I know nothing, but, I’m still elated.

The urge to tell you that I love you is beyond reason. I can’t help but wonder if I really do.

Or if, I just have this urge. I have it in similar tones for other ways of my life.

But in you, the urge faces ambiguities so vast, it knows that it is probably not love.

Tempered and trusted, it tries even harder to back away, to release all doubt, but it finds this hard. Who are you?

Do you have an urge, a similar dream holding the leash where the collar closes around your sternum?

Do you trip over the lead when you run? When have you ever just inspected its resistance to slower speeds?

Does it ever occur to you to bother with what remains after your actions, the imposed reliance, the figured out anomalies?

I can for sure say that you know nothing, not everything at all. Truth is a flattering concept, to the starving urges of our minds, but it’s supple eyes and witty complexion is not so true. No matter it’s opinion.

Or yours, for that matter, or mine. We all just ogle the mannerisms of that informality anyway, and hope for results.

Who’s despondent lecture then, will we amount to be brave enough to question once we all confound these reasons? When? Will we never forget that our remnants are never sought for by the lack of urge?

We are all curious, we all know this. So why try and lie so inconspicuously, then?We know there’s no reason to.


Fuck You, Dad.

I will never be like him.

I don’t want to, I don’t need to.

He was the evil he still is.

He burns my throat like pills:

The fabric he rips open leads to frills,

Open heart surgery at best,

I don’t have his disease

Just because our humors are similar,

Our mannerisms,

Our hobbies,

Our difficulties are similar.

I won’t be the sick joke I’m afraid to tell him.

I won’t live in the hell he lives in.


I wonder how long I’ve lived so lacking.

Of the metal in my blood.

The metal that a woman was once named,

Who lifted a nation brisk and poised.

Dearly, has it made me this weakness?

Has my stress of strength been my own proposal

Of doubt?

How do you favor so much further and

Brighter, so clean and conspicuous,

So feeble and wasted on your own arrogance?

Why can’t I have that chastised heart,

That ample love undone?

You walk and you wait,

The iron in your veins.

And not in mine.


The wires in your skin are so taut.

I could make music

If I tried.

Your words charmingly burn my

Finger petals,

Harmless roses, paralyzed.

Whether you fathom me or not,

I’m aware of

The ill will that you’ve got

Fermenating in the still

Above your lips.

I hate

The idea of becoming addicted to

That slop.

Watching porcelain crack;

Feeling every day like a frayed relapse.

I’m not alone in the weird game,

I’m fighting all of my own pain.


Let myself and its abhorrent idealism go.

I’ll be thankful once I know

A world beyond you.

My Computer Is Broken.

I feel at a mercy to your kindness.

I feel bound by your love.

Its the digging of your pleasantness,

The endless ropes around my wrists.

What have I done?

Nothing but be me, you say,

As you admire the slashes on my lungs.

I put them there.

Why, you ask.

I don’t know. It never occurred to me

To patronize my fear for being.

As you are so doing to me?

You regret your remark and try to love me.

I wait for you to leave.

I can’t wait for you to go.

You’re the scariest dream.

The whitest light at the end of the tunnel,

And I can’t help but think,

This will never help me.

What I know is the answer to every question.

I’m not meant to love them.

Know their saintly curves

And above them.

You thief.

You are no longer meaningful to me.

Shit on my thoughts and call me crazy!

Great job, sport.

Now wrap up your game,

Stop wiping your spit on your penis,

Because I’m done.


Fuck you, fuck this.