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My eyes fluttered closed as I had lost all hope. It wasnāt until I caught a glimpse of beauty that saved my life. It was a flash of yellow. To the touch it was electrifying. I knew it was alive, and I was too. There was still some beauty left in this world when I was surrounded my darkness. I grasped my hands around it as tears flooded down my face.
It was my mothers yellow rose
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skull breaker
I canāt be happy if i break my skull however i think i might need to. these thoughts must come out for my sake and yours. recently i have been too numb to write but i gladly accept any emotion if itās different. this could be my job. not writing but breaking skulls open for their ideas. people would come to me from miles away to watch my technique. my fingers are covered in the blood of smart men and women. my fingers are typing so slowly that i have to think about the meaning of every letter more so than i think of each word, but this doesnāt happen when breaking minds. this blood is so fresh, the bones so easy to move. why wasnāt this always my profession? Business has slowed down recently but hasnāt stopped completely. Iām an old man looking at his previous accomplishments on the wall. thatās me in the newspaper over a line of corpses.Ā āfunnyman breaks skulls, remains in our heartsā. Iām eating newspaper clippings to relive the past. I donāt care if i wonāt remember them. Iām pretty sure it all happened. itās inside of me, right? Iām being interviewed by a newswoman who refuses to ask the important questions. She asks me when iāll get back into breaking skulls open. I look into my desk to find my most recent work and when i look up sheās gone. when i look back down my life work is gone as well. Why canāt i hold on to things? iām holding myself and wishing that i could remember everything. What exactly do i do again?Ā
the street smells like eggs today. breakfast is too popular and as anyone in my neighborhood knows I prefer dinner. I think people limit themselves into thinking that they have to drink and eat gross things like scrambled eggs for what i will now be referring to as their āmorning mealā when in reality they could be eatin a neat triple decker reuben or anything other then pancakes. something about being tired makes people have awful food tastes or maybe people have bad taste in general when it comes to putting things in their bodies but after the morning common sense takes over and theyāre forced to interact with other people so they make a point to try and impress others. as i write this a big sausage drenched in mustard is dripping onto my keyboard. the keys are yellow and brown the key is not in front of me. I break tradition when i eat late night things in the morning but i disturb noone. I break bread with my teeth instead of my hands. I eat things off of computers and screens with my eyes I pretend to love food when my belly is empty. I love the feeling of being full. I hate to watch someone else make bad food choices so much so that i have the imprints of slapped hand sandwiches on MY āhands. you can tell where iāve been by the trail of sad faces and hungry bellies. āyou can eat off the groundā if you donāt appreciate the same things as me. youāre one of those breakfast people you deserve to starve. youāre responsible for bad food and youāve put the seed of said food in my morning pantry. I canāt forgive you. Iām going to change things one sandwich a a time
moi
My dick is a gun still hard metal illegal handling brain splattered over the wall like kids with drugs in their pockets. I beat the concept with my hands I needed answers from myself and you. Cops make me lose my hard on conceal myself with two bulletproof vests not for me but for others I conceal myself with my hands and teeth amongst other things. I conceal myself with talk of guns like dicks I force the twist I break teen zits and turn them into men I forced kids to see those simple stickupmen for what they were i broke promises to me I taught you everything you know I wonāt fight anymore to stay relevant I canāt break anymore to stay mobile Iāll just sit here with my dick in my hand thinking about what Iāve done
do you think you're blending in? you couldn't be more jarring a color of hot pink. black out dreams fuck man i can't even see you in them but in real life you're too apparent i can't get you out of my eyeline. even looking at the sun in comparison you seem too bright too there. my composure gave it away. you knew i could see you and you took advantage of that you understood attraction to such a fine degree my brain wasn't able to see what you were really doing. i didn't understand until later that you stole some of my brightness you sucked away parts of my outfit until i was naked alone and cold you were so bright you made it impossible to see other things until i was sure you were the sun. i was sure other emanations of light were fictional things talked about only in science books i don't read. you were the fiction. you were the lies talked about in text. your brightness took over, i didn't realize i wasn't okay with that until very recently.
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After careful observation.Ā
sometimes smoke holds my heart heavy and I get really bad headaches when I try to think so I just stop using my thoughts as guidance and every once in a while I miss someone except itās only ankle deep and I wonder why I canāt ever open up and I wonder why I canāt build a door in my walls and maybe a window to let fresh air in and the girls I date and the guys I try to date always get upset because Iām friends with my exes and I canāt help it because the ones Iām friends with know more about me than anyone else and I just canāt give up on a friendship that reminds me Iām okay and I am a good soul and I play these annoying games in my head and i just forget how to breath most of the time and I solve my problems myself and sometimes I think about death and Iām not writing this for a reason I just need to write things down when I can because sometimes I canāt sleep sometimes I canāt eat sometimes I canāt speak and Iām not sorry for any of the decisions I made or make and no one can tell me Iām not a good person and no one can break me more than I break myself and all I can keep saying is donāt worry about me I can hold my own except every once in a while I remember how it felt to lay in a bed and trust in the person who was there for however long they could be except I burn bridges like I smoke cigarettes and I believe in karma like 2 year olds believe in Santa clause except I donāt really celebrate holidays and I believe in faith because what you believe in can be true only if your heart can hear it too and I know this is long and Iām sitting down thinking way too hard and everyone always tells me to relax and every time I have I have been burned in the face so I donāt allow myself to except every once in a while it would be nice if you could sit on the bed with me and hold me until I shatter into tiny shards of glass because sometimes thatās all I am and I donāt care if itās enough for anyone else except if it was that might be nice except that will not happen and I refuse to let any one trace my scars or try to sweep my shards up and
please donāt worry about me I can make it on my own
a love poem
i can make sounds with my hands big impacts with my words when i speak things happen i lie often just to see if words are really true. for the most part they aren't. when someone tells you something they mean words and actions. what happens when someone says something? do you learn from experience or from intentions? i can make sounds with my hands that will make you blush or make you angry my hands are delicate and manly they can break your heart and skull they can write a card or fondle a breast my hands speak louder than my lips do i can punch in or out just breaking into concrete i can take back a punch with words apologize with my hands and my lips i love this i love touching your lips with my hands actions touching words two worlds colliding i can't get enough of your substance please explain how you exist to me i want to quantify your life with my hands and lips
