Trail Mix

Life's big long winding trails leading to the Netherlands and the footsteps taken into the puddles, the puddles that lead to ponds and ponds that lead to fall leaves that lead to them sticking onto your little ass and getting into your underpants is squishier than slugs under the wheels of my bicycle.

C o n s c i e n c e

is the swear word in racing through the every backroads of my brain, taking the trail to the person who tells me that it's right and that it's wrong and that it's horrible or absurd or okay. Alright. Okay. Sure. Nope. Definitely Not. Yes. No. Just Kidding.

He'll never say it but he knows it's right. I'm not crazy. He knows everything that's going on. He knows that action doesn't equal amusement, and amusement just takes the change out of your denim pocket on your left breast. With the pinned memories all over your threads. The memories, you'll never live them down. The hair that dropped to the floor the day you shaved off your hair along with the dead skin cells, flaking through the air going up my nose and leaving me with a part of you for the rest of my life.

The alcohol on the cotton swabs/the cotton swabs juiced with alcohol going into your eyeballs/your bare eyeballs/itburnsdoesn'tit?

Save as a draft? A draft? Do I have to?

circles
^
talking
^
i'm.

Bury my face in the Midwestern dirt, along with the cactus of guilt and the butterfly of lies and the fox of fun and the armadillo of hate.

Sinking in deeper, Scared of the backrooms of my closet.

Stop, please.
[[[[[[[[O K A Y]]]]]]]]]

Dryer sheets

Nostalgia is facing me right now with the scents and the voices,
listening to MCR and singing to it bring me way back.
With the eraser and the cigarette butt in my hand, and the flem in my mouth
sitting just there on my tongue.
Flannels and pants and cold legs.
loose lips may sink ships
or my head into the hottest, scolding water so I can finally stop thinking.
I'm scared of myself, and I'm fearless of what comes out of my mouth, and so happy that I can think my own thoughts and I am me and not anybody else.
Rules are shit and so is everybody that follows them, because we're still mentally sane inside of all these organizations and establishments and music and teachers and corporate offices.
We can all think the thoughts that nobody will ever ever see unless you decide to verbalize them and share them with the whole world. In this icy climate and the late buses
I believe
we'll all make it with scary or normal thoughts.
BECAUSE WE ARE ALL OUR OWN PERSON.
So refreshing, yet still scary.

It's so funny
how forgetful we can be sometimes.
How utterly insane we all are
how many brain cells we are all really missing.
Why we don't even care that we're burning
drowning
sinking
alive with this.
It's all just so funny that we love looking at the clock
to see what time the future will become present.
It's funny the way we don't want to listen to music on the bus
out loud
and obnoxiously
with heads turning
nodding
exploding.
It's all so funny
that I forgot almost everything.
So did you
and you
and you.
Cheers! To the brains we once and never had!
Cheers! To the dusty old piano in my living room!
Cheers! To the brown hair and the fruit!
Cheers! To all of this dying!

F U C K I N G CHEERS!

I feel

like I'm old news to you
like I'm not good enough of a picture to put up on the wall.
I feel like, you put me on the back burner, and I'm going to catch a-flame.
I'm just good enough to put in a folder for a year and be forgotten.
I feel like, I just don't have enough energy, or I just look my worst all the time.
Like, I can't ever amount to anything GOOD in life, all I'll ever amount to is holding a pencil and stroking the paper as if I have talent...
like I don't have enough brain cells to do anything with you or me,
I have run out of things to say, and things to do
and my actions don't express me as a person anymore,
they express you.
It's like you raised me or something, and I'm an infant that just copies what you say.
I'm on fire now, I'm over boiling and I've caught that flame.
I'm hissing and sizzling and spitting my boiling water onto your face
splattering it into your eyes.
Why must I be so down on myself?
I don't get it. I just can't do anything anymore. I'm helpless and I'm stuck.
BUT YOU'VE GIVEN UP ON ME
ALL OF YOU HAVE.
I'm sorry, I don't know what else to say.

This heavy knit on top of my beating shoulders
weighing me down as the bags under my eyes sag more and more
while they stare directly towards your direction
with my nose hairs picking up the smells of your morning breath
and the coughs and the mucus on top of all the birthday cake you once ate.
for this moment I live
and the moment of the blankets on me and the pillows below me
on top of each other as if making love.
I live
I am not dead.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

Crooked streets
cracks filled with hate
black from head to toe
flags frayed in the breeze
getting arrested for a sneeze
did we really resort to this?
bettering my ass, you're full of shit
fuck all of you, go to hell.
rot away and lick up all the bugs
crunch them in between your teeth
because you'll never amount to anything else.

Unacceptable is the attitude I have.
Unaware is what I am of my surroundings.
In life's big story book I'm the page that's water stained.
In the heart of the city, I stand on the main artery and the blood explodes all over me.
In the middle of the machine, my jeans jam the gears.
On the strings of the guitar, I touch them and they rust.
On the streets, I smoke and die.
In the sky, I fly, but not high.