......

you are with me everywhere
you sit within me
with hands full of knives
and this cup of coffee is getting cold
    i want to kill us

every god damn night it is the same
serrated pillows
broken glass textures
    i want to kill us

HOW TO DIVORCE EVERY FUCKING THING

junk is all i kept.

The things that separate me from the dreams of yesterday.

Savage ruthless cut
no sterility in mind.

Leaving wounds that fester and rot.
    I rub it in.
Every waking hour inflammation progresses.

    Nurse,
    we'll have to amputate that

    unattended,
    god forbid,
    it might get better.
Fire purifies all.

room with wooden floors

pile the bodies in the western corner
i need the eastern wall free,
sit in the lotus,
in the rectangle of light
    reading,reading
    cobwebs   
    DUST
through this dirty pane
the world is looking smeared
    second rate impressionist
mass produced dream

Gigers Dreamscapes on the northern wall
cheap printed trivial fantasies
covering mold, penicillin.

Gray.
Black.

hairy whitish thing, so delicate to fingers
just like the curtain on the southern doors.
a mothers touch of laced white
over my tinny window.
    Not so white anymore.
outside this dirty pane
particles of  premature spring
gliding down my rectangle of light.
Landing on the pages i so desperately read.

the rattle that never goes away

I
 carry my death around in my pocket
    we are familiar,
i wear my lies on my face at all times
    we are familiar.
I
am
so stupid
when trying my hardest,

it never fails to amaze

receptors
worn down,
tear ducts
dried out

never fails to amaze.

    my death rattles in my pocket,
    it's a little game we have.
    unleash a bit of disaster down my bloodstream
    i want to feel that stiffening take hold

...

i just spin and spin in this stressful space,


dimensionLESS,

claustrophobic,

godFORSAKEN

place,
in my head 

i am fucked in my mind.

               however,


today, additives are falling into place,

amalgams for my panicking gaps,

             narcoticized


i'll bury the day,

in my head

i am fucked in my mind.

    than, in mornings, it's tunneled vision again
    my screen is there, awaiting me.

hOme

stranded,
more frequently i forget to breathe.
 
               
        they say that's treatable.


empty homes along the road,Mud and Dogs and
 Filthy Snow.


stranded.

desperation gone routine.
                
        they say that's treatable.



boarded windows.


lives now artefacts.

Night and Owls.



stranded.