baptism by fire.

you're the light that reflects off of the grit in my teeth
as I chew on the sand that lies underneath
I swear it's my mission to swallow this whole
the streets and the beach and my neighbor's souls

the clock hand has eyes and they cry for me
here it comes
pulling out individual hairs like a science project
I must be finished by now
so walk past me, I'll follow gravity
tense up for the impact
here it comes
soon I'll smell of grease, money and bitterness
and you'll just look like gold
and taste as old

in the bedroom of someone's home, who let me in?
wash my hands
you're all so much in love
it all ends
plug in, I've got one night and I'm not showering
soon I'll smell of whiskey and amnesia
and you'll still look like gold
and taste as old

concentrate, for the lesson is in the lanterns
that we light to lead the way
you, beautiful fuel
you're my worst navigator
never again will I let the darkness lead me astray
the light is the saboteur
a l'outrance

I hope you die of sunburn, my love

skulls on pigs.

In the corner; the man with the typewriter
constantly fixing his hair
eyes escaping up, trying to dart back and forth, only to be escorted back down
collections of secrets all over and inside his body
lost in detail and anonymity
magazines he has never read
conversations he will never have, already strategized
written down like word pornography

shades pulled together to the point where they are overlapping, like it would make a difference and the volume of the television barely audible in case he listens
saved missives from god knows how long ago
clothes he will never wear again folded perfectly
each hidden tattoo a reminder of a mistake in his life,
and the curious outfit he wears barely hiding them all

The people that proclaim loudly that they don't care what anyone thinks of them are the people that care the most. Crumples it up and throws it away.

I hear it's snowing in Houston today.
curious.

what is never said.

when the terrible planets align, I'll be nowhere to be found
as if her name was Militia and she brought a war to town

and what sort of dance is this, angel?
is this sort of destruction beautiful to you? I've pushed the line before
I've had the oxygen mask on
I've designed my own headstone with clay that melts in the rain
but you're not even a murderer. at least they have goals.

it's coming so I starve
I keep the phone lines open and my vein lines open
we are
a mailbox in front of a long-abandoned home
because you haunted away the residents
and I didn't care enough to stop you

(the crowd begins to loudly whisper to each other)
so stay on guard for Militia
because she's beautiful and she's deadly and she's on her way

ode to oxycodone.

codeines and chemicals, synthetic and natural alike
we don milligram smiles
walk out the itchiness like we’re shaking off fatigue
senses sharper, thought processes stronger
these are God pills.

like my veins are taking a hot, steamy shower
like I’m somehow becoming more than what I am
meta-human indeed
I talk like I move, I write like I talk, I move like I write
nerve endings can dance!
there’s music playing in the illegal Speakeasy’s in my body, and we’re all intoxicated in here, except the streets outside
read: the people playing out the roles in my life.
they don’t know what goes on inside the building
as it builds up, my eyes almost roll over themselves.
they can hear the faint sounds of music and laughter
each of them might not know, but they know.
but from the curb, they are all involuntary curious glances
“he’s definitely got it together (cue laugh track).”

like if pins and needles were sexy
fingertips running slowly under my skin
I’m my own electric blanket, one that doesn’t smell like Grandma
she just provided me with the amber bottle

this is why junkies don’t fuck

immaculate, immaculate, immaculate.

(breathe)
As much as you’d like to impeach me
Righteous wind
Hope is too slippery to hold
Your fangs still show in your smile
A languished victim’s denial

I am a lightning strike.
I am your headlights in hell.

Close your eyes hard, little boy
The volume only goes louder
Brace yourself
The perfection storm is near
You can sketch out your route in the sand,
But it will be gone come sunrise.

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

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

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.]

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

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