I picture myself in older age placing flowers on the table in a painfully silent room with no assurance from anyone that things were in fact, real or that anyone remembers how I said I felt, and as I sit down at the table with a pen, and some paper I glance up quickly at the flowers, and something clicks and I am back there I discover a photographic memory for carefully arranged and planted produce in evenly seeded rows, and I discover a photographic tendency for an ever changing face, placed at a distance, hidden in figures of speech and slips of a faded tongue “You look like someone that I know, but not as well as I know you, or so I thought I knew” and it all comes crashing back I’m in my kitchen with a lacerated vision of a past with no redeemers of a life I didn’t live in of a god with no believer, a believer with no god.

I might as well. Bleed out of my fucking stomach vomit neon blue lightning sliced up fucking puerile throat lining blurry grainy carnal image lighting it’s more than I can fucking stomach “my bike was just stolen, but lines and blunts”

regretted time spent Staying in debt Seen in scattered pictures Treasured memories Slicked back hair The lack of memories will never compare I hope i take after you A man i never knew A man ill never be Or live to see Shattered dreams; childhood ptsd Im sorry you lived that way Id take it all back if i could

Calaway park, haunted saloon shooting gallery young me wants to play more carnival games deceptively difficult ring toss engineered disappointment high school, insular microcosm at the end of the hall ulcers break our membrane programmed cell death who are you now, university and college set your fucking money on fire and watch it burn predetermined suffering life has been a fucking joke in paradise and it wasn’t fun, wasn’t fulfilling want more than is possible reality is a hornet sting a swarm of bees will fucking eat me alive I take and take and take

Congratulations on not having a fucking clue and being celebrated for your arrogance Lorde is a better musician and person than you, may you have an existential crisis and see yourself for what you truly are.

What is it that makes me find everything so strikingly beautiful - a period of time in which I saw the glint of night upon an endless shore of dirt and leaves and pavement lit up with bright lights like christmas burning up the evening a violent dissolution when there’s nothing left, and no one who remembers - we’ll know all is just illusion.

the sun rose at 5 in the morning that day. i was sitting on my roof watching the world slowly, burn. it takes a lot of time for something so alive and full of life to die. i've watched it many times. take a deep breath and stretch before the stretcher leaves the house. i have nightmares of this alternate reality, in which i lost my mother to herself and my father to alcohol- i am haunted, i am tired. i want to expire but somehow, insomnia must have a coke problem. so i walk for hours discussing side effects and who will be to blame for the arson of the universe, for it is a question of morals, if the dead can be convicted. and we talk for hours about the husband who lost his wife during stalin's reign, her daughter telling friends her mom went away... i would like to follow the trail of consciousness into the abyss, i would like to fall asleep with a plastic bag around my throat. no more disappointment over electric stoves. i would take my grandfather's bayonet and sign my name, my brain, on the wall. i've felt enough guilt for the unsympathetic. a mother gives everything for her young. i've wandered around the minds of paraphiliacs. a mother's needs & a cold sweat on my tongue. i will drink the sleeping pills in my vodka and let the tide be my blanket. leave the needle in my arm. throw my body in the yard. that's all i ask. - signed

amputated ambition where did it all go? washed down the drain you were pulling hair from a recognizable face in the mirror a ghost reaching for my tonsils when i close my eyes all i see is fire its a likely reminder that i'm burning more than bridges holding onto the ridges of a mountain - this nightmare does not differ from the times my eyes are open this dream i'll never achieve - all this pain for what? nothing.

but i am just a local merchant from...this town!