I do not have any solid plans for tonight, I thought sitting in a leather chair a few hours before most parties would start tonight. Tonight is New Years Eve, One of the biggest party nights of the year. I could not attend the same party as last year, for last year I made a drunken fool of myself which is uncomfortable for everyone. I do have a few back up plans tucked away in the back of my mind, I always like having options strewn out before me with all their pros and cons. Also in the back of my mind is the haunting thought that no matter what I decide I want right now, I will end up getting fucked up. One of my options is to go bowling with some straight edge people, but I don't think i'll end up doing that. Not because I don't like them, but because the entire time I would be thinking of what good times I could be having elsewhere. Tonight I will reluctantly get tipsy. I will very willingly get drunk to help me feel better about that. I will wake up hung over and perhaps disappointed, or maybe just apathetic. I don't remember always having a problem. Before I went to the hospital it never crossed my mind that I might be overindulging myself or anything. I never felt like I had a problem until it was lectured to me that I was in fact an addict. Now that i've succumbed to their views I feel as if I can not say no to playing the part. Whatever happens tonight, tomorrow i'm still fleeing the scene.

A new year
A new start
Tonight people will make resolutions
Tomorrow they will be broken
Things will begin anew then revert back to how they were

Blue Christmas

i miss you
like you have died
i long for you
like a long awaited drink
i need you
unlike those habits
i remember nothing in my life
except for you

The dusk has always wished to meet the dawn and poets like myself have always talked about this. This world isn't about surreal beauties in occurrence however. This world is about getting by and making beauty be seen. There are scenes from my life stuck in my head like a bad pop song. Scenes of an angel in high heels. Of prevented death. of merriment. Of how I have lost so much I only have the world to gain these days. I remember this angel stepping in her oversized shoes in a very calculated way in the city of lights, eventually borrowing a lost friends high heels to make the journey. Up until a week ago I had no recollection whatsoever of the attempted suicide but now its as clear as the lonesome dusk. Countless memories of inebriated good times litter my mind like the snow fills the streets. All these things are past now and i'm left in a cold barren land wanting my angel back. The future is uncertain. The past haunts us. But that's what New Years is for.

Abandoning ship is easier when you aren't constantly reminded of the beautiful vessel

The flood gates have opened
and i don't. know. what. is. about. to. come. out.
i'm out of my rut but in my gut i feel a need for nourishment.
of the mind. the body. the soul.
i'm heading forwards but i'm out of control.

I'm in the starbucks

There's a girl in here with dreadlocks and gauges
and in my mind i'm going through the stages
of how to approach a girl because i'm so out of practice
and my skills aren't as sharp as a cactus
like they once were.

my writing needs more definition
no longer based on tradition
I cant see a point to this anymore
its as cheap as a street whore

An old man gestures to me while speaking to a child
because from across the room he can tell that i'm wild

I hate black coffee

The drums are beating in my headphones as the snow comes down with no end in sight. People without names stare forward as they pass by the windows of the coffee shop I have decided to camp out in. To me, the people in this town have no names. They are just natives to a foreign land. I drink black coffee now, instead of the old two sugars and two creamers. I remember once talking with friends in my hometown how you could tell us apart the way we took our coffee, like a fingerprint. She didn’t use cream but she used sugar. He took it black. He changed every now and then and was pretty new to coffee in general. This is all superficial though, and I know not what the point I was making was. I expected that the coffee shop I parked myself in would have wifi. It doesn’t. I consider moving shop down to the starbucks two shops over where I know they will have Internet. I don’t want to miss any opportunities of talking to friends back home. Back home. I’ve come to the realization that my old town will always be my hometown. You can never escape its whirlpool like effect. Not forever. I want some direction. I want to commit to something or someone. I want to nurture someone else. When you nurture someone else it has a way of nurturing yourself. I want someone to take care of, so I can want to take care of myself. The people and the cars still pass by, but this time with their headlights on and more glances to the wet ground. The other patrons in here are mainly by themselves as well except for two annoying girls laughing and giggling away. I think I’ll move shop over to the starbucks despite my two-dollar large coffee. I don’t feel sad. I don’t feel happy. I don’t feel.

Lets blacken our lungs
Like we blackened our hearts
Lets tangle our tongues
Like we mastered the art

three days sober

The tips of my fingers burn. I have just now quit my shivering.
The pain still lingers.
Slamming doors. Carrying luggage back and forth.
I love you.
Best friends? Best friends.
Ciao.
Hushed conversation. Teary eyes.

"...One day at a time" The young man, who in a month's time will just be a man, whispered to himself and his empty van. Cigarette smoke hung low in the van along with her scent, for she only departed a short time ago. The words spoken tonight came out as easily as one may convert a member of the Westboro Baptist Church. But it happened none the less. "I.. Have. A small. Problem." He whispered with a shaky voice to his former lover whom he still loved. The past five days he had been sipping on a handle of bourbon whiskey to self medicate, because the way he saw it there were less side effects to that than the anti-depressants. He poured the remainder of the Jim Beam onto the frozen roads of his small familiar town while whispering to himself again, "This is for me this time. Not anyone else." He grabbed a fresh pack of cigarettes from the glove box and thought that the most sexy thing a woman can do is light her man's cigarette for him. He thought of many things in that empty van. Thoughts of hope. Of the winter. Of summer. Her. His Birthday was rapidly approaching and that frightened but also excited him. He was becoming a man. One day at a time.

Coffee and Cigarettes. how original.

The atmosphere was similar but just as dissimilar with familiar surroundings and an unfamiliar amount of smoke hanging low in my vision. My shirt hangs loosely upon my body from squirming within it for the length of the car ride. The coffee pressed up against my palm is fresher than the cigarette held in the same hand, but both are very rewarding at this lonesome hour. Late nights turn into late mornings which for me mean late afternoons.

Bonnie and Clyde

And it was cold out but not quite winter like it is tonight, a much more forgiving coolness hung about the air. The two like souls shivered with nerves of excitement and fear roaring down the highway in the seats of a beat up pick up truck that was handed down from one generation to the next. Cans of spray paint rattle around in a stolen milk crate in the back every time a turn is taken too quickly, reminding them of their love for rebellion. The Moon is approaching more quickly now, taunting and welcoming them in unison. With their destination growing closer, their nerves and anticipation increase while their speed lessens. Pulling into the grass the Boy turns the headlights off, still moving forward. Eventually they come to a halt with a skid which unsettles them but for only a moment. They Boy and Girl look at each other smiling deeply with their mouths and even bigger with their eyes, excited for what they are about to do for the first time together. The door slams behind the Girl as she gets out and walks around the truck to her lover. He greets her bearing cans of spray paint. The Boy hands the Girl a can. they walk hand in hand towards the rusty giant that has been halted on the tracks for what looks like eons. In the dark they depict on the body of the train a scene of night time, or what they hope it will look like when the light reveals their artwork. Every approaching set of lights is assumed to be authority but none of them are. They Man and Woman are satisfied with their work. They leave, hand in hand. They walk quickly towards their truck which is no longer a truck, but a getaway vehicle. They race off into the darkness. the Man gingerly strokes the Woman's hand with his own, which is speckled with paint. They left their mark and they were gone.

The folks in the room were most varied he had ever seen. Some spoke to themselves while other ignored them, while a few trembled in fear and because their hospital gowns draped over them were a terrible excuse for clothing. The boy found his legs tapping repeatedly and didnt bother to stop. What do these people's opinions matter? Some people are angry. Some people are depressed. Some hate themselves. Some hate others. I'm just barely there. For ten days he only had himself, this assorted company, and his thoughts. Minds are left barren in that place, raped like a drunken girl at a party where there is no escape.

We've found each other after being lost in the dark for so long. So long in fact that we barely recognize each other, but the shadows and voices are more than familiar. The touch is lacking but more than a memory of what it once was. It is true what I said that I love you more than myself, but it is also true when I said nothing matters. But I will make this meaningless life as enjoyable as possible.

Beautiful

Thoughts turn to the hammer out in my van often these days. It's made to create things but I want to use it to destroy. Imagine what the back of a hammer would do to someone's jaw. Beautiful. Bleeding out with half a face. I have chills thinking of it.

I wish to no longer feel, but you taught me how to

Another sleepless night, like the ones I’ve become so accustomed to, greets me with a prankish twinkle in his tall eyes. I am completely sober so please do not disregard this. The road guides me through poorly lit neighborhoods, cold with the recent winter that has set into our tiny village and into my tiny heart. Driving and smoking and smoking and driving and smoking until my singing voice cracks from the poison and from the tears. I imagine you looking at your phone and seeing whom it is after two rings hanging up and turning back to your company, laughing and smiling. I want to hate. I want to get over it. I want to love. In the morning I will wake up with my clothes on and the taste of stale cigarettes on my breath and I will try to forget this pathetic display of emotion.

The good times have left like a train from the station and now the creative melancholy will fill it's slot. I should be grateful. Lets have a look see inside the grotto shall we?

Winter is coming for my heart, I need someone to huddle with for warmth.

Manic

"It really pisses me off when people try to finish--"
"Other people's sentences? Yeah, me too."

Mike's response to Ryan only amused him, being that he knew Ryan truly did hate that and was merely jesting. Mike and Ryan were Twins and not only did they look just like each other, they had the same likes and dislikes. However, Ryan was much more passive, whereas Mike always seemed a bit off in the way he dealt with everyday situations. When Ryan walks down the street, he does so like you or I would. However when Mike does, Everyone is watching him and thinking about him and talking about him and plotting against him. Well, not really. But it is as real as could be to him. Mike is Violent when Ryan is slow to react but quick to act. Mike Hates. Ryan Loves. In his better times Mike simply just doesn't give a fuck and is more passive than you can imagine, He could watch his Family die in a car accident and not bat an eye.

The only person Mike gave a fuck about was Ryan. He didn't even care about himself most of the time, acting as a self saboteur generally. Slowly Ryan found himself doing things he wouldn't normally do or being told he couldn't be told apart from his twin anymore. Ryan rationalized by saying he wasn't becoming more like Mike, but just different than he had been. Everyone Changes, don't they? Yes, they do in fact. But the object is to change into something you can be proud of. Ryan was no longer sleeping, he and mike would go out at night and setting off car alarms and steal from Walmart. They would do drugs and offer to go and pick up their friends drugs just for the fun of it. Ryan's grades began slipping and he was now a smoking, drinking, freaked out human being. Mike already was that, and was quite good at it. They would often blow off their friends to get high or only hang out with friends who did get high. They were having a good time destroying everything insight, including themselves.

One day, Ryan and Mike were Sitting on a bench at a train station. Waiting. Not for a train, just waiting. Ryan turned to Mike and looked at him for a long time.
"Why do we do this to ourselves and everyone around us? Everyone fears for us so badly."
Mike got up from the bench and watched a train coming their way as he stood completely still, pondering the right words. He approached the tracks slowly, timing his approach carefully. Ryan assumed that Mike was simply Going to play chicken with the train like he had done so before many times.
"Because. Nothing matters."
The train splattered Mike's Body parts and fluids in a twenty foot diameter, sprinkling slightly onto Ryan's winter coat. Ryan just sat there. Waiting.