i miss them more when they leave first
an upper hand against me
never
even the ones i don't know
they hold the heaviest longing
i feel like i could be alive again
or at least myself, who i had never thought of losing

back to the fickleness of nights
everything will die down outside
and within me be so terrifying
changing bad habits
into worse ones
letting the days go
and giving up
my sidewalk on the face, just staring
i'm tired of the baths and thebooze
cigarettes because even if i lost myself
at least that would be something

i don't know you. i don't know what's going on. i only recognize my own familiar ache that has lost its original contact. and the empty, confused nights of substance abuse. i have no idea where i am. idontknowwhatsgoingon.

misplaced inhibitions
a milky muttering fills the space behind
my head, so lost and soft
secretly stark naked in the dark
drinking quickly on accident
eating vertebra
like so many moments
always out of place and shrill
i am getting to the point where
i cannot stand my own processes
or anyone else's
while the flashing lights
make memories i feel are already dead.
can't help it
still shots for wild animals
don't mean much to me
when are we not so wild
it seems everyone is aching to live
prey and capture
i'm not sure what that means actually
for me either, unmemorable
but always aching too
it makes me want god so badly
something to take me
out of dissatisfaction and substance
or to have strip mall babies
or a forest to live in
the dirt will eat me up
all the books will end somewhere
the sounds will stop
and breath forgotten

the differences between this day and that day aren't at all substantial. with the oncoming winter i am slowly saying goodbye to most everyone. but it's always my secret. i watch them from car windows and empty lots as they pass by oblivious. being sick of constantly questioning what the fuck is with you. makes me question myself, and i don't care to do that. not at all. i'll only keep the ones who sit around my table gladly laughing enjoyably eating when i've made a meal for them. we put on french records. and i resent your distaste for eggs. i'm finished. done. i don't have the tolerance within me. quiet stormy eyed sleepiest of sleepers. i'm in it for the long haul. i've got no one to keep well. no one to fill me full of semen. or spill it on someone else's sheets. i don't like the smell of it. a hard head. be quiet, i'm thinking.

at almost three in the morning we are eating turkey with white wine and watching movies. i can see my breath in the room. but we won't turn the heat on. it's a test. and poverty. i like to be challenged, which is why i plan on becoming a farmer next summer. i want to work the land. wake up at five. in the morning. and watch the sun rise. plow and sew seeds. bake bread and eat eggs. become taught and tanned. glisten. that is exactly what i want. in the northeast by the ocean.

you are never forgotten in the night time
as i dizzily drink up the tomatoes
the night is beastly and as much as i
try so very hard to subject myself to drunkenness
it remains night
just as day is day and always inevitably so

i fall asleep to the realities that aren't my own
i take myself somewhere else during consciousness
only to be abruptly brought back by the belligerent bellows
of people i only know for now
and will soon forget these instances in which we corresponded
too bad or something

the fact that everyone is trying too hard
make me want to break my skin
and bones away
from everything that is the world
but where
does one go
to do such things i wonder most times

there is here and now
the pointless ramblings
the handsome men
there is here and now
but these two things are overlooked by all
the fanciful ideas of whatever might be

so everything is irrelevant in the end.
always and forever negating itself
and we're always only trying