to your mind and you can think of anything. it's not like, you're you're some type of GOD. well, are you?

LET THE WILD RUMPUS START!

marching one by one and smashing trees
jumping up and down with our sticks in the air
declairing the war
it's ours!
not yours!
sing loudly!
declare your freedom one by one
imaginations flowing out of ears
woodchips in your hair





smile with your bubbly cheeks the sweat dripping on the fur
run and scream!
HOWLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL!

Who's counting?

One day, I'll show myself who's boss. 26 times. Show myself who's the king of my body. 26 different ways.

With 1 punch to the face

3 kicks to the mouth

5 slaps to the throat

2 twists to the eyes with my own bloody induced fingers

4 slams to my non-listening ears, the ears that have heard ALL of the bullshit once or twice or maybe even a billion times

3 shots to the heart with the pistol that lays there across the room under the satin pillow, it's so cold, my heart I mean

5 pinches to my lungs with the nicotine I intake, inhale, every single day.

And 3 shots to my pickled brain, to end the spreading of that infectious disease I call a bad imagination.

Cancer.

But, Who's counting?

like

the sunshine shining through the cracks of the velvet sidewalks and the air so bitter nibbling at the top of my cartilage, and the shoe on top of the snow blanketing it to keep it warmer. the tears staining the silverware the talking in my ear in the middle of this making me lose my creativity within 0.1 seconds. the eraser noise that is turning onto being the most annoying noise in the world and the chord stricken from across the room and the echo that carries throughout the house and the bass in his voice running down the stairs and crawling into my bed with me like an uninvited stranger. like a friend you never wanted or so you said. pausing and stopping and replaying those thoughts inside of my head.






























what did i just get myself into?

GO

The case, the case, the case
it just opened, right there in front of my face.
It spewed dust, with pictures of her in love without lust
tied down to the chair
tied to ground
in a pit of despair.
She chokes and breaths but can't get a speck of fresh air
without her coughing up a lung, clumpy blood,
the room started to flood
with memories that she didn't want to enter her ear
her heart is aching, it's old, decreped, a rusted gear.
She needs attention, a hug, a piece of bread
she needs to get the fuck out of this chair so she can go to the comfy bed
with her teddy bear.
She needs you to recognize her friends,
they're there even though you can't see them.
It's just useless, stupid, and dumb
JUST KEEP SITTING THERE AND TWIDDLE YOUR FUCKING THUMBS.