Home Again
Lifes all about
dying
like car batteries.
Lifes all about
cumming-
Love Making-
Open Mouth Kissing.
Lifes all about
taking shit
and/or
giving life.
Lucky to feel my guts
Knotted and stretched,
Lucky to have breath to loose.
O so lucky
to not give a fuck.
Deep breaths help me fall
Deep in love
With anger.
Deep as tombs may go,
Deep as you want them to.
Winter midnight
screams high pitched wind.
Not getting laid-drive-thru happiness-flavored ale-
my moms sweet side of the family,
makes a hell of a home.
If my car would start,
it would be good
to get
away.
Spinning
My surge protector
Hums
Still you can only buy
One of mine
And 2
Of his
Illness
My lowest cost of ownership
Streets are flooded
Thousands have left town
The newscaster is frightened
Low of 52
Not that cold
Fucked for life.
SO MANY THINGS
So angry, sex makes my stomach ache,
Flavorless skin,
The most suspicious lover in the world:
Wants to be pinned to the wall.
Wants to take it all to the next level.
Thinks she’s worth more than gold,
Or peace on earth for that matter.
Shivering in my sweats,
Spitting on my own floor,
Removing layers of face,
Seeing whatever’s under the skin,
On the mind.
It’s all truth in there.
This makes the lies more real,
They gush from the ground like worms, after rain,
Everybody is a modern bullshit artist,
Some starving,
Some fat as pigs,
Some write hits,
Some kill themselves.
Quitters.
Idiots.
Madmen.
Dolls.
Why give good karma bad head?
I’ll tell you why.
Love is a pudgy bitch,
She leaves no tip,
Chomping,
Crumbs falling from her chin
Like bombs of lust,
Leveling cities,
So many civilians.
Bones of rubble-
Cuddle
Cuddle.
Sunday, December 28, 2008
Friday, October 17, 2008
2 poems from "Bloody Nose" (my next collection) which is close to being done
Eating my Words
While trying to conjure up
my soul,
I chomp on Fries
Meat
and bread.
I've had many writing blocks,
enough to build a toy mountain.
I put all the blocks together,
It takes 500 years,
of sweat,
and blood,
and death.
Words come out
like sludgy, red, ketchup
from the packet,
soaking
on a cardboard tray.
My words feel small,
smaller than grains of salt
and pepper.
I eat my words and they digest slow as a slug grazing on a damp porch.
Polo,
If you could only keep a fucking secret
we could break our wrists
on wooden head boards.
if you were more animal than human
we could fuck like hammers.
If you had the slightest idea
the cat would claw its way out of the bag.
Since there's so much more you want to know
i'll keep it until you're good
and dead.
Love,
Marco
While trying to conjure up
my soul,
I chomp on Fries
Meat
and bread.
I've had many writing blocks,
enough to build a toy mountain.
I put all the blocks together,
It takes 500 years,
of sweat,
and blood,
and death.
Words come out
like sludgy, red, ketchup
from the packet,
soaking
on a cardboard tray.
My words feel small,
smaller than grains of salt
and pepper.
I eat my words and they digest slow as a slug grazing on a damp porch.
Polo,
If you could only keep a fucking secret
we could break our wrists
on wooden head boards.
if you were more animal than human
we could fuck like hammers.
If you had the slightest idea
the cat would claw its way out of the bag.
Since there's so much more you want to know
i'll keep it until you're good
and dead.
Love,
Marco
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Some Poems That Grew Out Of My Forehead
Things I didn’t mention
Total summer,
Skimpy flirting,
Burned trees,
Nature walks,
And
Your lips
Brushing my neck
Like teeth.
I relax like
Long waves
Of breath.
I sleep like
Short stories
About death.
Or
Long
Ones.
Long time no see.
Still love me?
I’m not even turned on
By my turn-ons
Anymore.
I’m like stitches
Inside of the mouth,
Infected
BloodSHOT
Poltergeist.
20$
tattoo.
75$
parking ticket.
Parts of you in me
Peeling memories of you
From my heels
In slabs of
Dead skin.
Chewing chunks
Of your hair
In my sleep.
Bleeding you
From the corners
Of my
Short, short
Nails.
Bad Idea
Sickly stomach limping
Celebrity
Gets all the girls,
Then
Hurls.
Off the balcony,
In front of the truck.
I let a smoker drive my car.
I am definitely not myself.
I am sad,
Beer virus,
Hangover holidaze,
So drunk
You take a shit on the
Chandelier.
Pull out your big trunk and wave it
At the lady elephants.
Total summer,
Skimpy flirting,
Burned trees,
Nature walks,
And
Your lips
Brushing my neck
Like teeth.
I relax like
Long waves
Of breath.
I sleep like
Short stories
About death.
Or
Long
Ones.
Long time no see.
Still love me?
I’m not even turned on
By my turn-ons
Anymore.
I’m like stitches
Inside of the mouth,
Infected
BloodSHOT
Poltergeist.
20$
tattoo.
75$
parking ticket.
Parts of you in me
Peeling memories of you
From my heels
In slabs of
Dead skin.
Chewing chunks
Of your hair
In my sleep.
Bleeding you
From the corners
Of my
Short, short
Nails.
Bad Idea
Sickly stomach limping
Celebrity
Gets all the girls,
Then
Hurls.
Off the balcony,
In front of the truck.
I let a smoker drive my car.
I am definitely not myself.
I am sad,
Beer virus,
Hangover holidaze,
So drunk
You take a shit on the
Chandelier.
Pull out your big trunk and wave it
At the lady elephants.
Friday, August 15, 2008
poem puke + a short story
Silly Biker, Pets are for Kids
By James Watson
Me and Lucas were wandering around in the humid summer weather. We were doing our number one favorite outside activity, which happened to be stopping at the end of every driveway in the neighborhood, and checking in their storm gutters for tadpoles. Tadpoles used to entertain us for days. We would catch them in plastic cups and try raising them until they were full-grown adult frogs. Little did we know that it took as long as 2 months for the tiny amphibian to even sprout legs, and that was far too long for any 9 year old to wait. So what usually happened is they would stay in the same cups we caught them in, and would be left in the dark garage with nowhere to swim. By the next day we would be out on the streets deep in the storm gutters with our eyes wide open hoping to find a tiny tadpole.
Today was especially hot. Lucas and I discussed how we needed to get out of the sun and into town, we were thinking about going to the bakery inside of Publix and getting a free cookie. That was obviously a great idea; all my body needed was a good sugar rush and a trip to the water fountain. We walked the long walk through the neighborhood and ended up behind ‘ROOSTERS!’ Bar and Grill. A pretty good place that had a kid’s night in which a clown named ‘Applejack’ would do magic tricks and make balloons in the shape of safari animals like giraffes, lions, and monkeys. I liked that place a lot; it was located next to the Publix, a Little Ceaser, and a pet shop. Whenever I was in town I had to stop in the pet shop, seeing as that was where my mom and I got Piezo and Moochie, my two cats. I always stopped in there to see if they had brothers and sisters.
Luke and me got drinks from the water fountain and free cookies then; of course, we went to the pet shop. This pet shop was family owned and pretty small. The only people I ever saw in there were an older girl maybe 13 years old and a grandma. This particular time the girl was in the front, behind the counter, reading a book and the grandma was nowhere to be found. I always made my way around to the cats first, then the birds, and the spiders, scorpions, and snakes, last. I turned the corner and saw the snake tanks brightly lit up with heat lamps laying on top of them. There was a biker dude standing in front them wearing a big black leather jacket and tight black jeans. His hair was pretty long, about down to his shoulders, and was ultra thin and greasy. He was staring at this one snake like he had never seen one before.
I ran over to the tanks and started checking out the tarantula, I always looked at him first, he was definitely the biggest spider I could get ultra close to, and that alone made him my favorite. I really liked spooky creatures. Lucas came up behind me shortly after and marveled at the spider as well. I caught the biker dude in the corner of my eye putting his hand in the snake tank he was staring at.
Since I had never seen anyone touch the animals besides the girl or the grandma I blurted out, “You work here?” to the greasy man.
“NO.”, he said and picked up the snake.
The snake was coiled in a ball and looked like it was asleep; he lifted it out of the tank and placed it in his side pocket. He then turned around and strolled down the dog leash aisle. I didn’t think much of it, I figured he was buying the snake, he was a biker. I looked at the scorpion next then heard the door to the store slam. The door always made a loud slam at that store, I looked up through and saw the biker walking to the parking lot, but it didn’t look like he had bought the snake. I thought that was weird because whenever I wanted to touch the animals I wasn’t aloud and that dude can just put the animals in his pockets and walk around for a while. I asked Luke if he thought the guy took the snake or not, he didn’t know. I told him I was gonna ask the girl who he was and tell her about the snake anyway.
When I told the girl she made me promise I wasn’t lying because the biker guy was still in the parking lot just hanging around his motorcycle. He had lit a cigarette and was circling his bike smoking it. I told her to check out the tank, it was empty and there was supposed to be a Baby Ball Python that was in it. I made note of the snakes name on the way to the register. She then phoned the police, and thanked us. Lucas and I then left the pet shop and headed back through the town, which was getting a bit cooler now that the sun was going down.
The next day in the newspaper there was an article “Two Brave Students Stop Snake Bandit”. My father brought it to my attention seeing as right when I got home I told him all about it. It was a small little article and it didn’t give out names, which was good because I was afraid he might one day find me and murder me while I am playing with the tadpoles on the side of the road. These ideas came to mind simply because my mother loved watching unsolved mysteries of course.
Pink Swan
She knows how to roll a blunt,
Street smart.
Her shits gonna get thrown in the hallway.
Leon,
Doesn’t take shit.
Oh well.
Sensitive Beach Sand Skin
You sensitive girl
You freeze quicker than you burn
You want to make love,
To touch everything,
The organs
The heart
Lungs
smooth skin.
Sheets greet
Your bare spine
And leave finger prints there…
It really does a number
On you.
Your hands
turn into thin seaweed.
Your toes
Become sand.
And your body washes away
Like stains
And
Shells.
THE JOKER
Where is the orange lighter?
Where is Jack Nicohlson?
No more THC for me.
My hearts twitching.
My skins itching.
Creepy crawling.
Rotating weightlessly…
Blah blah blah
By James Watson
Me and Lucas were wandering around in the humid summer weather. We were doing our number one favorite outside activity, which happened to be stopping at the end of every driveway in the neighborhood, and checking in their storm gutters for tadpoles. Tadpoles used to entertain us for days. We would catch them in plastic cups and try raising them until they were full-grown adult frogs. Little did we know that it took as long as 2 months for the tiny amphibian to even sprout legs, and that was far too long for any 9 year old to wait. So what usually happened is they would stay in the same cups we caught them in, and would be left in the dark garage with nowhere to swim. By the next day we would be out on the streets deep in the storm gutters with our eyes wide open hoping to find a tiny tadpole.
Today was especially hot. Lucas and I discussed how we needed to get out of the sun and into town, we were thinking about going to the bakery inside of Publix and getting a free cookie. That was obviously a great idea; all my body needed was a good sugar rush and a trip to the water fountain. We walked the long walk through the neighborhood and ended up behind ‘ROOSTERS!’ Bar and Grill. A pretty good place that had a kid’s night in which a clown named ‘Applejack’ would do magic tricks and make balloons in the shape of safari animals like giraffes, lions, and monkeys. I liked that place a lot; it was located next to the Publix, a Little Ceaser, and a pet shop. Whenever I was in town I had to stop in the pet shop, seeing as that was where my mom and I got Piezo and Moochie, my two cats. I always stopped in there to see if they had brothers and sisters.
Luke and me got drinks from the water fountain and free cookies then; of course, we went to the pet shop. This pet shop was family owned and pretty small. The only people I ever saw in there were an older girl maybe 13 years old and a grandma. This particular time the girl was in the front, behind the counter, reading a book and the grandma was nowhere to be found. I always made my way around to the cats first, then the birds, and the spiders, scorpions, and snakes, last. I turned the corner and saw the snake tanks brightly lit up with heat lamps laying on top of them. There was a biker dude standing in front them wearing a big black leather jacket and tight black jeans. His hair was pretty long, about down to his shoulders, and was ultra thin and greasy. He was staring at this one snake like he had never seen one before.
I ran over to the tanks and started checking out the tarantula, I always looked at him first, he was definitely the biggest spider I could get ultra close to, and that alone made him my favorite. I really liked spooky creatures. Lucas came up behind me shortly after and marveled at the spider as well. I caught the biker dude in the corner of my eye putting his hand in the snake tank he was staring at.
Since I had never seen anyone touch the animals besides the girl or the grandma I blurted out, “You work here?” to the greasy man.
“NO.”, he said and picked up the snake.
The snake was coiled in a ball and looked like it was asleep; he lifted it out of the tank and placed it in his side pocket. He then turned around and strolled down the dog leash aisle. I didn’t think much of it, I figured he was buying the snake, he was a biker. I looked at the scorpion next then heard the door to the store slam. The door always made a loud slam at that store, I looked up through and saw the biker walking to the parking lot, but it didn’t look like he had bought the snake. I thought that was weird because whenever I wanted to touch the animals I wasn’t aloud and that dude can just put the animals in his pockets and walk around for a while. I asked Luke if he thought the guy took the snake or not, he didn’t know. I told him I was gonna ask the girl who he was and tell her about the snake anyway.
When I told the girl she made me promise I wasn’t lying because the biker guy was still in the parking lot just hanging around his motorcycle. He had lit a cigarette and was circling his bike smoking it. I told her to check out the tank, it was empty and there was supposed to be a Baby Ball Python that was in it. I made note of the snakes name on the way to the register. She then phoned the police, and thanked us. Lucas and I then left the pet shop and headed back through the town, which was getting a bit cooler now that the sun was going down.
The next day in the newspaper there was an article “Two Brave Students Stop Snake Bandit”. My father brought it to my attention seeing as right when I got home I told him all about it. It was a small little article and it didn’t give out names, which was good because I was afraid he might one day find me and murder me while I am playing with the tadpoles on the side of the road. These ideas came to mind simply because my mother loved watching unsolved mysteries of course.
Pink Swan
She knows how to roll a blunt,
Street smart.
Her shits gonna get thrown in the hallway.
Leon,
Doesn’t take shit.
Oh well.
Sensitive Beach Sand Skin
You sensitive girl
You freeze quicker than you burn
You want to make love,
To touch everything,
The organs
The heart
Lungs
smooth skin.
Sheets greet
Your bare spine
And leave finger prints there…
It really does a number
On you.
Your hands
turn into thin seaweed.
Your toes
Become sand.
And your body washes away
Like stains
And
Shells.
THE JOKER
Where is the orange lighter?
Where is Jack Nicohlson?
No more THC for me.
My hearts twitching.
My skins itching.
Creepy crawling.
Rotating weightlessly…
Blah blah blah
Friday, August 8, 2008
Garcia Vega
I am harmless
like
baby powder.
fast food
makes my heart burn
like
a
Garcia Vega.
Tired-
my head hangs like a heavy ball
on a thin
string.
like
baby powder.
fast food
makes my heart burn
like
a
Garcia Vega.
Tired-
my head hangs like a heavy ball
on a thin
string.
ADDICTED TO HATE (in 3 sections)
Addicted to Hate
I figured it out,
Call me all knowing,
“If you could just see the positive side of thi-“
Positive side?
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA…
I am addicted to hate,
It is that simple.
The traffic jam, the hangover, the family, the job, money, sex, ex’s, stomach pain, mosquito bite, below zero, over 90, college, sicknesses, industry…
My body bathes in HATE.
I’m no racist,
I’ll pat myself on the shoulder.
*
When my mother cries
The hate becomes
Visible
You can see it in
My hair,
Knuckles,
Eyes,
Mouth,
Teeth,
Each fucking molar.
She is beautiful
And she says
I use her
For a room to sleep in
And cheap thrills
Like movies
And pot.
To be honest
I know no other
To use for
Creature comforts
It only seems right.
*
It may be women
In general
Who get to thinking
I use them.
Or is it
Just…
BRAINS
If I said money was the root,
Cut out my tongue.
I must be a drunk
Shouting from the top of my eyelids.
I figured it out
It’s brains.
Brains made the money,
The money made the problems,
The problems are like cancer
They sleep and riddle
Everything
With death
And
Hate.
Brains
Talk about good and evil.
*
My mother
Is a superhero
I
Am a villain.
She wears sweat on her brow
And uses
Politeness
Potting soil
And
Perfection.
I use
Drugs,
Preservatives,
And…
ANGER
Hate is a good word
To describe how I feel about
Anger.
I drink anger through straws
And chew it
Like gum.
then spit
And anger is stuck on the bottom of my shoe.
Right under my nose.
*
In my mothers e-mail
She writes on all the things
She is unable to say.
And they hurt.
They hurt like a Hate crime.
And where they should make me feel sad.
I feel anger,
Because I Hate
Sadness.
I Hate it all
Just as much as
I Love…
Myself
I love myself
I am fucking handsome
Cooler than cool
And a genius to boot.
I am also full of shit
HAHAHAHAHAHA…
who isn’t
I don’t
Hate
Myself.
What good would that do
Except maybe
Make things easier to change
About
Myself
For everyone else.
I figured it out,
Call me all knowing,
“If you could just see the positive side of thi-“
Positive side?
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA…
I am addicted to hate,
It is that simple.
The traffic jam, the hangover, the family, the job, money, sex, ex’s, stomach pain, mosquito bite, below zero, over 90, college, sicknesses, industry…
My body bathes in HATE.
I’m no racist,
I’ll pat myself on the shoulder.
*
When my mother cries
The hate becomes
Visible
You can see it in
My hair,
Knuckles,
Eyes,
Mouth,
Teeth,
Each fucking molar.
She is beautiful
And she says
I use her
For a room to sleep in
And cheap thrills
Like movies
And pot.
To be honest
I know no other
To use for
Creature comforts
It only seems right.
*
It may be women
In general
Who get to thinking
I use them.
Or is it
Just…
BRAINS
If I said money was the root,
Cut out my tongue.
I must be a drunk
Shouting from the top of my eyelids.
I figured it out
It’s brains.
Brains made the money,
The money made the problems,
The problems are like cancer
They sleep and riddle
Everything
With death
And
Hate.
Brains
Talk about good and evil.
*
My mother
Is a superhero
I
Am a villain.
She wears sweat on her brow
And uses
Politeness
Potting soil
And
Perfection.
I use
Drugs,
Preservatives,
And…
ANGER
Hate is a good word
To describe how I feel about
Anger.
I drink anger through straws
And chew it
Like gum.
then spit
And anger is stuck on the bottom of my shoe.
Right under my nose.
*
In my mothers e-mail
She writes on all the things
She is unable to say.
And they hurt.
They hurt like a Hate crime.
And where they should make me feel sad.
I feel anger,
Because I Hate
Sadness.
I Hate it all
Just as much as
I Love…
Myself
I love myself
I am fucking handsome
Cooler than cool
And a genius to boot.
I am also full of shit
HAHAHAHAHAHA…
who isn’t
I don’t
Hate
Myself.
What good would that do
Except maybe
Make things easier to change
About
Myself
For everyone else.
Monday, July 28, 2008
Fangs & Graves
FANGS AND GRAVES
Crashing
Manda grabbed for my SEGA gamegear, I shoved her mousey digits away and continued smashing Dr. Robotnic’s hover craft. “Quit it! Brat.” I said, she whined. My father was flying his plane and telling us some childhood story.
“Then, Rosco grabbed the mit off my hand and buried it in the yard!” that’s about all I heard. We are on our way to Russia to have Christmas with grandma.
My mother was playing co-pilot, but she really had no idea what anything inside of the plane did. My father owned Cool-Air, an air conditioning company back on Long Island. His business did well, and he traveled a lot, it wasn’t often we all took trips together in his plane.
Dr. Robotnic was exploding; I was on my way to the next stage.
Suddenly my hands were thrown from the game and thrashed around violently. Loud piercing shrieks darted through my ears, I tried looking up, but the plane was skyrocketing toward the ground. All the weight inside was being thrown in opposite directions. A collage of my parents, my sister, and myself screaming and swirling sky stammered through me.
Sunset
When I woke up, I coughed very hard, and rubbed my eyes. I was still strapped into my seat. I jiggled my body around and got loose. The nose of the plane was pointed downward. My pack lay on the back of my fathers seat. I got free and slipped down next to father. His face was completely smashed in by a branch of a tree. I couldn’t speak, I couldn’t think. A breeze blew through the wreckage and I began to shiver. My mother was gone. Then I heard Manda start coughing. She was strapped in her baby seat, it had saved her. I saw her pack lying on the back of my mothers seat. We retrieved them and snuck out my mother’s side window into the snowy forest.
We stared down a snowy hill leaving the mangled aircraft behind us. I had no idea where to turn or look so I decided to look for the biggest tree I could find and would figure out how to get out of the freeze. Manda and I were gripping each other’s hands, tightly. “Jakey, it’s to cold.” She whined. I said nothing.
I hurried to construct an igloo, the sun was escaping. I learned in science class that igloos keep Eskimos pretty warm and that’s how they live in such cold places. Manda was crying, she wanted mom and dad. I told her they were coming, and that we just had to do this by ourselves for a while. She kept saying how cold she was.
“Look,” I bent down and put my hands on her shoulders, “I know it’s cold but we have nowhere to go right now, if we build this ice house we will be okay and people will find us soon.”
She was scared, so was I, as if lions and tigers and bears, OH MY, were lurking around each snow sheeted tree. I wasn’t concerned with any of the above, but I wouldn’t be surprised if wolves were somewhere in these woods. Our plane couldn’t of picked a harsher place to crash. With our parents dead, I had to work fast.
If God does exist and he’s almighty, and brought this upon me and my kindergarten sister, then he is a Fuck. We were supposed to be in Novgorod, visiting grandma playing with her dogs, drinking hot coco, telling stories, and having Christmas dinner.
I bunched up another hand full of snow and pack it in with the others. I finished our snow house and told Manda I would go in first to make sure it was sturdy and wouldn’t cave in on us.
“Come on in, its way nicer then outside!” I yelled.
Manda scurried in, her bright pink and green ski jacket illuminated the walls of the igloo like a watermelon being hit by the sun. She huddled close to me shivering.
“Still cold.” She said buried under my arm.
I didn’t blame her, I had found my pack in the debris, but not my jacket, all I had was a thin burgundy sweatshirt, khaki pants, and sneakers. None of which was cutting it.
There was only one blanket and it belonged to Manda. It was her baby blanket she had been clinging to since she was 2 years old. It was a royal blue color with pink flowers on it. We were lucky enough to find our packs in the debris of the plane. I figured tonight we’d sleep because the night was now heavy over us and being rescued was not going to happen.
Manda, bundled in her jacket with her blanket over her, was sound asleep. I was getting colder. This sweatshirt wasn’t cutting it; I felt was if my veins would frost over. I looked over at Manda and started thinking. She is sound asleep, I could take that blanket, I built the igloo, and I deserve it. If Manda ever found out I took that blanket she’d scream. She would scream until the wolves came and swallowed us whole.
I took it anyway. I couldn’t help my self.
The blanket provided little extra warmth, but enough that I could close my eyes and fall asleep.
Sunrise
A shiver startled me, and I awoke in a cold dome, half layered in snow, and a stiff thin cloth draped over me. I wrapped my hands around my arms and began to rub quickly. Manda was still asleep. I had no idea what time it was, but I could see it was daylight.
“Manda, we should get moving now.” I said in shivered, quivering speech.
She said nothing.
I moved closer to her body and pulled her pink hood back from her face, she was white washed, completely pale, lifeless. I brushed her ice crusted golden curls from her small cheeks.
Nothing.
I began to scream, “Manda, QUIT FOOLING AROUND!”
She kept fooling around.
I thought CPR, like on T.V. that has to work.
I pounded on her tiny chest, and poured my lungs out into hers. She didn’t need my lungs, she was frozen. She needed my blood that for some reason still flowed through my selfish veins. If she had her blanket, would it have saved her?
Why wasn’t I frozen to death?
I held her half-sized hand in mine and cried, wiping the tears away so they would not freeze on my face. The frigid space had become a deathbed. I wailed and sobbed with snot coating my lips and swinging from my chin.
She was gone now. I franticly crawled out of the ice casket and took a few steps back. I gazed at the igloo in disbelief with the blanket over my shoulders, bluish-pink bursts of color flashing and flapping in the brisk wind. The snow was ecstatic with bright white.
A twig snapped behind me.
I turned and was now looking straight down the snout of a hungry wolf.
End
Crashing
Manda grabbed for my SEGA gamegear, I shoved her mousey digits away and continued smashing Dr. Robotnic’s hover craft. “Quit it! Brat.” I said, she whined. My father was flying his plane and telling us some childhood story.
“Then, Rosco grabbed the mit off my hand and buried it in the yard!” that’s about all I heard. We are on our way to Russia to have Christmas with grandma.
My mother was playing co-pilot, but she really had no idea what anything inside of the plane did. My father owned Cool-Air, an air conditioning company back on Long Island. His business did well, and he traveled a lot, it wasn’t often we all took trips together in his plane.
Dr. Robotnic was exploding; I was on my way to the next stage.
Suddenly my hands were thrown from the game and thrashed around violently. Loud piercing shrieks darted through my ears, I tried looking up, but the plane was skyrocketing toward the ground. All the weight inside was being thrown in opposite directions. A collage of my parents, my sister, and myself screaming and swirling sky stammered through me.
Sunset
When I woke up, I coughed very hard, and rubbed my eyes. I was still strapped into my seat. I jiggled my body around and got loose. The nose of the plane was pointed downward. My pack lay on the back of my fathers seat. I got free and slipped down next to father. His face was completely smashed in by a branch of a tree. I couldn’t speak, I couldn’t think. A breeze blew through the wreckage and I began to shiver. My mother was gone. Then I heard Manda start coughing. She was strapped in her baby seat, it had saved her. I saw her pack lying on the back of my mothers seat. We retrieved them and snuck out my mother’s side window into the snowy forest.
We stared down a snowy hill leaving the mangled aircraft behind us. I had no idea where to turn or look so I decided to look for the biggest tree I could find and would figure out how to get out of the freeze. Manda and I were gripping each other’s hands, tightly. “Jakey, it’s to cold.” She whined. I said nothing.
I hurried to construct an igloo, the sun was escaping. I learned in science class that igloos keep Eskimos pretty warm and that’s how they live in such cold places. Manda was crying, she wanted mom and dad. I told her they were coming, and that we just had to do this by ourselves for a while. She kept saying how cold she was.
“Look,” I bent down and put my hands on her shoulders, “I know it’s cold but we have nowhere to go right now, if we build this ice house we will be okay and people will find us soon.”
She was scared, so was I, as if lions and tigers and bears, OH MY, were lurking around each snow sheeted tree. I wasn’t concerned with any of the above, but I wouldn’t be surprised if wolves were somewhere in these woods. Our plane couldn’t of picked a harsher place to crash. With our parents dead, I had to work fast.
If God does exist and he’s almighty, and brought this upon me and my kindergarten sister, then he is a Fuck. We were supposed to be in Novgorod, visiting grandma playing with her dogs, drinking hot coco, telling stories, and having Christmas dinner.
I bunched up another hand full of snow and pack it in with the others. I finished our snow house and told Manda I would go in first to make sure it was sturdy and wouldn’t cave in on us.
“Come on in, its way nicer then outside!” I yelled.
Manda scurried in, her bright pink and green ski jacket illuminated the walls of the igloo like a watermelon being hit by the sun. She huddled close to me shivering.
“Still cold.” She said buried under my arm.
I didn’t blame her, I had found my pack in the debris, but not my jacket, all I had was a thin burgundy sweatshirt, khaki pants, and sneakers. None of which was cutting it.
There was only one blanket and it belonged to Manda. It was her baby blanket she had been clinging to since she was 2 years old. It was a royal blue color with pink flowers on it. We were lucky enough to find our packs in the debris of the plane. I figured tonight we’d sleep because the night was now heavy over us and being rescued was not going to happen.
Manda, bundled in her jacket with her blanket over her, was sound asleep. I was getting colder. This sweatshirt wasn’t cutting it; I felt was if my veins would frost over. I looked over at Manda and started thinking. She is sound asleep, I could take that blanket, I built the igloo, and I deserve it. If Manda ever found out I took that blanket she’d scream. She would scream until the wolves came and swallowed us whole.
I took it anyway. I couldn’t help my self.
The blanket provided little extra warmth, but enough that I could close my eyes and fall asleep.
Sunrise
A shiver startled me, and I awoke in a cold dome, half layered in snow, and a stiff thin cloth draped over me. I wrapped my hands around my arms and began to rub quickly. Manda was still asleep. I had no idea what time it was, but I could see it was daylight.
“Manda, we should get moving now.” I said in shivered, quivering speech.
She said nothing.
I moved closer to her body and pulled her pink hood back from her face, she was white washed, completely pale, lifeless. I brushed her ice crusted golden curls from her small cheeks.
Nothing.
I began to scream, “Manda, QUIT FOOLING AROUND!”
She kept fooling around.
I thought CPR, like on T.V. that has to work.
I pounded on her tiny chest, and poured my lungs out into hers. She didn’t need my lungs, she was frozen. She needed my blood that for some reason still flowed through my selfish veins. If she had her blanket, would it have saved her?
Why wasn’t I frozen to death?
I held her half-sized hand in mine and cried, wiping the tears away so they would not freeze on my face. The frigid space had become a deathbed. I wailed and sobbed with snot coating my lips and swinging from my chin.
She was gone now. I franticly crawled out of the ice casket and took a few steps back. I gazed at the igloo in disbelief with the blanket over my shoulders, bluish-pink bursts of color flashing and flapping in the brisk wind. The snow was ecstatic with bright white.
A twig snapped behind me.
I turned and was now looking straight down the snout of a hungry wolf.
End
Random Poems 07-08-09?
Fed up (&down)
I watch my friend all wrapped in baby twine, spoon-feed his lover.
Goo-goo-ga-ga.
Smash the cartilage with a bright blue-rattle.
Crawl, crawl, crawl on all
4’s.
Holy (I want to staple your mouth shut!) Fuck!
Why do I put up with half-drunk nights anymore?
Drink a few, burn a few, smell like a beach fire, sit up and stomach false promises from girls with computer screen faces.
Keyboards for teeth.
Telephone wire ponytails.
Text message a gawking crow.
Tired, Tired eyes.
www.
The Arrogant Plumber
People are too dumb,
To fix things themselves.
And WHOM do they call?
The Restroom Respirator,
The Oracle of the Pipes,
The Sink Surgeon,
The Porcelain Playboy…
CAN IT!
YOU WHIMPERING PUPPIES!
I CAN CALM YOUR MESSY TOILET TANTRUMS!
Without me,
you’d all be shitting the bed.
RUN TOGETHER
HELLO, I am a drunken-high clustered swollen
INNER MONOLOUGE, pushing at the shell of a brain.
LET ME THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!
The subconscious spits angrily from the depths of my black hole feelings chamber.
My insides are soaked in beer-
The best way to shed my tears for the new year.
EACH BOTTLE- beat to shit.
Head spinnin’ spinnin’ spinnin’
I don’t care about the height, weight, or angle-
Just sit and run together with the color,
My dreams,
My health,
My sex drive,
My allergies.
Being Loud At Night
I have the right-
To be loud at night.
I can sing like song birds sing
Or
Cry like house dogs bark
Hunchback Bushes
Bushes being strangled, Neatly-
In a row, By the ZOMBIES of falls,
DEAD YELLOW LEAVES.
…And trees danced with the wicked-
bending over the walkway like the hunchbacks of fairy tales would be…
When I observed the pine it was not shagged with ice but-
Raped by wet, cold rain,
Making it looked surprised and SAD.
The air made me feel tired-
As if the fog was going to stay a long while.
APPLE BLOSSOM HANDS
GODDAMN THESE APPLE BLOSSOM HANDS!
So clean, they don’t smell like burrito.
They are the same hands that when attached to yours,
Appear so perfect-
Theu make V shaped flocks of migrating birds look,
Sloppy.
I like your blueberry muffin hands A LOT.
I remember them touching my entire body.
THANKSGIVING
I am sitting on my soft bed.
It is the definition of comfort.
My open window spits swirling jazz horns into my room.
Family is downstairs:
My mother rushing around,
Marty watching a football game, in the living room, next to the fireplace,
And 2 of my grandmothers, talking about how students get abducted in other countries.
I smell turkey and burnt wood.
I am upstairs, taking rezzon hits out of my bowl, with a BBQ lighter.
Pete left a beer in my car last night, and I am drinking that as well.
It is a Budweiser.
The window reveals a foggy backyard.
I close the window, chew some gum, and go downstairs.
BELCH
A sonic wave of gas moves me into a Belch.
Mrs. Shotglass Beerbottle Headache taps me on the shoulder:
“I’ll see you in the morning” She says.
I brush her hand off.
Caught in a spiral
of ex-lovers eyes
making their discreet
glances at my costume.
I can taste the unspoken thirst.
Truth is no one speaks anymore.
Unless a secret leaks, your “Friends”
Are either a faint stare or a quick smile.
Truth is all you both want to see is each others clothing balled up on the floor.
In a world assorted human beings, I am a Hungry, Sluggish, Pervert
I can hear the girl that sits across the room,
Munching on assorted nuts.
A big CRUNCH fills the room every 25 seconds when she bites down on the next handful.
It does NOT put me in the mood for assorted nuts.
But
Her haircut, nosering, Orange button down cardigan and converse sneakers
Put me in the mood for something else.
The chick next to me in Ocean class,
Is writing down a list of assorted things.
Chores, Homework, Job, Friends, Blah.
I don’t think about the things I have to get done when I read her list.
But
Her white framed glasses, Black pulled back ponytail, and ripped jeans
Make me think of something else.
Long Live Lassitude
Love spending my heyday, with my legs stretched long under the covers,
Thinking.
Tossing boredom at the walls and watching it bounce, out loud.
My throat feels burnt in the oven.
I’ve had a couple of late nights in a row this week.
Buildings make the late nights a dark closet.
The black smoke and concrete giants block,
the moons rays.
Beds are, so soft they bleed energy from life.
Bits of shuteye follow me.
Hoping my dreams will lead long lives,
I welcome boredom.
I watch my friend all wrapped in baby twine, spoon-feed his lover.
Goo-goo-ga-ga.
Smash the cartilage with a bright blue-rattle.
Crawl, crawl, crawl on all
4’s.
Holy (I want to staple your mouth shut!) Fuck!
Why do I put up with half-drunk nights anymore?
Drink a few, burn a few, smell like a beach fire, sit up and stomach false promises from girls with computer screen faces.
Keyboards for teeth.
Telephone wire ponytails.
Text message a gawking crow.
Tired, Tired eyes.
www.
The Arrogant Plumber
People are too dumb,
To fix things themselves.
And WHOM do they call?
The Restroom Respirator,
The Oracle of the Pipes,
The Sink Surgeon,
The Porcelain Playboy…
CAN IT!
YOU WHIMPERING PUPPIES!
I CAN CALM YOUR MESSY TOILET TANTRUMS!
Without me,
you’d all be shitting the bed.
RUN TOGETHER
HELLO, I am a drunken-high clustered swollen
INNER MONOLOUGE, pushing at the shell of a brain.
LET ME THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!
The subconscious spits angrily from the depths of my black hole feelings chamber.
My insides are soaked in beer-
The best way to shed my tears for the new year.
EACH BOTTLE- beat to shit.
Head spinnin’ spinnin’ spinnin’
I don’t care about the height, weight, or angle-
Just sit and run together with the color,
My dreams,
My health,
My sex drive,
My allergies.
Being Loud At Night
I have the right-
To be loud at night.
I can sing like song birds sing
Or
Cry like house dogs bark
Hunchback Bushes
Bushes being strangled, Neatly-
In a row, By the ZOMBIES of falls,
DEAD YELLOW LEAVES.
…And trees danced with the wicked-
bending over the walkway like the hunchbacks of fairy tales would be…
When I observed the pine it was not shagged with ice but-
Raped by wet, cold rain,
Making it looked surprised and SAD.
The air made me feel tired-
As if the fog was going to stay a long while.
APPLE BLOSSOM HANDS
GODDAMN THESE APPLE BLOSSOM HANDS!
So clean, they don’t smell like burrito.
They are the same hands that when attached to yours,
Appear so perfect-
Theu make V shaped flocks of migrating birds look,
Sloppy.
I like your blueberry muffin hands A LOT.
I remember them touching my entire body.
THANKSGIVING
I am sitting on my soft bed.
It is the definition of comfort.
My open window spits swirling jazz horns into my room.
Family is downstairs:
My mother rushing around,
Marty watching a football game, in the living room, next to the fireplace,
And 2 of my grandmothers, talking about how students get abducted in other countries.
I smell turkey and burnt wood.
I am upstairs, taking rezzon hits out of my bowl, with a BBQ lighter.
Pete left a beer in my car last night, and I am drinking that as well.
It is a Budweiser.
The window reveals a foggy backyard.
I close the window, chew some gum, and go downstairs.
BELCH
A sonic wave of gas moves me into a Belch.
Mrs. Shotglass Beerbottle Headache taps me on the shoulder:
“I’ll see you in the morning” She says.
I brush her hand off.
Caught in a spiral
of ex-lovers eyes
making their discreet
glances at my costume.
I can taste the unspoken thirst.
Truth is no one speaks anymore.
Unless a secret leaks, your “Friends”
Are either a faint stare or a quick smile.
Truth is all you both want to see is each others clothing balled up on the floor.
In a world assorted human beings, I am a Hungry, Sluggish, Pervert
I can hear the girl that sits across the room,
Munching on assorted nuts.
A big CRUNCH fills the room every 25 seconds when she bites down on the next handful.
It does NOT put me in the mood for assorted nuts.
But
Her haircut, nosering, Orange button down cardigan and converse sneakers
Put me in the mood for something else.
The chick next to me in Ocean class,
Is writing down a list of assorted things.
Chores, Homework, Job, Friends, Blah.
I don’t think about the things I have to get done when I read her list.
But
Her white framed glasses, Black pulled back ponytail, and ripped jeans
Make me think of something else.
Long Live Lassitude
Love spending my heyday, with my legs stretched long under the covers,
Thinking.
Tossing boredom at the walls and watching it bounce, out loud.
My throat feels burnt in the oven.
I’ve had a couple of late nights in a row this week.
Buildings make the late nights a dark closet.
The black smoke and concrete giants block,
the moons rays.
Beds are, so soft they bleed energy from life.
Bits of shuteye follow me.
Hoping my dreams will lead long lives,
I welcome boredom.
Poems- January-July 08
You Glow
Longing for
you touching
the knots in my back,
swallowing my aches,
Sucking on my fingers.
Hating that
you glow
like a pink vale
waving over a street lamp,
or
a firefly at night,
Lost,
at the beach.
Drinking, Dropping, Dreaming
Chug some love potion and get into the game.
Bud Lime and the same old shit.
Summer is wasted. So am I.
Burnt, like baking a microwave dinner.
Late night, stumbling, sprinkling my distorted body onto the bed like red pepper to the cheese slice.
But I woke up the same as ever.
Staring at you,
Caught,
In my dream-catcher.
Tossing your arms and legs around,
unable to escape.
I pick you up by your digits
and shake you free.
Whoa
Is
Me.
ZOO
There was a big tiger.
And
A shit load of human garbage.
Bed Sex
Drinks piled on my eyelids like heavy texts.
Shit
Faced.
Falling asleep in my own hands.
Fucking my sheets and not even realizing it,
Until,
The boxers are crusted with
What looks to be
Crazy glue
But
Really they’re children I will never have,
Smashed into the hair above my dick,
And my legs that do all the walking.
Nightlife?
It’s night,
I’m getting all hot and bothered
Over some strong rosy cheeks,
And short shorts.
Wasting away on some Smithtown street.
She’s dipping her pinky finger in a bag of Molly,
2 times over.
She sucks the powder off,
Like she’s got a wicked paper cut there.
She eyes me while she does it.
In about a half-hour
She’ll be Oh So Horny,
And I will be asleep,
In a Big Red Bed
Because I’ve got to polish up the old warehouse
First thing in the morning.
X’s
One of my ex’s is always drunk when I run into her,
Another one of my ex’s has a stubborn New York City cop for a father,
Another one of my ex’s is fucking my complete opposite.
Another one of my ex’s is a lesbian who lives in the magic kingdom,
Another one of my ex’s is so beautiful that a stomach virus could only force her to shit jasmine pedals uncontrollably.
I think about these ex’s, these scratches in my throat,
And touch myself,
Eyes closed
Squeezing out the part of me that loves them,
Then staring at the stain on the sheet,
Which is the part of me
That hates them.
Life Ulcer
Breath remains lost
Rubbing face on face
Stomach on stomach
Guts on guts
Dead ends & ruts
Morals and sluts
It burns when you don’t care.
It burns when you do.
This month I’ve had
2
panic attacks.
where
Everything is
Wrong
And I can’t help
It.
Holes blown through my sails
By mental cannons.
Being a slob has a down side
After all.
Brochures of Islands
The homeless
With their crowns
Are so far away.
The fast food drive-thru is so much closer.
I’ve come to hate this island.
No photograph of a beach compares to this.
A brochure with a beautiful girl
Stretched under
A hot pink umbrella
Big hat for the sun
And a palm tree.
Is not what this island has in mind.
Instead,
There is a
Brand New KOHL’S,
Or a bank,
Or a Wendy’s.
Long Islands brochure could have a fat girl
licking an ice cream cone
with it dripping all over her gut and
she could be smiling in front a Home Depot.
Or a Best Buy.
-There’s more nature here then in that smoggy city,
NAH.
More or less human nature
Flooding out of the gates.
Graffiti
Inhaled a strawberry dutch
Then the basement
Swallowed my body
Its saliva seeped into my clothes
Making them reek of cigarette smoke.
So I made my way toward the beach.
The streetlamps glowed orange
And turned the trees into suspended explosions.
Street-smart fireworks.
I pulled out a tool
To jot my alias on a stop sign
In paint.
But instead
Watched the waves
Beat time out of the sand.
Family Hour (Moms side)
My mother asks why I don’t call grandma.
It’s simple really,
She doesn’t want to hear about how high I got,
Or that new album,
Or how I’ve become lactose intolerant,
Or how I cant fuck anyone.
My mother
Pulls weeds
In the front yard.
She sweats disappointment from her pores
Because I want nothing to do with her sweat or her weeds.
You don’t want to live in a nice house!?
Its your nice and my nice sitting on a see-saw,
My nice is way up in the air and can’t come down,
Why?
Because your nice is to full of bullshit. And fat.
My mother wants me to be
William Well-being,
Always doing the right thing,
Taking responsibilities sky high,
Handy with a screwdriver,
No points on the license,
A steady girlfriend, (this house isn’t a love shack)
Straight A-hole.
Well I’m
James Jealousy Jr,
Desperate,
Angry,
And rotting.
I love my family,
They are in my heart.
I think it’s the struggle to be tickled pink
That makes me cringe towards my mother,
Who should be herself
And be happy
I’m doing the same.
Me, Banshee
Exhale into
a toilet paper roll
with two
fabric softener sheets
stuffed inside.
The smoke
oozes out
it creeps
toward me
like a Banshee
down a long
spiral
staircase
that has
rotten wood
and is
dark
Black.
I cough
very afraid
of this ghost
But
strangely
he resembles
Me.
Give me Grease
My good friend
Is a serving of
Rockin’ French Fries
Golden
Drenched
In cheddar
Mozzarella
Bacon
And I add some ketchup.
I spend about $5
Every few hours
On some greasy
As fuck
Food.
Also, I smoke
Processed
Flavored
Paper.
2 at a time.
I cuddle with a deli sandwhich
And a square of Carrot Cake
Topped with creamy frosting.
And that Diner
Is so cute,
She blushes deep red
like shiny glass ketchup bottles.
Gotta get her number…
Don’t you like fruits?
Fuck You.
Give me grease.
Life Exhaustion
I swim in a sea of burning ink.
It feels like stretching muscles.
Just gliding,
Diving,
Into things.
To be alive and well is like
The strongest scales of an alligator.
You can not break them with a jackhammer.
This is life exhaustion.
Right here
This is where you turn and
Fold into your greatest fears.
I battled my vomit and delirious daze,
Spit slipping from my lips in lines of relaxing glaze.
Although the knot remains (It always does)
I’m hatching not dying.
Youth is on my side.
Longing for
you touching
the knots in my back,
swallowing my aches,
Sucking on my fingers.
Hating that
you glow
like a pink vale
waving over a street lamp,
or
a firefly at night,
Lost,
at the beach.
Drinking, Dropping, Dreaming
Chug some love potion and get into the game.
Bud Lime and the same old shit.
Summer is wasted. So am I.
Burnt, like baking a microwave dinner.
Late night, stumbling, sprinkling my distorted body onto the bed like red pepper to the cheese slice.
But I woke up the same as ever.
Staring at you,
Caught,
In my dream-catcher.
Tossing your arms and legs around,
unable to escape.
I pick you up by your digits
and shake you free.
Whoa
Is
Me.
ZOO
There was a big tiger.
And
A shit load of human garbage.
Bed Sex
Drinks piled on my eyelids like heavy texts.
Shit
Faced.
Falling asleep in my own hands.
Fucking my sheets and not even realizing it,
Until,
The boxers are crusted with
What looks to be
Crazy glue
But
Really they’re children I will never have,
Smashed into the hair above my dick,
And my legs that do all the walking.
Nightlife?
It’s night,
I’m getting all hot and bothered
Over some strong rosy cheeks,
And short shorts.
Wasting away on some Smithtown street.
She’s dipping her pinky finger in a bag of Molly,
2 times over.
She sucks the powder off,
Like she’s got a wicked paper cut there.
She eyes me while she does it.
In about a half-hour
She’ll be Oh So Horny,
And I will be asleep,
In a Big Red Bed
Because I’ve got to polish up the old warehouse
First thing in the morning.
X’s
One of my ex’s is always drunk when I run into her,
Another one of my ex’s has a stubborn New York City cop for a father,
Another one of my ex’s is fucking my complete opposite.
Another one of my ex’s is a lesbian who lives in the magic kingdom,
Another one of my ex’s is so beautiful that a stomach virus could only force her to shit jasmine pedals uncontrollably.
I think about these ex’s, these scratches in my throat,
And touch myself,
Eyes closed
Squeezing out the part of me that loves them,
Then staring at the stain on the sheet,
Which is the part of me
That hates them.
Life Ulcer
Breath remains lost
Rubbing face on face
Stomach on stomach
Guts on guts
Dead ends & ruts
Morals and sluts
It burns when you don’t care.
It burns when you do.
This month I’ve had
2
panic attacks.
where
Everything is
Wrong
And I can’t help
It.
Holes blown through my sails
By mental cannons.
Being a slob has a down side
After all.
Brochures of Islands
The homeless
With their crowns
Are so far away.
The fast food drive-thru is so much closer.
I’ve come to hate this island.
No photograph of a beach compares to this.
A brochure with a beautiful girl
Stretched under
A hot pink umbrella
Big hat for the sun
And a palm tree.
Is not what this island has in mind.
Instead,
There is a
Brand New KOHL’S,
Or a bank,
Or a Wendy’s.
Long Islands brochure could have a fat girl
licking an ice cream cone
with it dripping all over her gut and
she could be smiling in front a Home Depot.
Or a Best Buy.
-There’s more nature here then in that smoggy city,
NAH.
More or less human nature
Flooding out of the gates.
Graffiti
Inhaled a strawberry dutch
Then the basement
Swallowed my body
Its saliva seeped into my clothes
Making them reek of cigarette smoke.
So I made my way toward the beach.
The streetlamps glowed orange
And turned the trees into suspended explosions.
Street-smart fireworks.
I pulled out a tool
To jot my alias on a stop sign
In paint.
But instead
Watched the waves
Beat time out of the sand.
Family Hour (Moms side)
My mother asks why I don’t call grandma.
It’s simple really,
She doesn’t want to hear about how high I got,
Or that new album,
Or how I’ve become lactose intolerant,
Or how I cant fuck anyone.
My mother
Pulls weeds
In the front yard.
She sweats disappointment from her pores
Because I want nothing to do with her sweat or her weeds.
You don’t want to live in a nice house!?
Its your nice and my nice sitting on a see-saw,
My nice is way up in the air and can’t come down,
Why?
Because your nice is to full of bullshit. And fat.
My mother wants me to be
William Well-being,
Always doing the right thing,
Taking responsibilities sky high,
Handy with a screwdriver,
No points on the license,
A steady girlfriend, (this house isn’t a love shack)
Straight A-hole.
Well I’m
James Jealousy Jr,
Desperate,
Angry,
And rotting.
I love my family,
They are in my heart.
I think it’s the struggle to be tickled pink
That makes me cringe towards my mother,
Who should be herself
And be happy
I’m doing the same.
Me, Banshee
Exhale into
a toilet paper roll
with two
fabric softener sheets
stuffed inside.
The smoke
oozes out
it creeps
toward me
like a Banshee
down a long
spiral
staircase
that has
rotten wood
and is
dark
Black.
I cough
very afraid
of this ghost
But
strangely
he resembles
Me.
Give me Grease
My good friend
Is a serving of
Rockin’ French Fries
Golden
Drenched
In cheddar
Mozzarella
Bacon
And I add some ketchup.
I spend about $5
Every few hours
On some greasy
As fuck
Food.
Also, I smoke
Processed
Flavored
Paper.
2 at a time.
I cuddle with a deli sandwhich
And a square of Carrot Cake
Topped with creamy frosting.
And that Diner
Is so cute,
She blushes deep red
like shiny glass ketchup bottles.
Gotta get her number…
Don’t you like fruits?
Fuck You.
Give me grease.
Life Exhaustion
I swim in a sea of burning ink.
It feels like stretching muscles.
Just gliding,
Diving,
Into things.
To be alive and well is like
The strongest scales of an alligator.
You can not break them with a jackhammer.
This is life exhaustion.
Right here
This is where you turn and
Fold into your greatest fears.
I battled my vomit and delirious daze,
Spit slipping from my lips in lines of relaxing glaze.
Although the knot remains (It always does)
I’m hatching not dying.
Youth is on my side.
Dreams About Teeth
Sometimes I have these dreams where my teeth start feeling loose. I go about my dream for a while and keep fiddling with the teeth. I tongue each tooth individually; every single one is looser than the one before it. I wiggle with this one tooth for a while. Just slapping it with my tongue. Then, I raise up my arm and grab a hold of that tooth with my index and thumb. I shake it once, twice, and on the third- ‘thrip!’ the tooth slides out.
That’s when I’m like, “W-what the fuck?” and my body is taken over by the feeling of a loose tooth. I brush my tongue along the back of my bottom row, and the teeth jiggle, they riggle around like worms in dark-rich soil. I touch my mouth and knock all of the teeth out. My gums are exposed, and chomping on teeth like tic-tacs. I start crying, the ground starts flying and…
That’s when I’m like, “W-what the fuck?” and my body is taken over by the feeling of a loose tooth. I brush my tongue along the back of my bottom row, and the teeth jiggle, they riggle around like worms in dark-rich soil. I touch my mouth and knock all of the teeth out. My gums are exposed, and chomping on teeth like tic-tacs. I start crying, the ground starts flying and…
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