[you obviously have no fucking clue.

i was talking about myself.

distain for my own person.

no one else.]




little to anyone's knowledge, she could consistently be found hiding in her closet. drunk. crying and whispering to her self. wondering who else performed these unpleasant rituals. hoping that no one did. because no one deserves that kind of psychological punishment. whether or not this was a self-inflicted ordeal was questionable. maybe if she hadn't had all that wine. then again, this may be a necessary culmination of events. a sort of outlet, rarely achieved because we've told ourselves to keep quiet so very often. it being supposedly easier that way. so whether or not this instance was her "fault" becomes irrelevant. the poor dear. she just sat there. in that closet. telling her self, "well, i always thought you were pretty," and "why doesn't anyone want in?" over and over again, until the simple phrases just became rhythmic sounds echoing in small places that no one would ever hear. not in real life. not as it truly was when it happened. and when manifesting tears became too exhausting, she took to staring up at the little pull rope light switch or whatever it would be called. it swayed slightly. her mouth and eyes half open. a memorable perspective. then came sleep.

went to bed with wet hair
now i itch all over
wondering how many times i've fallen
asleep in the bath
secretly hoping something bad happens.
at the same time,
it's a nice place to fall asleep.
and would be a pleasant way to go.

it's not you. it's me.
it's not you. it's me.
it's not you. it's me.
it's not you. it's me.
it's not you. it's me.
it's not you. it's me?


i'll lose my eyes
put them out
burnt by smokes and useless
i dropped my pen twice
my ovaries hurt
and your back is beautiful
always thought i had cat's eyes
they see to much and nothing
soon it'll be fire. fire.
oh. shit. i thought we'd fixed it.
i always think that.
write about it erratically.
where is everyone
do you know where i am
please let me know
don't stop that song. it's too nice.
i've taken to pulling out my hair again.
i need to drink faster. think slower.
that's the ticket.
badly is a word. it is. to me.
let's look it up. shall we?
well, it's not there. in that book.
i don't think people like to flirt
in public places
because they secretly want to keep
their options open. what. yeah. i think that.
photographs. photographs. photographs.


we lick our sores
our cuts and bruises
to clean them out
or at least perform
some ritual.

all the nights i couldn't sleep without you.

kites will get caught in trees
so i'll stand taller. be a better man.
revitalized on windy days
despite the difficulties of folding papers
where everyone is trying so hard to stay alive
except the pope. wonder why.
while our president is oh so clever.
how true. how nice.

i'm glad i didn't lie down
take two naps on a nice day
the end of march
something about madness




in the future, golf
courses will be made
out of metal.
kids will play
in plastic boxes.
they already do.
oh yeah.
i hope the trees
come to life.
kill us all.
eat us up
like sandwiches.
fleece makes me
suicidal.
i mean that.



i used to take too much comfort
in other people. now i find
i spend too much time alone,
convincing myself i'm all i'll ever need.
i only half believe that.
i'll always have the music.
and the oral pacification of squares.
i'm gonna swing and smoke.



there it go.




+