halfway whole

you know when you squeeze a sponge and all the juices of the kitchen-world that have been slurped up in the past...forever....gush out like shaken soda exploding;
like pushing the elevator button and waiting on the 99th floor;
remember how it feels to wake up in the middle of the night with a wet pillow and swollen eyes because that dream-image was oh so real;
and thinking you can you can you can....but then you really truly honestly....can't;
can't you imagine spilling your guts and being so politically INcorrect that they have no choice but to look and stare and say "oh my";

i guess what this jumbled mess of similies and subtelties and (un)certainties points to is that feeling when you feel so dead inside that when things break down, CRaSh, and buRN, you realize that a long time ago you stopped forgetting to care and...and maybe it's time to remember.
when you're fighting, pushing, playing that tug-of-war of wills and pride and who can spit the meanest s*** and all you, I, can think is i'm so tired and trying to cry with a depleted supply of emotion tears
how many times can a human heart (love?) be twisted, tested, cheated, betrayed and abused, before it stops hurting, stops threatening to tear them (me) apart and just keeps on beating with the same thud-thud...thud-thud it had before you even knew about that fanciful fascination in the art of feeling



how long can you fake it

Hundred Proof

burnt flower petals

, severed family bow-tie

, holding stick ups

in the form of date rape drugs

; black eyes for the last life

, tear gas ducts full of

salted seas

, soiled soil with no laments

--a threnody in what we say

past times

and last lives

; shattered for the first times

and this was the fresh fallen powder

marching through april weather

--we fit inside the same sweater

stretched to strangle the 

inventor.

Broken glass

and outside my window

is the awful depiction of you

and all i see is

truth. 

i've been spending my nights

in brightless lamplight

writing the suffixes of vampires

bleeding for the starving writers

who know not their desires

but what death

inspires

.

i'll die of T.B.

and you'll live on without me

.

welcome one and all

to my co-dependency

; i break safety sun-glasses

with the poise and passion

of the rebel football team

go ahead--step to me

, i've got a scalpel

and flesh as soft as precious metal.

Staple brains shut

stable veins touch

on the matter of fact

tap into the right picket front line of

defense

it's a homeland security breech

spies are on my mail

and

everything i write

is

translated

to braille.

insufficient funds

to replace

my fun

; i drink up to one-hundred-and-fifty bullet proof

in attempt to school

and drink

to you

under

the table you 

just

can't consume

.

rap right

and you'll

never

see the

light

.

~Touch what you think about. overstand homie?

piss off,

Digress.

I promise I didn't realize the connotations of this until after my professor read it out loud..

We played "telephone" in a class of about 18. My professor gave us a sentence of the first line of a poem. As it progressed, we came up with the fifth line of the poem. Much different from the first. Anyways, we used some sound in the poem and this is what, unfortunately, I innocently came up with. And I turned bright read after he proclaimed me "the best erotica writer he's ever had."

Untitled

Take stock of the rail yard and the smoldering sagebrush
Instead of pounding down ale after a game of frisbee;
So drunk the Grandfather clock fails to warn the men of the blushing
Young tart nearing an orchard to bring the boys something hairy and free
Tick-tock eating a peach, hanging in a tree.

God?

My Religion has failed me.
No longer am I a dropdowntomykneesinthemiddleofchurch kind of person.
Praying has seemed like a waste of time.
Theory states: one clings to ones religion because of needs; most common,
love.
Theory states: one who has no self confidence tends to cling to religion;
Theory states: we are religios because we are fearful, this is how we manage
terror.
Terror management. Like AA but you aren't drinkin.
So there for I question my "religion",
I believe, but I don't.
Now, doesnt the Bible say that or something along the lines of;
if you tell Him your hearts desires and whatnot, they shall be given to you?
Well i'm pretty sure that he knows;
then why in hell have I not gotten any of them?
Combat;
you could go in a believer and come out not...because if God is sooooo good, then why are you there in the first place? Why did he send you there? Why cant he protect the people that are dying right infront of you?
you could however go in not believing in a higher power, and become a walktothefrontofthealterandraiseyourhandstotheskyfornoreason kind of person.
Who am I to say?
I dont know whats real.
But believer I am no longer anymore.

Worth

The concrete pulls down hard on my deep breaths
inhaling violent smoke rings, lit by the pit of
an olive in my stomach

Ripped journals contain quotes of a time when
lilies floated on the neck of a wine bottle; a game of Twister with only dots
of red, striped sheets

But underneath the staff you hold, I cannot manifest how
my badge became so tarnished with spaghetti sauce
after an overheated attempt at cooking.

Worth

The concrete pulls down hard on my deep breaths
inhaling violent smoke rings, lit by the pit of
an olive in my stomach

Ripped journals contain quotes of a time when
lilies floated on the neck of a wine bottle; a game of Twister with only dots
of red, striped sheets

But underneath the staff you hold, I cannot manifest how
my badge became so tarnished with spaghetti sauce
after an overheated attempt at cooking.