She

she gave me a headache,
and made me cum.
hard.
she gave me some mac and cheese,
and i crumbled like stale chips.
she played her cards oh so well,
that inside i wept like a small child,
but outside i was a dirty bastard.
she can't look at me now
and
i can't look at her
because we've both got blurry eyes.
she wants to heal wounds
that will
not
heal themselves...
unless we make moves
to start fixing them...

over time
this will all just be a long laugh
as we laugh together
alone
on separate sides of the city
at the same time
about
how
goddamn
serious
we are.
as i choke myself

you've got to to this whether you like it or not old man. so quit being such a whiny little bitch and start getting your shit together. you're not helping anyone with your mopey sad sorrow filled bullshit. this is the way it's got to be, it won't be any better. so pick your head up and do something for yourself. you've been here before, in this exact same fucking spot, so don't give me any shit about being defeated, you're not even a quarter of the way through the extraction process and you already want to give up your stripes. wear them proud and hard, don't be such a stupid prick. you can do this. and you will do it. be better than that.

We Do It to Ourselves

for the guys who feel bad,

who feel ashamed

and tiny.

for the ones who never made it out

complete

and saved face.

for those bastards roaring in bars

somewhere in cold frosty nights.

for the guys who loved sometime

and

it was only passing

and now are feeling

like shit.

i hear you.

for the schmucks who believe they can make it 

out

of the tunnel alive

guess what?

there's a tunnel after that one on the other side.

overwhelming isn't it?

but you'll keep going

because you keep believing

and that's admirable.

i question it.

but know that there's no other way around it.

you've got to pass through that shit-box

with one hand in front of the other

ready to be pinned to the tile wall

by oncoming traffic.

for the guys who are weak,

like me.

i feel you.

it's a questionable way to exist

with this constant overbearing thought.

that honesty will get you somewhere.

the only spot it gets you is back into another tunnel.

for the guys who feel claustrophobic in here

with me

as we reach blindly in front of us

hoping that we don't  miss a step

lose our footing

and end up dead.

i understand it.

even if the light glimmering at the end

is the reflection of a beer can in the middle of the road

you've got to hope for something

or else you might as well lay down and die.

no one is going to save you.

you are all alone in this.

and even when you put your heart out

it'll get trampled on

so keep it in your jacket

so you can eat it 

when you starve.

i hear you guys.

i hear you screaming.

i'm screaming too.

can you hear me?

It's Better to be Alone

when you're alone and waiting for someone,

something

to happen.

you feel this longing deep inside of you thats 

unexplainable

no matter how many times you write about it.

it never goes away.

so you peak your head out

into the sun

and make amends with people

to move into different realms.

suddenly you're surrounded by what you've always wanted

and somewhat content.

then they start digging at you

wanting more

wanting your fire.

retreating back to your tomb,

you write about how much everyone disappoints you.

after fits of anger and rage

you feel alone again.

and wait for your soul to be jump started

by a wench with a wicked smile.

you bitch and whine

about love and happiness,

but are back to waiting.

waiting.

waiting.

nothing happens.

so you make things happen for you,

but even then,

it's a frail attempt.

the wench left you with nothing

and you're left with that longing feeling again.

after long periods of distress,

you reach out

only to find

that it's the same thing out there

as it is in here

only out there

you get hurt more.

so you decide

"shit. it's better to be alone"

We Want Out

you drink to forget,
then you drink to remember,
you drink to celebrate,
and drink to pass the time,
sometimes at night,
you drink
to
reignite dying embers
that were never dying to begin with
only smoldering
after someone tried to put them out.
drink for a headache,
and drink for a good fuck,
take a drink for your dying love
or lack there of.
drink to feel tough,
and full of shallow courage,
to deal with the bad hand life dealt you.
drink to let people know you drink,
and if they don't approve,
then they should not come near you.
a drink for when you're alone,
and feeling bad.
or a drink to numb your
feelings.
a drink for her, a drink for me,
we keep doing this
until one of us lets the other pass
out.
if you don't drink, then you can't sleep.
so we can drink for sleep too.
eventually you reek up a bad scent,
and you truly are all alone.
everyone loves the drunk
but doesn't really love
the drunk.
so you hop through life on one leg
hoping to find support.
wobble on my dear friend,
wobble on.
it's all you can do.