Thursday, March 27, 2014

Trigger Cut Your Hair to Cope

Past beliefs led me to believe that missing someone is loving someone in the past tense
But the advent of your absence is evidence to the contrary.
Don't apologize to me.
I will never feel sorry enough to absolve us both of our sins.
I won't apologize to you.
You will never feel sorry enough to absolve us both of our sins.
I grew my hair out the last time you left and told everyone I was just
trying to grow an afro.
Really I was growing my hair out so it would be long enough to grab and
jerk my scalp off.
They say pulling your hair is another form of masturbation.
When I pull my hair it pulls my head and I feel like I can finally
control my brain.
But I know I can't.
I take LSD instead.
I take acid to buffer the thoughts of you.
But I'm worn down to base thoughts
How I want to fuck you but will hate myself after it.
How I want you to fuck me but will hate you after it.
Destroyer of worlds.
But really just mine.
Companion of cosmic concurrence.
Lock my carnal crush on you in the closet
you locked yourself in as the carnal crushes you.
The worst of us know how to place our monsters under other people's beds
The best of us know these monsters will play well with the demons
playing strip poker underneath our pillows.
When you die it will ripple through the universe to my cell phone.
Even though I'm sure when you die I will never know.
Mortality is the furthest distance.
When you die it will be first.
When you die it will be brief.
When you die.
Will I be alive?
I hope so.
I need some evidence that I can live without you.
Your birthday is this Saturday.
I think I"m going to get a haircut.

Saturday, March 22, 2014

On Grief

The problem I have with grief
Is that even as a young child
I was aware that the world
Didn't always have my best interest in mind
Rarely had my best interest in mind.

As such I took easy to isolation
Not so alien
Not so strange
Voluntarily an island
An insular prominence
In this ocean of processed emotion.

A complex coping mechanism
I handled with care in younger days
Like a gilded chalice
Taken only in the sacristy's privacy
When I believed in such things.

My inward lens
For outward trauma
Indulgent and introspective

In the shadow of death.
In the midst of a funeral.
My lonely, buried treasure
In the scope of grieving eyes
More vocal and expectant.

Suddenly recreational reticence
And internalized reflection
Forced into the open
By those believing that the act of grief
Is valid only as a public display of
human reaction.
A duty to the deceased
A duty to those suddenly aware
that they are living.

How strange it is
To mix
Business with pleasure.

Saturday, March 15, 2014

Twist Nothing

the story of me
told through the story of the storm
deep rumble gurgle thunder
quick whip crack sodomy lighting
white hot turn pitch black
white yes black no
and the ties that bind
the way we think
primordial conditions
ingrained by the tempest
shock sparks life
charges galvanization
we are all Frankenstein
looking to tell the story
of ourselves
through the validation of another
mismatching our self with the
discarded parts of another body
necromantic romance idiot
decking tragedy with maxim and proven
This too shall pass
The pseudoscience of feel good
by being nothing
to twist zero into infinity
nothing lasts forever
and thus become one
with the meditative echo
oh. no.
break my concentration with the thought of you
breaking the thought of you in the concentration
of unproving proverbs
The old adage: hurt people hurt people
so I hurt things instead to
throw paramedics and well-meaning holistic
healers off the trail of my bio-betrayal
stream of consciousness induced
by pharmaceutical nihilism
new mantra
"I do not care"
"I do not care"
"I do not care"
and in not caring
no longer suffer
but perpetuate
the miscommunication of heartbeats
veins and arteries cross sections of sky
Like powerlines
Yet broken under the weight of feathersnow
accumulated -- we tried
We have always tried.
Galvanizing glimpse into the story
of my story
by the eye of the storm
Beyond nonsense
Plotting non-sensical cynical
twists of storylines
like cardiac arrests twist bloodlines
i have always been twisted into your nothing
a futile attempt at forcing infinity

Thursday, March 6, 2014

Law and Order (Confessional)

Bring in the homosexual!
The lawmaker says
In a tone – antiseptic and clinical
Like he’s announcing the onset of cancer
Though with less sympathy
No – none at all.

You stand charged with the crime
Of perverting the natural order
And defiling the sanctity of marriage
Under the laws of God and man
You are allowed a final appeal
Speak now
Or forever

                Friends, Americans, Countrymen: Lend me your ears
                You call me criminal and pervert under the laws of the land
                I call myself a casualty of your policy
                I do not believe in original sin
                I believe that whatever shame seated within my soul
                Is engendered
                Not inherent
                An artifice of hateful, unintelligent design.

                You call me criminal
                But I look in the mirror
                And I see a man who has loved people as hard as they’ve hated themselves
                Realizing the heart is too risky a fuel to burn.

                You call me criminal
                But when I turn on the T.V.
                I feel like a refugee
                Running from violence like the blood and water
                That ran from the side of your Lord.

                You call me a criminal
                But I feel like a historian
                Retelling the stories of boys
                Locked in the skins of their fathers
                Possessed by the need for approval
                Often times – they claw themselves out
                 Fingers down to crooked bone
                Often times – they hang themselves
                Necks hanging like crooked fruit
                From the branches of their family trees
                Nooses tied by the sins of their fathers.

                What you call a sin
                That breeds only contempt
                Is what I call a bridge
                Closing the gaps of compassion
                Between me and every other victim
                Of the scapegoat slaughter you offer
                On the altar to your God of love
                You carry as an ark of comely hate
                Rebuilding the ivory tower
                With the ivory bones
                Of the tragically impressionable youth
                You claim to save.
                With the promise of being normal.

                You call me a criminal.
                I am not.
                You call me a monster.
                I am not.
                You call me an abomination.
                I am not.

                Do what you want, but do not throw God’s name in it.
                Your God be my witness.
                If I ever make it into Heaven.
                I'm gonna rattle your pearly gates.
                I'm gonna scream above the angel's song.
                I’m gonna tell him everything.
                I’m gonna confess it all.