RLJ

i have mapped you with utmost diligence
more thorough than the unseen submarines
that have mapped the ocean's floor
with every part of you i discover
another ounce of love i have for you
that i didn't know existed
finding you
has helped me
find myself

contentment

i am consumed by shadow
the dark shades reign down upon me
as if crows were encompassing me
i accept it freely. willingly. lovingly.

big trouble in little china

Michael walked along the sidewalk with the other people who he shared it with. everyone trying their best to be respectful and un acknowledging of the other strangers. Michael didn't have far to walk, just a couple blocks to his girlfriend's favorite Chinese place. he didn't drive very much, no one did in this neighborhood. this is all he ever grew up knowing, just getting by. he had come from a lower middle class family that had split up when he was much too young to understand why. ever since then he had never really invested all that much into relationships. he had friends, but honestly who doesn't? the entire walk to the oriental establishment Michael's mind was just dwelling on every issue at once. bills to pay, his job he hated, his old car that soon would be no longer one with the living, Et cetera, Et cetera. after worrying about all of his worldly things he started thinking of his beautiful girlfriend. Michael was never happy for long with anything really. or anyone. you see, our friend Michael here has a problem with viewing people as their feelings and problems and personality instead of just as their positive marketable qualities. he started thinking of such and such from work, "i could probably seduce her pretty easy, she's not too bright." and the man walking down the street we know as Michael kept thinking of different marks he could trick into temporarily loving him. crossing the last street before rising dragon, michael slips out of auto pilot and tries to remember what his gal had even wanted in the first place. "was it kung pow chicken? yes, that's it.. oh and no bamboo shoots or msg of cour..."
Michael didn't even hear the bus's horn blare at him like a thousand obscenities yelling at some fool. Michael's problem was he wasn't living his life. he was just coasting the entire time. never happy. never trying. there is no hope for Michael. you cannot raise the dead. the church may say otherwise in some cases but that is debatable and irrelevant.
luckily, the living however can receive second chances.

post cruel

when does silence become awkward
and when is it just golden
head sideways against the window
no seat belt
slipping into sleep
but i must stay alert
eyes fixed upon the road
not upon you

alone

i cant help but think you're writing about me
yeah i know it's selfish. probably false.
but it makes me feel loved
and it makes me feel special

one day i will wake up
and this will all have been a dream
i will look in your eyes
there will be no recognition

ginger

it begins with a question, "do you listen to radiohead?" she had the body of a heroine addict and the eyes of an angel. oh and i could never forget that violent red hair that fell on her shoulders like cheap unmeasured drapes that would hang in some dark apartment. i answered back, "sure." as i later learned she turned on the cd in rainbows, a cd that for the rest of my life will remind me of this poor girl. both of us are in her room which she previously tells me used to be a large closet. i don't doubt it one bit. it barely fits her bed which we are sitting on, then soon laying on. or rather im laying on, and she is laying on me. i can sense her desperation for escape as we frantically kiss and grab at each other, knowing the entire time her parents are somewhere else in the house. we are not kissing passionately, but desperately. the way a homeless man may eat a meal. soon the music stops and so do we. and also just as soon im walking to my truck by myself feeling eyes burn mercilessly into me the entire distance. How Come I End Up Where I Started?

i just am

i have not been honing the blade
my thoughts are dulled
sleep comes with much struggle
like how one may turn about
if perhaps
being strangled by someone
someone they thought loved them
yeah
that's how it feels

in the past forty eight hours
i have gotten one
one hour of sleep
i don't feel pain
i do not feel joy
i certainly do not feel you beside me
this
this indifference
please make it go away

both stunt double's and writer's mothers cringe when thinking of their children

they found the body around three in the afternoon. no one noticed the same shower on for near twelve hours. in a dorm room bathroom weirder things happen. it was actually the smell and the lack of responding to the taunting that tipped people off. once the shower curtain was pulled back there was no pool of blood, just a pale lifeless human being that would never laugh, smile, talk, fuck. ever again. when the ambulances came there were no sirens. no need to rush to a corpse. the naked body was all ready for the morgue. after a while all the commotion finally died down, pun completely intended. a long thirty minute silence amongst the room mates was only broken by barely audible exclamations of "Jesus" and nearly audible heads shaking. finally one of them sat down on the couch like his legs could not take any more stress while the other started rummaging through the refrigerator. while going through the fridge he found a newly opened container of ice cream. he looked hard at that container. finally, "did you buy this ice cream, or was this his?" the young man sitting on the couch dealing with more than he should have to answered back, "it's not mine, he went out and bought it late last night while you were asleep. i guess that must have been his last meal." the awkward silence resumed it's place in the room for about another five or ten minutes. finally the veil of silence was pierced once more, "do you think it'd be wrong to eat it? i mean would it be considered stealing from the dead?" they both looked at each other with the image of those lifeless eyes in both our their minds. "well...maybe he bought it, ate as much as he wanted and knew that we would finish the rest after... you know... after this happened." the blank faces were turning to confused looks now. "i don't know... maybe we should just throw it out."
"don't be ridiculous. does it have his name on it?"
"no."
"well then it's fair game then."

i'd love to hear your voice

every day
the sorrow builds from that day prior
i have always told my friends that i am not afraid
of death
but of pain
however now the long for steel seems not pain
but relief
this relation of skin to the blade
of the blade to the skin
it seems my life's alibi
i am not OK
maybe that's it

glares and snares

the boy walked into the drugstore like he had so many times before but today was much different from the rest. most of his prior trips had been for some cigarettes, a drink, etc. you get the idea. the boy, not a man, has a name but that is not what is important. what is important is that this nameless, faceless kid finally feels purpose. he has confidence. he knows exactly what he is doing with his life. he is happy. he walks around the store with a certain rhythm in his step that cannot be matched. everyone is reassured and comforted by his new found confidence, smiling and making small talk. the boy purchases a bottle of coca cola. opening it, he does so with so much attention that a mother may give a child. every drink taken is enjoyed more than the last. all this is done while talking to the man he somewhat knows behind the counter. finally, the worker asks the boy, "so whats up with this good mood that your in? your practically lighting up the store with that glow." and the boy takes another satisfying drink from his bottle of coca cola, he looks the man in the eyes. not searching for an answer at all, just looking at him the way a teacher may look at a student who should know the obvious answer. seeing that the man would not be figuring it out any time soon the boy began the explanation, "have you ever ran cross country?" "well, i did a lil bit in high school but shoot, that was ages ago."
"that's fine. well you see, i used to run cross country. one race is five kilometers, a little bit more than three miles."
"yeah, i know. what does that have to do with this?"
"well, if you'll kindly let me finish ill get to that. anyway, whether you were the best runner on the team or the one of the worst like myself you always got the same feeling at the end of of the race. for about three miles you have been running your ass off. the only thing that has been going through your head is how much you loathe being in cross country. people are passing you, others on the sidelines are yelling at you, your just beat. but after all of that pain. and after all of that suffering. and after all of that humiliation. you reach the last stretch of the race. you can see the end, its right there and you are almost done. while running the last stretch of the race, you are the happiest you have ever been. you, are almost done."
"so are you saying you just ran a race?"
the boy answers this with the smallest trace of a smirk. the way you smile when your getting away with something, the way you smile when you know something that no one else knows, the way you smile when you just don't give a shit.
"ha no not at all, that was a metaphor. i am almost done."
as he is finishing his well delivered reply, he pulled out the 20 gauge shotgun from behind his coat that he spent all last night sawing down the barrel and sawing off the stock for easy concealment. not in that order of course, one does not want to wear down his hacksaw on the barrel before he gets to the stock. in one swift movement of pulling out the firearm and cocking the first barrel he points it directly at the clerks chest from near point blank range. the other customer in sight would have been deeply mentally scarred for perhaps the rest of his life if the next barrel had not been used on him. two shells ejected, two more go in. right now, the reverberating sound of both shots is not what the boy is thinking about. nor is he wondering what the response time of the police is. or if he will be able to take any more life, before taking his own. nor is he thinking of the left coat pocket full of shells. no, all he is thinking of is the right coat pocket which contains just one shell. he starts walking by the aisles as if he were trying to find a movie to rent. just very distanced attachment. he finds another boy, perhaps a similar age. a look on his face that most people will never see another human being make. saying things that most will never hear another human being say. and with the passing of a second and a slight kick from the sawed off he is no longer one with the living. the boy offs a few more of the druggists and customers but is soon out of ammunition. that is beside the one shell in his right pocket. he calmly motions over to a chair with his weapon, letting a man who unlike the boy will still be alive in ten minutes, know exactly what he is supposed to do. the man sits down and he is very shocked, he is very afraid, and he is very confused. the boy ejects the spent shells from the weapon and loads the single shell into the left barrel and cocks the gun. the warm barrel resting underneath his own chin, he looks this stranger directly in the eyes. he has no intention of speaking. he already had his last words. before he pulls the trigger, the man meets this boy's gaze. and while holding back an ocean of emotion, he swallows and says, "truly, i am the unlucky one." the boy pulls the trigger the second the last syllable leaves the man's mouth. you can imagine what a twenty gauge shell of buck shot will do to a man's skull at point blank range. the police arrived shortly after all of this takes place. the man still sitting where he was ten minutes earlier. not saying anything. no look on his face. after the paramedics made sure that he was all right and sent him off, his wife embraced him saying how lucky he was. he didn't say anything back, not wanting to contradict her. she takes a half step back, "are you going to be OK?" he stops for a second to think and finally looks her in the eyes and says, "i'm going to be fine. i'm almost done."

goodnight

knees shaking
the tears are not there
stomach aching
i love you more than myself
dry mouth
making each word follow the last
we cannot be
therefore, i am not

well. this sucks.

the cold weather would be bearable with a warm heart
but that's not the case
not anymore
i could always burn my money
but most of it has gone to my "education"
bitter end?
no. just a long walk in the cold

I'm still holding out for something nice to happen

ten digits

completely filled with sun flowers
the field seems almost endless
the way they droop down
like a bunch of children looking around for their mothers shoes
because that is how they identify them
it makes me think of you
and how i would recognize your feet
if it had a sunflower on it

eve

he got to the party and right away it began
he started drinking like bukowski but without the experience
so it was a good time
with some sickness in the cracks of it all
but after a blur of drinking, dancing, and small talk
he had begun to slow down.
and finally woke up to vomit speckled shoes and a slight headache
with a vague memory of hearing everyone count down to the new year
while kneeling at the toilet
but there are no regrets
just limits learned

day one

today is the first day
the first day of the new year
the first day of this decade
first things first
throw out my family Xmas tree
just like we have discarded the past year so whimsically
it doesn't mean a thing anymore
it is just trash on the side of the road
soon to be thrown into the wood chipper

this new year
i have no hopes
this new year
i have no resolutions
this new year
i have not changed

this is all just a facade