Saturday, August 16, 2008

waycross, georgia at high noon.

we tend to poke sticks at gravel
flick light switches just to watch the world change
at best
we rub alcohol on our eyes and call it birth

I screamed at you, screaming
your face was on but your voice was off
across from the Ware Hotel I saw a room full of old, wet novels
daring me to live in its landscape

complacent life lines
the air is not yet stale enough
incompleted rail lines
our style is vacancy and we wear it well

Tuesday, July 22, 2008

broken rape whistle.

she muttered my old name and I was a hurricane
under her breath, words lay to rest
never again I told her
never again

I wore the clothes for a second and felt the wind bite
the gusts snapped like jaws clap
every passenger in the car could have felt the ground
each syllable explode

woman, your heart is the color of your hair
never again that name
I'm the rorschach weather pattern forever
board up the house

Tuesday, July 8, 2008

those are not cities anymore.

we've been redirected
I've cleaned my gunshot wounds with water from the river
they watched curiously from the shoreline across.
[I set rooftops afire.  When I look at the horizon I only see smoke and embers.  My wake has been devolving revolutions.  I see the vultures everywhere, hidden in costume.  Twitches, details, secrets only a river rat like me would know.  My silence is deafening in my own head.  I say nothing.  I say nothing.  I say nothing.]
we can rest here, for a second
but soon we'll have to move again so they don't...
and then my words were lost in my gaze to the east.
[Catching your breath is a game for the weak.  I've always had it, I just never knew.  I say nothing.  I practice the fine art of wincing in the light from the fires I started.  I'm sorry.  I'm so sorry.  I never knew it would be so bright.  The smell of sulfur will always be in my hair.] 
"Get Ready To Run."
we mutter that under our breaths at all hours
so that this will never happen again
[I've got these options, see.  I've got all these fucking pockets with nothing in them, screaming at me.  I am the cause of these smoke trees reaching far into the sky.  Find a new home.  Pieces scattered in the wind.  Transplant yourself.  Once, I even walked on the beach on a late evening until I found myself again and there were no gunshots and I said nothing but what I really meant was that I was sorry.]

Wednesday, May 7, 2008

how many more.

there were vultures in the sky, back east
wearing keys on chains
their shrill was my name the entire time I listened
I watched muscle get torn from bone
a voyeur to entropy
their movement but instinct
before I knew it, my hands and mouth were covered in blood
and I could still hear my name

Tuesday, May 6, 2008

finally.

So I entered and won a writing contest at my college, in the category of "poetry." Pretty cool, right? In addition to a cash prize, I'll be published in the school's next issue of Harmonia which is their on-campus writing publication. I know it's nothing huge, but it's a start.

The poem I entered was first seen on this blog, and it's right here.

Hello, Atmosphere

Monday, April 28, 2008

screaming out your name.

Sometimes, while reading a book, there's a sentence or paragraph that stands up and punches you in the gut. Sometimes, it perfectly encompasses so much of what you want to say to a certain person, or is able to describe what you are feeling or have felt, even more so than you ever could.

I give to you a piece of Craig Clevenger's "Dermaphoria."

"Somewhere there's a part of me that knows right from wrong. That part of me, lying gagged and bound in my mental basement, still has enough breath to whisper out through a spit-soaked gag that I should be protecting you, that if I fail every test of decency known to man, the fallout shouldn't come to you, that you had nothing to do with any of it. If I'm half a man, I should make certain you never know otherwise. I wanted to protect you, and if that made you angry with me, if it meant your never knowing why, then so be it."

This isn't an excuse, just an explanation.

Thursday, April 24, 2008

the fearing.

the image is relentlessly flickering
her flesh, whiter than a ghost's bones, tangled in mine under fabric like armor against air conditioning
soft and sweet as marshmallow
free of clothing and fear
you, I felt your heartbeat once again and almost cried
and I showed you; I shed my old skin
you showed me you were open and I've never seen you smile so big
this was an emergency transfusion, a successful operation, we'd like to thank the surgeons involved, that sort of thing
fuck our volume
bathed in the silence afterwards
and yet now the image cuts in and out
should've taken a photograph so I can convince myself it happened
He needs to teach me to be patient, satiated, secure
(I'll sever my antennae)
I lost the trail back to my daily visual nightmares of what could be
or at least I hope that I did
stop the fearing

Saturday, March 29, 2008

torture.

so many thoughts swimming in my head right now.
such confusion, such fucking pain.
the outcome of this is going to take it's toll on me for years.
hoping for the best with every cell in my body.
knowing I should be preparing for the worst with the same.
I can't do anything right now but squirm in my seat.
I need to stay busy.
I need to get this out of my head.
It's not going to happen.

Wednesday, March 5, 2008

trying to stand straight during an earthquake.

I don't know how to explain it, but I'll try.

From my experiences in the past year, I honestly think something inside me snapped. I broke me. My mind is always playing tricks on me, and I'm either "on" or "off." It's a mission to even try to describe what your brain does when you have someone in your life that you've permanently labeled as one thing, and then they take the door off the hinges and cement bricks in its place. What you thought was always going to be one thing is now not, and I just don't think I'm adjusting the right way.

The best comparison I can make is when you break a bone, or a few bones, and instead of going to the doctor you let it heal by itself. But since you did not get them put back into position, they heal wrong and will now never be the same way, or the right way. I think this is what's happened to me emotionally and mentally. Some days I wake up in what could be described as a hole I just can't scrape myself out of; it's not even depression. You could call it worse, or just different.

When I think about her, I have at least ten different emotions going full speed. It's too much too fast, and so I find myself not thinking about her at all. At least one day a week I find myself in a vicious bout of self-doubt, or I'm experiencing wave after wave of a feeling of worthlessness I've never experienced before. I find myself wanting to call everyone I'm closest to and just begging them to repeat to me over and over that everything's going to be okay, that I'm not a bad person, and that I did all I could. I guess that's what regret of this caliber does to you. I'm an emotional person, I've known this for about as long as I've been self-aware. I just hope that I can still function normally. People throw around phrases like "I'm losing it" or "I'm going nuts" very easily, but for once I'm relating to those phrases and it's scary.

Since I've been home I've grown by leaps and bounds. I've lost a shitload of weight and I'm eating healthier than I ever have before, I'm going to therapy, I'm back in school and getting amazing grades, and soon I'll be working 7 days a week and getting my own store again at VW. I'm more social now than I ever was before I moved, and I feel like I'm getting a lot accomplished and I'm moving forward. Yet at the same time, I feel like my grasp on everything is slipping, slowly but surely. Maybe I'm juggling too much or in denial about the emotions I have yet to fully come to terms with. I don't know. I don't know about anything anymore.

I had the biggest rug in the world pulled out from under me. You'd be out of balance too.

Friday, February 22, 2008

this will be an acoustic.

If regrets were reflections, I'd be a parking lot
though I've paused my transgressions for fear that I've got
something more than life's lessons wrapped in a colored bow
I'm worth more than that peasant but now you'll never know
through chemical, through machine
through experience or dream
I came out without you but at least I came out clean
I know the meaning of love, I just forgot how
too obsessed with notions that we've had a drought
but who became traitor to all that they promised?
who threw in the towel and became dishonest?

to be continued, forever.

Monday, February 18, 2008

memory needles.

there's a constant rainstorm in my head
I buried her a week ago
every cold gust of wind makes me feel alive
and everything else doesn't

the days are now just dominoes to push over
nothing feels right, just familiar
I sleep on memory needles
and I'm weighed down by boulders

may I make it through one more year
you can bury me next to her
although she wouldn't want me there
the earth will hold my wishes

the pain is immeasurable in words
say what you will about my honesty
she's still out there somewhere, in the ground
happier than she was with me

I sleep on memory needles
they're poisoned with regret that never ends
I swear to god I'm dying inside
so bury me next to my love

there's only emotionless action now
the end result is my own doing
I took the one thing that mattered most
and I strangled it with my bare hands

Thursday, January 17, 2008

discotheque.

your pages of illegible chickenscratch brain vomit
sit in my skull;
it produces nothing so I take a match to it

dance away the memories in a quiet room
invisible bass beats and hand claps
the rhythm is our daughter
in a church made of flame and nerve endings

staccato speech, staccato notes
you conduct the worst orchestra in history
and you do it with such grace
I'm still dancing as my murder takes place

the crescendo of the symphony is your blade
it kisses my spine and he laughs out loud;
covers his mouth with his hand

you can have your pages of lies back
I won't need them in hell
and neither will you

Friday, January 11, 2008

I'm falsetto; deal.

I'll make you believe
I'm a muse for people with nothing left but themselves
a new drop of water in a bucket of old water
temporary ripples
you'll soon find out
I'm nothing but a source
I'll make you stop believing
because I've stopped and it's your all of your faults
there are sheets in front of me to make my silhouette look breathtaking
and I can't ever hear you
you'll soon find out, love
I'm a few short and just in pieces forever
how dare you all for giving me doubt
how dare you
when you feel what I know you're going to feel, call me
I will pick up

Wednesday, January 2, 2008

mushroomclouding.

when their voices carry through your airwaves
when you hum and sing along
(the day to day routine)
the compilations created for your consumption
aural sex
when you hum and sing along,
do you think of me?
(the source of your modernistic influences)
do you impress your newest leech;
the Yes Man embodied
how cultured and eclectic you are.

My how we've devolved
when you turn on your radio, remember
you're no longer worthy for their voices in your airwaves
bloodsucker
you'll be filled with the hollow of the Yes Man's aural sex
(you'll be filled with the hollow)
false motives can't ever feel as good
as well-written songs
compiled from the heart

(my ears are open and my eyes are open again)