4/16/17

in the beginning
it was just
a couple of mosquito bites,
scraped elbows and knees,
a fever, and chicken pox.

now life is
running
from a pack
of sharp teeth
consisting of
people,
places,
obligations,
ideas,
words,
and
problems.

running
as hard
and
as fast
as i can
until
the lactic acid
builds
and
my lungs
and
muscles
give out
to exhaustion
then a set
of canines
sinks into
my throat,
followed by
another
and
another
and
another
and
another
until i
lose count.

tearing in.
ripping
chunks of flesh
off my body
and
out of my psyche.

but i continue to fight
out of sheer natural instinct
to survive.
to continue to exist.
but like every prey animal
you've watched get attacked,
caught, and torn apart,
at some point there will
be no will left
due to fatal wounds,
blood loss, and/or
just accepting fate:
giving up.

the only difference
between
me
and
them
is that in the end
i will be disemboweling
myself with my own set
of teeth and maybe
i have the entire time
along with the others.

maybe there never was any others
and at some point
i was the one disemboweling myself
all long?

suicidal tendencies

i carve the same words
about love, loss, isolation,
lack of purpose, repetition,
regret, stagnation, sadness,
fear, anxiety, and hurt
with a sharp tongue
into my thoughts
and the brains of others
causing uncontrollable
bleeding, loss of
consciousness,
boredom, and finally death.

i'm sorry to everyone i hurt
that i care about and truly cared
about me.

i'm a fuck up.
a burden.

every chronic disease
can only be prolonged
by the hands of fate for
so long before they tire
and cramp because they've
done all that they've can
and what was meant to
happen, happens,
and no amount of luck,
prayer, money, treatment,
or technology can prevent
my destiny, or yours.

two shorts i enjoy:

Black Hole:

based on the graphic novel written by charles burns that for not being a huge fan of graphic novels a high;y enjoyed reading.

and even though it's passed christmas, a junky's christmas is a funny, relative tale of what a junky day to day to struggle, hardships, and weird bullshit that happens in that desperation of being sick, and trying to get well and high, hell even on christmas or any holiday. narrated by the only beat writer i ever really enjoyed: William S. Burroughs.

4/9/17

when you have no plans.
when you have nothing to offer.
when your atm always says "insufficient funds."
when you are told you can't sleep here again in an empty parking lot.
when you don't have a vagina or breasts to tease old perverted men with to send you money.
when your plans made yesterday always fall through and all you here is silence.
when you're all alone, unable to think, unable, to see the stars, unable to fall asleep trying to piece together where it went wrong. wishing you had a time machine, but knowing that would probably be useless to because you'd repeat the same mistakes.
when you go to work and fantasize about hanging yourself in the bathroom, while your coworkers serenade you with popular hip hop songs written and sung by artists you don't know because you're behind the times.
waiting on a response to an email where you poured your heart and soul to the only person you ever cared about so deeply outside your parents, and seeing no new messages.
taking medicine to cope.

tonight i hope someone tries to rob me at gunpoint, instead of coming across a nude women at a hotel grabbing my dick because i would rather be shot in the head then have an orgasm.

(ps. to the people who ask me to give them free pizza when im on a delivery, please stop. this happens at least 10 times a shift. 70 times a week. 280 times a month. if i could i would, but i cant which i'm sure you already know. i laugh along with you after you say it, but in reality i wish you wou either just give me some money or leave me alone.)

4/4/17

i pull my black denim jacket over my head at 6;30 in the morning in the hotel parking lot next to the professional baseball stadium in some major city, locking the doors, and hoping no one bugs me or calls the cops for the next 6-7 hours as i try to get some sleep.

before going to bed, the dj on the radio talks to a caller about how the friendships you make in your childhood, these bonds, last forever. that these people will be there with you from your childhood until the day you die. and that his kids will experience these same bonds with the friends that they are growing up with now. the caller wholeheartedly agreed, and talked about how he was just the best man in his childhood best friend's wedding. they talk about it as it was fact. something everyone will experience, cherish, and never lose.

reclining my driver seat back, my head full of dope, xanax, and false promises of hanging out with a "friend" today/yesterday/the day before that, their words echo off the walls of my skull keeping me awake for longer than my body expected. theses echos made me wonder what went wrong in my life, or am i just an anomaly? my childhood friends are locked forever away in memories like boxes of old teddy bears and comic books that used to mean something to me that are now stored away in boxes in my parents attic that will either be thrown away, donated to the salvation army, or sold at a garage sale in the future.

if i for some reason come across a picture of them on some social media site, i realized the people who i used to be willing to lie for in front of our principal or parents so we didn't get in trouble, or even imagined taking a bullet for are now complete strangers, who still live. still exist just like i do, but i know as much about them now as the homeless person outside dunkin donuts asking me for an extra cigarette or spare change.

as i start to lose consciousness, i realized all the unanswered phone calls, text messages, and emails, are just a preview of what's to come, and even though i've gone through similar experiences before, i am still never prepared or able to cope with losing someone i care about, and who i thought cared about me. maybe it's part of growing up, but if it is, that part of growing up is bullshit. and as many times as i tell myself it doesn't matter, it does. and no matter where i move, i am still unable to relate.

i shut the radio off, close my eyes, and sit alone in the silence trying not to think about it.