2 years ago
acid flashbacks from the heroin i did last night.

My body is constantly
covered in too
many fingerprints;
pondered and pet
by the little girl
who always cries
over the caged puppies
that she can’t take home
at every generic,
poorly run pet store.
My feet hurt
and my shoes
no longer have soles,
I have spent
far too much time
walking the
sandpaper sidewalks
of memory.
I am a third
harmonic minor
in a grand orchestral
musical masterpiece-
standing out
not by myself but
only with the sound
blanket barrier
around me.
I like to hide
behind boulders and
pretend that the world
is quiet and kind;
that makes me happy.
I like to take
cat naps in
thousand year old
sycamore trees and
I like to watch
photosynthesis
transform light beams
into life dreams.
I am over used
and left alone-
counting sheep
underneath reverberating
skyscrapers.
In the darkness
I like to tunnel
into snow banks and pretend
that I am safe,
that makes me happy.

2 years ago
I found you, you found yourself, I am a disorder.

Emotions drip from the sky like little water drops,
I’m eating disorders, killing time until the pain stops.
I’m seeing locks, opening an closing in the expanses,
I live inside of dreams for days and trick my brain into trances.
Like line dances, roping corners into squares-
I’m lying about my truths and droping bombs as dares.
In the dark, she stares- probing my soul with her painted nails,
She loves me, she kills me, I’m reborn- like the fairy tales.

Courage!!

I found her in between your ghosts and my skin,
She scratches like an addict addicted to herself- now begin.
Within! She eats away like acid and an acrid smell,
Recomposing flesh feels free to plague her personal hell.
Well, the way she flirts with that dead epidermis,
Is like a tattoo on a cloud that will never remember this-
Feelings of bliss, bitching baby boy dragging at her left arm,
Twitching like a tabloid toy, painting perfectly her passive charm.
This is nowhere news, she is spilling the headlines I choose,
Not to accuse, but her lies are colloured with all different hues.
If not to muse, she dispels diamonds and delinquent heartbeats,
Her audience is herself and they’re sneaking away from their seats.

2 years ago
The cat and the dog share our names!

I’ve got a little demon girl asleep in my bed,
You’re like a dream in song playing deep in my head.
You pray for me, a plea in colour- bright red,
We compose together, a music based mentality in your night bed.
I’m enchanted, my slanted eyes following the lives you’ve planted,
You’re neon blue, feeding a starving ego that can’t be fed.
Crawl, bitch. You stare at a giant within his own mind,
Fall! Which brings me to the end of all mankind.
Tell me, say it again because I love to hear
Those words you’re repeating, cloaked in vomit and yellow fear.
My dear- dying is just living on opposite day,
I’ll never dance to the tune of May colours, you say?
Stars fade away, we’re doubling darkness with depravity,
Floating, hand-in-hand, we lie inside of gravity.
It’s sad that we exist only within a black heart-
I have been lying to myself and tearing tantrums to start.
You played the part- artful girl who draws in black-and-white,
Draw me the stars, so I can finally die happy tonight.

2 years ago
Dead animals dancing to lively tunes.

Dance darling animals,
dance in circles.
Circles widening into mouths,
gasping sweetly-
searching themselves
and their glowing existence.
Kill the main attraction!
The sharks still worship
a shark God,
and the humans still
worship an idea-
the locals all understand. Dance, like nurses in hospitals
with white everything-
dance like they do when
then condemn another life.
Can’t you smell the disgust?
We’re already in the sea.
I smell sleep pouring
from her closed soul,
she breathes in rhythm-
one, two, one, two, one.
Your darling girl I
s my embers-
glowing like gold after a ironside devotional,
the ship is still sinking
and the violinist
will not be silenced.
God help us all.

'Goddamnit! We're going to church whether you like it or not.'

I fell down from hell,
oscillating with tiny shapes,
and Satan is my birthday.
I am a 7 AM nightmare-
waking inside of a
colour drained scream.
I am all of the
habits you want to break,
I am dead weight with
an expired will to survive.
A four minute
free fall from grace,
lively debates with
your shadow,
and wishing I could grow
like grass,
I’m simply passing time
until I’m safe in your arms,
set on fire and smouldering.
Wrapped inside of your
every breath,
I hold on to this time-
it’s much different then
when we first met.
If you keep breathing
for the both of us
I might stick around,
because this just
cannot be found.
I’m wrapped in your hair,
my substitute for bondage;
we fell asleep over the phone
and I never wanted
anything more.
And… I never
wanted anything more.

3 years ago
Car crashes and pretending we’ll all be okay.

Atoms explode
with a resounding
“THUD!”
at the molecular level,
everything is colliding
with everything else,
forming chemical bonds
that nature never intended.
As I grasp at
thin air and
my lost sense of
of what is up and
what is down,
I defy gravity
for 4.30 seconds;
the moan of crushing
metal is deafening.
For a moment my vision
plays these pictures all
in reversed slow motion-
I’m counting the hundreds
of suspended glass
fragments as they stab
at a void in the air,
whirling at hurricane speed;
somehow I am
meditating peacefully
(stunned)
in this dead space,
chanting the meaning
of life while pieces of
my windows
form crystal chapels,
carpeting the floor
with too many shards
of a black and white reality.
Eccentric smoke
begins to transcend
this concave mess
and float in ever-widening,
concentric circles
towards any and
all other dimensions.
I spill like retained liquid
out of the inside of this
make-shift almost coffin,
pooling on solid ground
while attempting to
collect my precipitory thoughts.
I’m coagulating in the
middle of the
motionless recesses
of this hollow nightmare,
listening as my strained,
half-choking and
incoherent mumblings
are echoed by the silence
of the newest ghost.
The smell of burning
fur and flesh
begins to turn my stomach,
wave motions of an
almost seasick quality
smash into me, relentless.
I am sorry, I am so sorry.
I am tired, I am helpless,
and I have blood smeared
haphazardly on my face like
Native American war paint,
forming dead X’s over
both of my
tightly closed eyes.
Becoming progressively
more and more ill,
I look to the ground
and begin to kick
around small boulders
to distract myself from
the dry heaves
and the overwhelming
urge to blame God.
From under my car,
the young deer stares
through me, its eyes
colouring my unsteadied
heart an interesting shade
of silent, unspoken enmity.
This corpse is hard to look at-
I’m second guessing my
reasoning and
I am standing still
with just its ghost.
I raise a hand full of
window fragments
as an offering to
the encasing darkness-
slowly letting the pieces
stutter step from my hand,
following all of the
ripples each
individual piece
causes inside of the
bottomless construct
of time and eternity,
toying with past lives
and the possibility of escape.
Staring blankly-
they are still following
my slowed and
groggy movements,
its eyes imploring my
skin cells and blood veins
and all major organs
to re-animate what remains
of this dead, fractured, and
crumpled entity.
I puddle onto
the pavement again
and patiently vibrate in
concentric circles,
causing air currents
that rustle the blood
coloured and matted fur
on the carcass.
Stars begin to pile
in corners of this
ghosts glassy eyes
as the sun rises and falls
somewhere else in the world.
I see my own remains
underneath the crumpled
mass of steel,
I’m just another creature
wandering blindly
without a purpose,
at no particular pace,
through every
individual minute.
Time is now counted in
lost languages-
filtering dark matter
instead of wanting more.
I’m still second guessing
my reasoning,
I’m still alone and
I still want nothing more
than to not be here.
I touch its blood:
still warm and thick,
dripping like
the maple syrup
I so much enjoyed
when I was a child.
If I could close my eyes
I’d see passing
galaxies as they combust
and I’d see simple
stars colliding,
dancing around the moon
in rhythm with
the tides and another
whispered apology.
With my stained red fingertips
I scrawl on scrap metal
and the surrounding smog-
‘Here lies the life I took,
with it rests a
mothers broken heart
and the fibers of an eternity.
I’m sorry, I’m sorry,
I’m sorry.’
I start running…
keeping pace with
the solar system-
living forever inside of
this shadow of reality.

memories- a reprisal.

it’s developmental-
i stutter against
my dreams,
spilling like silly words
past an empty mirror.
play tricks on me
not for long now,
because i am
not reflected, my dear.
again! again!
i float inside of my bed
and skies colored
throughout your words,
an artform resulting
in this knot in my stomach.
beautiful hues
of euphoria dreams
talk to me like
a separate kindness,
‘it’s so nice
to be hollow,’
we chanted like sheep.
i am my blankets,
cloaked in dwindling
girls like expired time
and childish masturbation.
hang your head,
you dance to all
of the same songs
like this place
was not dead.
‘the same faces carry
the same smiles,’
you whispered
through your veil-
‘i do, i do.’
hahaha, an absolute!
play tricks on me
not for long now,
because i am
not reflected, my dear.
hold on too tight,
tomorrow may never come.

3 years ago
Car crashes and pretending everything will be okay.

Atoms explode with
a resounding “THUD!”
at the molecular level,
everything is colliding with
everything else,
forming chemical bonds
that nature never intended.
As I grasp at thin air
and my lost sense of
of what is up and
what is down,
I defy gravity
for 4.30 seconds,
the moan of crushing
metal is deafening.
For a moment my vision
plays these pictures all
in slow motion-
I’m counting the hundreds
of suspended glass
fragments as they stab
at a void in the air,
whirling at hurricane speed;
somehow I am
meditating peacefully
(stunned)
in this dead space,
chanting the meaning
of life while my windows
form crystal snow-flakes, carpeting the floor
with too many fallen
pieces of a real
life lucid dream.
After the back and forth
oscillations and
up and down gyrations
calm themselves,
smoke begins to
transcend this concave mess and float in ever-widening,
concentric circles towards any
and all other dimensions.
I spill like retained liquid
out of the inside of this
make-shift almost coffin,
pooling on solid ground
while attempting to
collect my precipitory thoughts.
I’m panicking, screaming
into the motionless recesses
of this hollow nightmare.
My empty, half choking,
incoherent mumblings
are greeted by the last breaths
of the newest ghost,
laboured and shallow.
The smell of burning
fur and flesh
begins to turn my stomach,
wave motions of an
almost seasick quality
smash into me, relentless.
I am sorry, I’m so sorry.
I am tired, I am helpless,
and I have blood smeared
haphazardly on my face like
Native American war paint,
forming dead X’s over
both of my
tightly closed eyes.
Becoming progressively
more and more ill,
I look to the ground
and begin to kick
around small pebbles
to distract myself from
the dry heaves
and the overwhelming
urge to blame God.
From under my car,
the young deer stares
through me, its eyes
colouring my unsteady
heart an interesting shade
of silent, unspoken enmity.
This corpse is hard to look at-
I’m second guessing my reasoning,
I am still alone
with just this ghost.
I raise a hand full of
window fragments
towards the sky…
slowly letting the pieces
stutter step from my hand,
following all of the
ripples each
individual piece
causes inside of the
bottomless construct
of time and eternity,
toying with past lives
and the possibility of escape.
Staring blankly-
they are still following
my slowed and
groggy movements,
its eyes begging my
skin cells and blood veins
and all major organs
to re-animate what remains
of this dead, fractured, and
crumpled entity.
I puddle onto the pavement
and vibrate in
concentric circles,
causing the air currents
to rustle the
dead animals blood
coloured and matted fur.
I watch a disguised rainbow
composed of deep
red, coagulated dust particles
stretch across the
deserted roadway,
a gift from the
darkness-
or maybe a warning.
Stars begin to pile
in corner of this ghosts
glassy eyes
as the sun rises and falls
somewhere else in the world.
I see my own remains
underneath the crumpled
mass of steel,
I’m just another creature
wandering blindly
without a purpose,
at no particular pace,
through every
individual minute.
Time is now counted in
lost languages-
filtering dark matter patiently,
instead of wanting more.
I’m still second guessing
my reasoning,
I’m still alone and
I still want nothing more
than to not be here.
If I could close my eyes
I’d only see passing
galaxies as they combust
and I’d see simple
stars colliding,
dancing around the sun
in rhythm with
the tides and another
whispered apology.
I realize I am nothing,
just like this dead creature,
in the grand, universal blueprint.
I touch its blood:
still warm and thick,
running like the syrup
I so much enjoyed
when I was a child.
With my stained red fingertips
I scrawl on tree trunks
and the surrounding smog-
‘Here lies the life I took,
with it rests the
fibers of an eternity and
collected dew droplets.
I’m sorry, I’m sorry,
I’m sorry.’
I start running…
keeping pace with
the orbiting sun-
living forever inside of
this shadow of reality.

3 years ago
fireside emotions, problems, and solo ballet dances.

I
I am a shadow dancer-
plaguing your dark halls
with a haunting waltz.
Fire flickering- my image
is all across the
old stone walls,
I’m dancing with myself-
holding my own hands,
second guessing my role.
Ballet slippers silently
tap, tap, tap like
scattering mice
as I kiss the floor
with my toes,
drawing dancing diamonds
and jumping over
re-animated bodies.
I’m alone again,
dancing in your halls again,
playing symphonies
on your heartstrings again.
Can you still hear me?

II
I am a shadow dancer-
plaguing your dark halls
with a haunting waltz.
I mimic tree branches
and fall to the ground
as patiently as an
autumn leaf drifting
in the breeze.
A spider web sentimentality,
spun in geometric circles,
displays my visible emotions
as I count the drifting
vibrations and mushroom clouds.
I’m holding out hope
that you will catch me-
stop the spinning,
stop the spinning.
I’m alone again,
dancing in your halls again,
playing symphonies
on your heartstrings again.
Can you still hear me?

III
I am a shadow dancer-
plaguing your dark halls
with a haunting waltz.
The cast is screaming-
“set the stage on fire,
set the stage on fire!”
I found my perfect dance partner:
the tendrils of smoke
that are swaying in
rhythm with the rise
and fall of my beating heart
yet I am still
grabbing at thin air and
falling into step with nothing.
Hollywood would be jealous,
I’m a superb actor and
I’m playing God.
While conducting the clouds
with mind
I turn colours and
chant along with the believers.
I’m alone again,
dancing in your halls again,
playing symphonies
on your heartstrings again.
Can you still hear me?

IV
I am a shadow dancer-
plaguing your dark halls
with a haunting waltz.
Step: one, two, three.
Step: one, two, three.
Just keep spinning
in straight lines
as the next act begins,
what do you say?
Are we still afire?
My dance partner dissipates,
I’ll have to do this one alone.
When the lights go out
all our shadows are set free,
all our expectations waltz
on their own accord,
and all our shadows are set free.
I’m a superb actor and
I’m playing God-
my role is limited and
my understudy has more talent.
I’m alone again,
dancing in your halls again,
playing symphonies
on your heartstrings again.
Can you still hear me?

3 years ago
dreams.

Pictures enter the camera, pictures enter the camera. Pictures and with them the ideas of pictures and colours and images and light-ray spectrums. Pictures of old table-desks, pictures of a cracked classroom floor tile that at some point might trip a tired student, pictures of a dusty old book that will remain in the corner until the end of the world in 2012.  Pictures enter of shiny gloss handbags, pictures of red, red fire trucks that won’t make it to the fatal house fire in time to save the mayor, pictures of broken windows (broken because the shouting of the couple that hid behind the windows  got too loud once and the thirty-seven year old husbands’ voice became enraged and destroyed the window with its vibrations) and pictures of a houses with past fire damage. Pictures of circa 1950’s radiators covered in rust and rotting away slowly behind an abandoned garage and pictures of tires discarded from a Formula 1 dragster after one of the tires blew and cause the loss of the big race.  Pictures of a tree on the side of a steep, snow covered hill under which Abner Horwitz sets up his summer camp every year after the big thaw. Pictures of an icicle, reflecting within it the scene of two young lovers, intertwining their icy breaths in an ephemeral display of vulgar affection.  Pictures enter the camera of a woman, sitting alone, spinning yarn on an old spinning wheel; the weight of many years weighing down her slowed movements, her arthritis is acting up and she wasn’t alive to see the invention of Aleve.  Pictures enter the camera of a snake, biting its own tail, slithering inside of a medium-sized rock shaped like an ancient temple in a mock desert. Pictures enter the camera of three teenagers sitting in a smoke filled bedroom, strung out on sympathetic phrases like, “I’m sorry!” and “Please forgive me!” and “I really don’t love you.” Teenagers sporting yesterdays fashions, (ex: ripped flannel shirts that they bought on Dollar Day at the local Unique Thrift, black and/or blue jean pants with paint stains from when they painted each others rooms, and well-warn shoes with too many holes in the soles from the miles they walked out of their ways to help each other.)
Pictures enter the camera of an orange/red/yellow leaf sitting lonely on a stretch of blacktop, probably thinking about how long of a fall it took to end up on that empty stretch of pavement. Pictures of purple grass and white, fluffy clouds; grass like you saw in a Nyquil induced dream once when you were young. Pictures enter the camera in the forms of dreams. Dreams and with them enter the idea of dreams and foreign worlds and metal mindscapes so beautiful you have to be truly awake to be able to dream them.  Dreams of a young man in a strange place, praying silently in a recently acquired accent, earnestly trying to salvage what’s left of his broken faith. Dreams of what life would be like if Jesus really had been the Father and dreams of how I would act if I was still a Catholic. Dreams enter the camera of death and God and heaven and what it might be like to speak Latin fluently and to be able to fly and sing seven octaves and see my best friend who hung himself when I was in eighth grade.  Dreams enter of the afterlife and dreams of being happy and dreams of being alone and dreams of being who I truly am and these dreams make me truly happy and these dreams make me who I am.
So, I want to try and capture these dreams and make them into memories and pictures that I can someday hang on the wall in fancy photo-frames. Pictures that I can point out to my friends and honestly remark, “Yes, I did fulfill my dreams.”

3 years ago
Tetelestai was Jesus’ last word.

Like hanging, captured on a
clothesline
I’m drifting between
houses
and reasons to breathe.
Written-
“welcome to HELL”
purpose,
a remarkable reminder
remarking
“I am hell, I am hell, I am in hell!”
Quietly-
I begin to breakdown
boxes
packed with thin air and the
crushed
exoskeletons of all other
dimensions-
assembled block by block,
purpose.
I’m arguing with a deep
personal
commitment to find
meaning
buried in the corner of my Grandma’s
garden
where I hid it when I was
six,
I promised myself, I did.
Stepping stones and broken bones with
PURPOSE!
martyrs never last this long…
Nightmares!
I climb your dreams,
sunrise.
I climb your dreams-
sunset.
I climb your dreams-
help.
In my searchlight circle
purpose
takes precedence over
(sanity)
never forget,
never forget,
never forget,
never forget,
imploring.
Saints/sinners/Satan/ and salvation
question
why the stars are oscillating.
Alignment-
misrepresentation of meaning,
purpose
spilling from a half drunk
excuse.
Red wine and Methadone
therapy,
in theory the only solution.
Written-
“welcome to HELL,”
expirates:
“I am hell, I am hell, I am in hell!”
TETELESTAI!
tetelestai,
tetelestai,
my face was my mask.

I don’t know what I’m saying, to be finished.

Discriminate, eliminate, the first, worst, last, and great,
Fucking imaginary memories to which you can’t relate.
A double date, twice, between your essence and myself,
A marriage like a mirror shattered by the commonwealth.
Distorted images of self, contorted constructions of heath and death by indecision-
I’m locked away within my self, prisoner to my own mental prison.
Somewhere, a fucking trumpet is sounding the end of days-
I dance within constructed world views in a frenzied drug craze.
In many ways, I harvest an empty field of dreams,
I’m splitting all of my atoms into two opposing teams.
If you know what that means, you’re perfect for some shock therapy,
Eletro-waves will open your eyes and make you aware of me.
I’m lonely, sitting alone in a hallway smoking the moonsunrays,
I’m hallucination and counting dead stars in a damn haze.
Drums- drums- drums! They are nothing but persistent,


Random Daze theme by Polaraul