Incredibly.

How incredibly,

Transparently,

lacking in activity,

honest creativity,

how obviously,

attention hungry, 

for sympathy,

and comforting, 

the familiar retreat,

to the military,

all the online freaks,

come to the pity party,

that is, apparently, 

the brand new trendy,

recovery  thing,

held at your address daily,

carried out blindly and gaily,

with what you call sincerity,

such a dull redundancy,

the unpaid toll of mediocrity,

isnt at all earned honestly.

“Wait…what?” (In My Stupid Valley-Girl Voice)

“Happy Holidays!”

The kid’s only like 17, just doing his job as cashier.

“Yeah, yeah fuck off.”

I can’t help myself…and I thought I used to hate the holidays…

 

Aye, it’s official; I would forget my head pretty wherever I go right now, if the fuckin thing wasn’t attached to my body…I stashed my phone in the refrigerator door yesterday, and proceeded to search myself into a frenzy for an hour before being forced to leave without it…luckily, one of the guys took it out and put it on my bed with a note that read,

 

“You might wanna check your purse and make sure you don’t have a quart of milk somewhere loose in there.”

 

I walked out of the store earlier without the ginormous 20 pack of toilet paper I had already purchased, somehow…yes, I am a scattered wreck…at least I remembered the toilet paper before I started the car and drove home. I forget huge parts of my life, in all honesty…it’s an element of detaching that I am already quite familiar with…but, it’s extra severe right now.

 

I don’t forget to be genuine though,

I never seem to forget my deeply feeling nature,

I don’t PICK and CHOOSE which elements of my world I’d like to swipe aside or delete,

I don’t get a say in which elements will become painfully renewed and re-surfaced

 

One thing I don’t really understand about what seems to be the better majority of people, is how capable they are of simply PICKING and CHOOSING human elements to add or delete from their lives as they see personally necessary…it’s sad. It’s sad because it seems to me that more and more people have become “the emotional light switch”: completely capable and comfortable with an interchangeable warm body beside them. Whatever, light switch people SUCK…it’s crazy how soon we forget things we say to others, things we swear by – define ourselves with – take oath to…for it to mean nothing more than a few deleted web pages and a disturbingly seamless shift in one’s focus.

People are fucking lame.

That’s another thing I can’t seem to forget.

Inner-Boxing Matches.

Today I had brand new sensation come over me – brand spanking new; never been tickled in the brain by such a notion before in my whole adult (or child) Life. It was a fleeting notion; something that my conscious mind won’t allow any room for in any other context besides that of “in one side, out the other”. And anyway, it was simply and purely a piece of a much bigger thought process belonging to me at the present time, so I’m not going to make a big deal out of it…

 

With all that is happening so swiftly within my existence:

 

Watching my mom die this way;

Being mentally toyed with by those of the douche-bag line;

Finding out a handful of ugly and painful truths relating to a recently re-surfaced (due to my mom’s diagnosis) family member;

A massive fuckton of sheer anxiety in raw form;

Sadness, deep and inconsolable sadness;

 

I just had the thought very briefly, earlier, while swimming in the torturously cold open Pacific Ocean in a pocket of time all by myself, way out beyond the breakers where it’s hard to find the threshold between sea and sky…

 

Maybe I should just swim out beyond the point of return, and exhaust myself until I sink…

 

 

Frækhed.

You wanna sit there bathed in such audacity,

you wanna slap my face and kick out my teeth,

you wear some shitty robe and sit in judgement of me,

you carry a badge and a gun but you’re still a bully,

you stare down your nose like you hold some superiority,

you live on the side of the tracks opposite from me,

you wanna come up on me any way you can conceive,

you wanna tell lies and spread rumors around viciously,

you need to feel good about yourself to fall asleep,

you’ll sell-out someone else if it gets you what you need,

you walk around like you think your dirty shit can’t stink,

you weigh 80 pounds with a mouth twice as big as me,

you believe in things that seem to lead to being human sheep,

you flock together with blinders on, unwilling to truly think,

you don’t know the meaning of getting back up on your feet,

you don’t know the feeling of swallowing another defeat,

you wanna sit there smiling stupidly,

you wanna laugh at my misery,

you wanna push me until red’s all I see,

you wanna make a statistic of me.

 

I Feel Like.

I feel like “fuck everyone and everything”,

It looks like I’m stuck on dumb and done trying,

It seems like I cut and run from such a futile sting,

It plays out like a fucked up and never-ending thing;

In my mind, there’s not a line between anything,

the construct of time holds no valuable meaning,

the stopped buck weighs as much as fuzz in the breeze,

the confines of hatred wrapped inside my insanity;

I feel like never getting back up into the fight again,

looks like surgeries and screw-in teeth ain’t shit in the end,

it seems right that train tracks mark me in my patchwork skin,

it plays like the blues, telling stories of the Hell that I live in.

 

Legacy.

I have started to write this so many times
Replaced certain words and erased entire lines
the curse of this message is veiled behind
the fact that its author seems frozen in time;

At times its content strikes me as absurd
I lose my last nerve upon finishing the words
the truth of my sadness is vague and obscure
By the time I’m done writing, I’m left feeling unsure;

Yet it’s plain for all to see through such futility
the desperate force that keeps on driving a need
of the author to express certain points clearly
before there isn’t time left to convey such things;

So then, the permanent pen of this sad story’s end
may help ease the hollowness suffered within
may offer release from the binds she’s wrapped in
may turn out to be a good bye to her friends;

Either way, the result disappoints all the same
the unfinished manuscript prevails once again
as a mockery of things too harsh to explain
until I resign and throw the towel back in;

Even so, against the fading of productive days
I strive to somehow put my sorrow into paraphrase
to pull the anchor from my chest and toss it far away
by writing down concisely all this shit I want to say.