Unhealthy.

I don’t want to describe any hurt feelings,
Or rake the coals over for any lost meanings,
I have no desire to dissect everything,
Or get to the bottom of your horrid mood swings,
There’s no use in spending a shred more on you,
This wide open freedom was long overdue,
Your venomous essence and landscape of doom,
Your sour-puss presence that swallows a room,
I feel many stones lighter since going my way,
That shadowy darkness is drifting away,
After over a year’s worth of character play,
Now I can focus on myself everyday,
I’m tired and weary of vampires like you,
Who do what you like and like what you do,
Getting over on anyone you can spit your lies to,
And you’ve got a chip on both shoulders, to boot,
The effect of seeing true colors at last,
Has been to make me question our collective past,
That pedestal crumbled and dumped you on your ass,
The truth has set me free to get far away, and fast;
And I know damned well that you’ll lie to yourself,
About the unfairness of the hand you’ve been dealt,
To transfer all blame is a game you can’t seem to help,
I finally comprehend how bad you’ve been for my health.

Charlatanical.

Shitty tattoos,
Absent front tooth,
Alcohol infused,
Jaw flapping,
Knuckles rapping,
Air leaking through,
Big brown eyes,
Telling nonstop lies,
You’re fucking high,
Unclean,
Unforeseen,
Not enough miles between,
That stinky lifestyle,
The steaming shitpile,
Rusted turnstiles,
Nothing worthwhile,
I lost too,
Much to you,
It’s all bled through,
The truth,
Fire country,
Attention hungry,
Back full of monkeys,
There’s no saving you,
You’re too far beyond,
Slithering, And talking long,
There’s no fixing you,
You built a filthy empire,
Of stolen shit like copper wire,
Look around you everywhere,
Noone is standing there,
Nobody wants to associate,
With your town’s smartest primate,
Give me what’s mine,
Cross back over that line,
Just one last time,
And hand it back at last,
You’ve showed your ass,
To a piece of your past,
That you let slip from your hand,
I hope you do understand,
I’m a lamb,
You’re no man,
Just sit down and realize,
Conceptualize,
Perpetulize,
The demolition of facades,
Crumbling,
Numbing,
Stumbling along,
You’ve predicted all wrong,
It’s all gone,
Non-materialized
Bad breath,
Rotting death,
Inside decayed,
Like words you’ve said,
Like lives you’ve led,
Into the flames of Hell,
I recall well,
And time will tell,
Your tongue will burn,
With lessons learned,
Too late,
Too low,
And now you know,
Your blade never sliced into me,
The games that you play,
Didn’t defeat me,
I’m standing tall,
And fine, overall,
It’s the likes of you, afterall, Who will inevitability crawl.

Staggering.

Goodbyes that are perpetual,
The lies that are eventual,
Replies ringing contextual,
Both my hands hang at my sides;


Strive to covtrive the beautiful,
Survive and defy the refutable,
Alive in what’s wise and meaningful,
There’s a flaw in my design;


The fling flung at the unbearable,
A thing that’s become something terrible,
A string strung from me to the pedestal,
Emptiness clouds my mind;


Regret will pervade the unmemorable,
Dissent describes the unfavorable,
Neglect persuades the inevitable,
I can’t claim to wonder why;


Moments unraveled into landmines,
Torment travels through real time,
Encroachments that sting all my blood line,
So staggeringly ill-defined;


This face, tattooed by suffering,
Disgrace has a presence that’s smothering,
Replace the sheer essence of everything,
Recovery’s not always kind.

Cyclical.

Throughout so much of the apparent bullshit that goes on with each new sunrise of my cursed life, I’d like to share the fact that there are NOTHING but vastly reaching tentacles of even more bullshit that belong to the variants attached to that same fucking existence.
For even when things are on the “upswing” for me (which never consists of anything more than a few not-so-bad things happening), my heart is ever struggling to simply remain above the ring of that proverbial drain; I am not throwing a pity party – anyone who really knows me at all will have no choice but to agree with my longtime proclamation of purely bad karma…it IS NOT “perception” or a matter of any “law of attraction”; it is TRUTH.
1) When my health gets to a point in which I have any room to move freely, my car breaks down with some fucking random, yet very expensive issue, and I get stuck until I become ill again;
2) When I become ill – nothing else matters besides getting better and it is always a fight that exhausts me to the point of near-submission;
3) By the time I “feel better”, I am so tired of fighting to feel better that I am at my own wit’s end with everything;
4) When I finally get my car repaired (a solution that attaches itself directly to MONEY), I run out of money and am again stuck until I get more income;
5) When I am sickly, it becomes all-too-often impossible to work for income;
6) When I get some income, it is already spent because I have been stagnant at home and have had to borrow from someone;
7) When I finally get back to feeling like I can possibly conquer even the simplest of steps in this horribly vicious cycle – my car breaks down again.

Granted, I am lucky to have people who help me, and my step dad loaned me his “spare” car; my own car is very close to being “repaired” once more (with the exception of brakes, which I was set out to pick up this morning in order for my nephew to change them today) – and of course there is no way in Hell that the Gods would allow things to go so smoothly for me, in my own fucking hell-hole life…my step dad’s spare won’t start this morning.

“Don’t freak out, I’ll pick you up and take you to the auto store to get your brakes…”

And nobody gets it…I don’t want a fucking ride to the fucking auto store to get the fucking brakes that I don’t even have the finances to buy right now!!! I don’t want anything from anyone who finds it funny when I can’t start the loaner car I’m forced to borrow because my own bread and butter has failed me once again!!! I am sick and fucking tired of the heavy weight I am dragging around by my ankle over the dread and anxiety of vehicular failure – and I cannot deal with AGAIN it today (with the car that I’m using while I have no car)!!!
I just want a single, fucking break!!! It never comes….NEVER.
The cycle of my existence is what is going to kill me eventually, not anything or anyone else. It will be the long-lived and suffered anxiousness and worry and dread that will finally stop my blackened heart. And to be honest, I can’t wait.

Cautious.

True, I am bitter,
but, I’m far from a quitter,
you’d be smart to consider…

I’m a forgiver,
with a heart like a river,
I’ve been delivered…

No matter the weather,
never changed are my feathers,
free from the tether…

No matter the causes,
time to chalk up your losses,
you’ve left me cautious.

…THANK YOU FOR THAT…

Death Song.

How will the final tune play itself through –
as it haunts the halls with melodious cacophony;
as it swirls like smoke from a smoldering flame;
as it tells the truths you’ve hidden from yourself;
it’s no wonder: when I look at the whole of it –
nothing profound or groundbreaking or bold;
nothing novel in the face of my weary stride;
nothing that offers any true shock or surprise
just more of the same of a really long line –
those two steps ahead of your own falter;
those who singed my flesh prior to your stab at it;
those who have been dismissed from view;
erased away from concern and thought of mine –
life is too short and there is no time;
shuffled card-decks and matching footsteps;
another falls neatly and indiscreetly into line;
What does your Death Song sound like –
full of many meaningless fabrications and layers;
reverberations, skipped beats and scratched vinyl;
all the dramatics without the shine of the stage lights.

Refeed.

IMG_20110430_154522-1

“Whatever floats your boat”, so they say;
go on, pick a direction and float it away –
there’s nothing that gets me more enraged,
than to be forced to read –
your lust-dusted refeeds
different name, same face of greed;
such a painfully obvious approach,
to see which bidder pays the most;
all while bumping gum,
unsuccessfully playing dumb,
over the cracks and the crumbs
spun with your own identity.

“Whatever sinks your pickle”, goes the word;
One of the most warped statements I’ve ever heard –
go ahead and sink, while I fly like a bird,
such a fitting thought –
considering how you are not
a thing that you claimed you were;
Such a quick-handed draw,
to salt the wounds that you saw;
all while carrying on,
talking shit all day long,
but what have you got?
besides an arsenal of rotten sugar.

Time.

A perfect example of what I mean when I say that “Father Time’s not on my side” is today’s fucked up tangle with The Opportunist.
The Opportunist was obviously feeling lonely in the rain at home and decided that he’d try me. The reason why he felt like it was okay to contact me (despite my crystal clear instructions in the past on this issue; as in, I told him to flat out lose my number the last time he tried to text me, six + months ago) is simple: Time.
The Opportunist apparently feels that enough time has passed now for me to have forgotten who he turned out to be – how shit ended between us – and the fact that he trampled my super-high-risk heart knowingly. The Opportunist was someone SO VERY CLOSE TO ME, that he knew all of the intricacies that have molded ME – everything. And still, in order to climb his way higher up, he stepped on my head and kicked me off the ladder in the end. He really fucked with my head there for a while, really hurt me on a human level. And…I can’t even get myself started when it comes to the abandonment attached to this man (thing)…the vulnerabilities I endured to get close to him, to let him in…he fucked me up, yes.
But the thing is, that Father Time hates me…and doesn’t give me the comforts that he affords most people in terms of his nature, no; he doesn’t heal me; never has and never will. Father Time and I don’t get along so well, little does The Opportunist realize. I forget nothing. He sent me a slew of text messages all throughout the afternoon today, obviously in the grips of some manic episode of his own; but that’s not my problem either. I finally replied… once, and his texts abruptly ceased to come through.

The last one he sent was,

“Hopefully, you’ll let me put a smile back into your life without any extra stress…”

To which, I simply replied,

“You stole my smile.”

And that was that.