| (no subject) |
[Feb. 25th, 2009|02:23 am] |
The street light behind him lit up his thin ears with a red glow. Before he could wipe the blood from his nose, it dripped onto his white shirt. Only adding to the stains.
"I'm not coming home." He shakily said. His words seemed to start confident in his throat, but lost momentum as they reached his lips. "I mean it this time."
The figure in front of him bent down, packed a ball of snow with his bare hands, then playfully tossed it a foot in the air. The figure was planning on catching it, but it fell apart when it left the figure's hand. It bend down again. This time, grabbing more snow, packing it tighter. The figure took a curious stance.
The boy with the blood-stained shirt new what was coming. Unphased, he stepped to the side as the snowball passed by, falling apart as it flew. He turned away from the figure, repeating: "I mean it this time."
The figure yelled, but the boy's cold, illumines ears could not decipher the moans.
Picking the clogged blood from his nostril, he continued his walk away from the figure. His words quiet, but growing confident. He whispered: "I mean it this time." |
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| ...motel sex... |
[Jan. 5th, 2009|09:49 pm] |
i've got a roof over my head
but a vacancy in my bed
and there's room in my chest for you to move in
i won't charge you rent
if you just forget what i said
when we first met
the sink drips a bit
and we'll have some insect guests
but i'll try my hardest to clean up my mess
the neighbors will fight some nights
and sometimes i'll join in
but it's only occasionally
so please don't think less of me
just tuck yourself in my heart
we'll form spoons with our legs and arms
and relate to other utensils
with hair in handfuls
you can be the damsel in my apartment complex
and i'll keep all my promises
trust me
you already have the keys |
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| (no subject) |
[May. 11th, 2008|10:19 pm] |
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Bottled up bruises. I'm going to clench my teeth. If I could walk the way that I talk and run like I used to, I wouldn't be in such a terrible state with holes in my shoes and unaddressed letters to you. So fuck it. And forget all the words that were written. The pages are yellow now. They've lost their meaning. To begin with, I never had a direction and my sentences were misleading. Oh, I'd apologize for the leaves that change color from one another. Growing apart and falling to the ground to lie with other debris of swaying trees. But it's not my fault that shakes the floor. My skin is yellow now. As the bruises are attempting to heal. I clench my teeth until they break on the bit they broke off. My blood congeals. |
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| (no subject) |
[Apr. 13th, 2008|08:43 pm] |
hey kid
where do you get off?
those punches you're pulling are still too soft
give me one on the chin
give em one in the guts |
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| ...sink along... |
[Feb. 23rd, 2008|11:52 am] |
i know i could write the words to a song that would make the whole world sing along
in my head i can picture it now
my outstretched arms
my open mouth
all of you shouting back
off key and out of tune
all of you shouting back
delivering phrases too soon
causing sounds barriers to crack
like coyotes howling at the moon
as you show your teeth and twist your feet
to unbeatable beats
composed in such a clever fashion
and all of you shouting back
it's a chorus of compassion
and you won't care how you're dancing
this is an unexplainable feeling
no one will laugh at you
they'll be caught up in their own moves
song birds will weep
unable to get sleep
now that all of you are shouting back
and i'll be covered in your spit and sweat
gagging on your sour breath
my legs, weak in the knees, shaking to the rhythm
my glands are glad too be used again
now awaken and impatient
from their slumber under a lazy station
my insides impatiently waiting to burst
as i push these epiphanies past my lips
swaying my rib cage, my hips displace
it hurts more than i can mention
but all you yelling the sounds my letters arrange
help me forget about the pain
and i can hear that all this is sincere
with a feeling that your arteries are doing the singing
i know i could write the words to a song that would make the whole world sing along
but every time my pen hits this pad, all my words are wrong |
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| my-school-drop-out |
[Feb. 13th, 2008|11:03 pm] |
Scraped knees and a backpack full of bricks
It's been a burden, but I'm not hurting much anymore
Just because you're in the cross walk, doesn't mean you're safe
Just because I'm here now doesn't mean I'll stay in this place
If I study hard, I'll get good marks
Impress women with my grades
If I get laid one day
I'll pray I make few mistakes
If I start now or soon
I might get done before it's dark
If I could ever be with you
I'd take you out to the park
If I could write my name
It would be next to your's in a heart
But I need to learn first
I guess this is a start |
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| ...keep me warm... |
[Jan. 2nd, 2008|10:09 pm] |
I'll sleep on the train tracks tonight
I wasted all my bullets shooting at the sky
I was aiming to get one of those stars to fall
So I could make a wish that I was
Never born at all
My suicide note is written in sidewalk chalk
On stone next to the station's pay phone
Where I called your number
And I said your name
And I asked you to meet me
But you never came
It hurts me to know
Those bullets will rain down on some other town
To put someone else's name in the obituary section
Of the newspaper
That'll keep me warm
'Till the conductor come |
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| (no subject) |
[Nov. 4th, 2007|01:05 am] |
Head still spinning from the swallowing of siphoned gas
Got to get out of this serrated town
The big city is where you forget the past
That's where he's headed now
Just a boy
Put-down on his luck
In a '78 Chevy pickup truck
Oh, she runs a little
But she don't run well
Sounds like a war on wheels
And backfires like hell
Won't get in gear without a good kick and a fight
Duct tape over the check engine light
He might not make it out there
But at least he'll be out of here
With fingers crossed on the steering wheel
Hopefully it's more far than near
These yellow lines don't mean a thing
Passing trucks on the right
Her cold shoulder packed with snow
Can't slow this drive tonight
Gas pedal's on the floorboard
Odometers in the red
Drivin' past the hospital
Where they said they'd fix his head
Back when he took pills of medicine
And talked to a shrink
So he could fit in with the rest of them
When told what to think
That was back when she was in love with him
He can't find those lost days
They left his mind
Around the time
He stuck her with the blade
The engine howls while the exhaust streams
Turning every corner to hear the tires scream
He can't go back now
Nor does he want to
The ghost of who you used to be
Will always come to haunt you
So drive on and get far from all this
They'll never know what you mean
She'll turn away from every kiss
When your lips taste like gasoline |
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| ...moth her... |
[Oct. 19th, 2007|01:37 am] |
The moth flies into the porch light. The mother tucks her kids in tight. If you rub the powder from her wings, she'll never fly.
She'll never fly. |
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| ...holy mattress and money... |
[Oct. 18th, 2007|05:59 pm] |
Hand in hand
Woman and man
You never wanted vows,
Just vowels sounds and torn off gowns
Messes on dresses will be a thing of the past
The beginning was sweet, but it never lasts
Things change, boy do they change fast
From the first drink, to a step on the glass
You’re surprised her family even came
In the father’s eyes shine disappointment
In the mother’s there’s shame
If there was a mirror near, you could point the blame
You’ve lied to your bride and she’s done the same
But you were told this is what we are born to do
Purchase land and sew the fields with translucent fluid
Oh god
I hope this ring comes off |
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| ...outlander... |
[Oct. 4th, 2007|05:02 am] |
My brother Zach was and is 2 years my elder.
Seeing as we were born and raised in Utah, we grew up in the LDS church. LDS stands for Latter Day Saints. Said saints did not partake in certain "evils" of humanity. Like watching "R" rated movies.
Somehow our father over-looked this evil. As long as he was there to cover our eyes with a couch pillow if a specific part of the female anatomy made it self present on the glowing box of glory.
This made it possible to learn all sorts of curse words and see countless hours of violence.
Of course, sometimes he was slow with the pillow, so we got to see a titty or two. Or three if we were watching Total Recall.
One of my favorite movies at the age of 6 was the cinematic interpretation of the Stephen King novel, Children of the Corn. Since my father saw there was no naked lady figures in said film, Zach and I were free to watch it over and over. Until we had to return it to local market, of course. The plot was simple:
A small town, Gatlin, Nebraska, because they have corn there, is over-taken by the kids. They slaughter the adults and sacrifice them to a pre-CGI god. It was my dream on cellophane.
The leader of all those rambunctious little town-dwellers was a short, creepy, black haired boy named Isaac. He resembled me. If I was skinnier. Naturally, when we got our new dog, a black cocker spaniel, we gave him the same name. The dog version of Isaac was treated pretty poorly by six-year-old-me. While we played and cuddled on occasion, I ignored him most of the time. That didn't stop him from following me everywhere I went, though.
One sunny, fall day, I walked to my best friend Jeff's house. I knew Isaac was following me across town, but I pretended like I didn't. He trotted a good ten or so feet behind me the entire trek. I would hear his paws and claws tapping on the asphalt, but ignore them. Every now and again, I'd stop, look back, and see Isaac stop dead in his tracks. After sending him a glare and pointing in the direction home, I'd continue on my walk only to hear the him doing the same.
For some reason, I was ashamed of him. He wasn't big and strong like I wanted him to be. He was small, naive, and awkward. Just like me. I hated that.
Standing on Jeff's porch, banging my six-year-old fist on his front door, I prayed that Isaac would just run home. No such luck. Jeff greeted me at the fore-part of his home only to glance past me.
"Uhhh." He muttered, as he pointed to the end of the walk way to the neglected pooch.
I knew what he meant to say.
"Your dog is behind you."
That's what he meant.
I replied with an, "I know," as I walked past his index finger and through the doorway.
Jeff and I lie on our bellies with our legs bent at the knees, our shins and feet dangling in the air. We each had a pencil and sheet of paper in front of us. As we drew monsters eating one another, in hopes that they'd somehow end up on a skateboard, my loyal Isaac waited at the end of the walk way. He never barked once, but I knew he was there.
After creating monsters, a young man needs candy. Jeff and I decided to walk to Nelson's market to nourish our brains and bodies with corn syrup and citric acid. We filled our pockets with copper coins and began on our walk to the center of town.
Nelson's market was the usual meeting point for Jeff and I. My family resided on the Northwest side of town, Jeff's in the Southeast. Nelson's lay smack dab in the center of our two homes. Plus, they had penny candy. We'd fill a little brown bag full of said candy and tell the cashier it was a lesser amount. That was until they started weighing the bag. Clever bastards.
Jeff and I crossed main street and set our feet on the steps to Nelson's when we heard a high pitched "yelp!"
I turned around and my six-year-old stomach dropped.
My little, black cocker spaniel, Isaac, lay bleeding. His body rest perfectly in between two white painted lines, the only cross-walk in town. He was in two sections connected by flat tire-mark of red fur and crushed spaniel.
I ran to him, not checking for any oncoming cars.
Isaac twitched and whimpered in a growing pool of blood. I clutched him in my arms, walked back to the sidewalk and dropped him. His body plopped on the cement. His blood splashed back at me.
My neighbors, driving by, came to console a boy watching his puppy die. They were just part of the growing crowd.
"Spike, go get your gun. Put him out of his misery." One lady said.
I didn't know if she was talking about Isaac or me.
Jeff went inside Nelson's to get me a box to put Isaac in, his twitching slowing. My eyes could cry, but my body couldn't do much else.
"I'm so sorry, bud, I didn't even see it." Said a man. I didn't know who. I couldn't see much of anything anymore. "I got near out of town, then turned around to see if I had hit 'er."
I heard the words, yet acknowledged nothing.
"Toss 'er in the back and I'll give you a ride home."
I bent over, picked up Isaac's lifeless body and started to walk.
I walked past the crowd. Past Jeff and his box. Past the truck.
I walked home in a haze of my own tears across town. Isaac's blood coating my six-year-old arms. Jeff and his box, following a good ten or so feet behind me the entire trek. |
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| ...it's all for youth... |
[Oct. 4th, 2007|02:55 am] |
So here I adhere to the fears that are near. Living is killing me. With a complex that wrecks the inside of my head, I'm starting to forget to breathe. I scan my brain for rations of rational thought. I stroke my insides as they rot. Caressing the product of obtuse abuse and a childhood that's impossible to hide. Eat the night. I'm not alright. The sun is dead and I'm so miserable. The son is dead and I'm so miserable. This cerebellum keeps me swaying. My upbringing keeps me praying. I'm not who I used to be. My head is a penitentiary. Can I find what I left behind? Am I losing my mind or is my mind losing me? I won't listen to what the say. Even though they say it in such a pretty way.
They say:
Turn the bottle upside-down. Kiss the glass as your sorrows drown.
You're stuck in a dead-end town.
You ain't gettin' out.
You ain't gettin' out.
Oh, misery loves company.
So, everybody come with me. |
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| (no subject) |
[May. 20th, 2007|02:29 am] |
Doug Kennedy was a booger eater. I was friends with his younger brother Jeff, so I was at their house nearly every day. For once in my young life, I could say I had been to a home even more post-war-like than my own. There were scents that, I swear, were only conjured up in the confines of that four-sided shit box that one could only experience if they set foot inside. One day it would be a diaper in sever need of changing. Okay, that's not that out of the ordinary. However, the next day your cavities of sinus would be punished by mystery funk. Could it be the growing piles of dirty laundry? Or perhaps the slew of dirty dishes half filled with soaking water? In actuality, it was more likely to be the corpse of their beloved dog underneath the floor boards of the house.
He'd been missing for quite some time.
One evening of a sleepover involving Jeff and myself, we engaged in a board game. It was a game I had never played before. Candyland. Sound's like a great game, I know, but here's the thing: No actual candy was involved. I found myself playing this bored game with my best pal when i was overwhelmed with the urge to pee. I of course waited until Jeff's turn was through, so I could have my turn, then visit the piss place.
Walking into the bathroom, I was trying to unbutton the new Levi's my mom had bought me. My tiny little fingers were not used to such a well made button system. My tummy burned as I crossed my legs in attempt to stop what I feared. It was too late. Hot Niagra Falls ran down my right leg. I thought it would burn. I once peed on my brother's friend because he took my turn in line to play Nintendo. He cried. He said it burned.
Slowly, I just looked down. In every TV show or movie I had seen where someone wets themselves, there's a just perfect oval of urine to the side of their center, yet to my surprise, the entire right side of my jeans was now a darker shade of blue.
I panicked. I flushed the toilet. I ran the sink and cupped my hands under the faucet. Once my hands were full, I tossed the water on the ground. I walked out the the restroom, looking down, one forth of my body covered in my own fluid.
I could tell Jeff was looking at me and I had to put my excuse to work.
"It's all wet in there," I said pointing behind me with my thumb. "There's water on the ground, I think your shower is broken or something."
"Oh yeah," Jeff replied, "It's been busted forever."
This explained so much.
I sat down, not thinking about the fact that urine has quite a distinct odor, and finished our game of Candy(less)land. Thankfully, the other stinks in the house masked my number one and we went to bed without Jeff suspecting a thing.
Jeff tucked himself into his top bunk, while I nestled into the bottom bunk, my leg sticking to the sheets, which on most days belonged to Doug. He was staying over at a friend's so I took over his sleeping quarters for the night. I dosed off into dreamland feeling a slight burning sensation attacking my inner thigh and counting Doug's hand picked booger's on the bunk's ceiling. |
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| (no subject) |
[Mar. 13th, 2007|07:43 pm] |
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In this city of glass, I am stone. Raining anvils and shards of glass onto crowds equipped with umbrellas of class. I terrorize their lives, telling them the future looks bleak, but no one's listening. Nose to the air. Not a fucking care. I'm a non-conformist conformist conforming to the consumption of stealing a stranger's stare. We could dam the damn dam of society's stream. But no one's listening. I could write the words that make the whole world stop and think. But no one's listening. I could talk, and I wouldn't have to scream. But no one's listening. |
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| (no subject) |
[Mar. 11th, 2007|09:24 pm] |
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Let's see. This sea should swim into a stream of thought so as not to rot with what's left of what I got. What it is? Not a thing. There's not much left of this human being. Not much being. I used to be much stronger. I had stamina and against the tide I could last longer. I've been swept past the reef and now I see that these things can actually hurt me. The salt in my lungs and the sand on my teeth remind me that I can't even be what I want to be. These urchins are lurking, waiting to pick and my floating corpse. Bloating, of course. Sway in place. I can't get away. I can't get away. |
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| (no subject) |
[Dec. 23rd, 2006|04:36 am] |
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Lynched lovers under spring birds in the trees. Shaking and swelling as they're raped by bees. Their bodies hang in nooses, just like wind-chimes. Swaying in the breeze. Swaying in the breeze. Music floats on notes of false hope. So hush. The blood will run, you know. Like honey off the comb. |
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| (no subject) |
[Sep. 21st, 2006|02:30 am] |
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My guts are weighing me down. Tonight there is a trash bag draped over the light and I want out. Though we had a decent descent I'm jet lagged. I hurt in places I don't want to mention. Not because of my insecurities, but because of yours. My teeth are growing. We can taste my mouth and I want out. It's colder than I remember. When the fog eats the sky-scrapers, I can tell I'm in a new city. I want out. |
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| (no subject) |
[Jul. 19th, 2006|03:45 am] |
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Life goes on. Feelings get more sporadic. Less intense. It's hard to keep my hands to myself. Hard to keep my feet from kicking yours out from under you. I'm surprised I can even stand these days. I can't stand standing anymore. Legs told me they're through. My heels are black and blue. I lick my teeth and feel the grit I've tried to wash away. Clean me up. Wash me in mud. Rather be dirty with you, than be in love. Rather be anything. |
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| ...the altitude has attitude... |
[Jul. 19th, 2006|03:18 am] |
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Pissing in bottles. Fiends on caffeine have short lived dreams. Wake up for another shift at the wheel. The steady shake of the van. Watching the sun rise again. I've been waiting my whole fucking life. Now. Here I am. |
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| ...the flag waves. i don't wave back... |
[Jul. 4th, 2006|11:30 pm] |
Soon the white stripes will out number the red.
They’ll let themselves in, as do most rapists.
They’ll tuck the red in with smallpox blankets
and lay them to rest. |
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