a date with the family

The moon is made out of

Shards of broken glass

That reflect beams of sunlight

Into the atoms underneath

My skin.

I carve, “die children die”

Into your right hand

So you can look at it

Every time you masturbate

With a hard cock.

Afterwards you flush the toilet,

Thinking about whirlpools at sea

And drowning.

Thinking about being eaten

By hundreds of small mouths,

Or maybe just a couple big ones,

And what it would be like to exist in something else.

Something unknown with sharp tongues

And dull teeth that grind you into

Tinier and tinier pieces.

Turning you into a poison,

That makes the earth sick.

So sick that it pukes and shits

What’s left of civilization

Into the solar system

Bringing about the last great mass extinction.

The earth is alive,

Just like you or me,

And it’s gasping for air.

The effects of the causes

We believed in and fought for

That amounted to nothing.

We are not heroes, nor martyrs,

But what we are is aware

That our vision is skewed,

Images are blurry,

And our ear drums have ruptured

Because they always had to listen to the

Sounds of our voices.

Filling our skulls with lead or chemicals,

So we can tattoo what’s wrong with us

All over our insides:

You don’t know.

And neither do I,

As we devour what’s left of us

And ourselves.

Becoming something unrecognizable.

Something non-existent.

Clipping our wings

To make us tame.

"I wish one of your guys had children so I could kick them in their fuckin head or stomp on their testicles for you can feel my pain - because that's the pain I have, waking up every day..." (villains are always more interesting than heroes)

photo source

i am
a construction paper
third grade art class project
that didn't turn out right,
but my mom hung on the fridge
because of the effort.

i can't figure out
how to walk.
how to use my lungs.
how to get a job.
how to save money.
how to gain weight.
how to keep friends.
how to meet people.
how to help the world.
how to eat healthy.
how to assimilate.
how to fix my brain.
how to attain nirvana.
how to be happy.

i try,
but no superhero
will be able
to save me;
they aren't real.

i can't figure out how to live,
which is why i've doused myself,
and the earth in gasoline.

i flick a white plastic lighter
with my thumb,
and watch the flames
blitzkrieg my skin
and the rest of the planet
watching it burn.
turning us red,
we will remain motionless.

it feels warm,
like sitting around
a campfire, wrapped
in a blanket, next
to someone who cares,
and is willing to listen.

mummified in white ash
like the people of pompeii,
the sun will erase
the remains of our existence
with its breath
like the daughter i will never have
scattering the seeds of a dandelion,
and making a wish.

you haven't had much to live for, which is why you spend most of your time pretending.

you calculate the pros and cons of each action, in the hopes of stumbling across a treasure that will save your life or buy more time; all you find is scraps.

broken pieces of something that was once whole.

the thought of another person finding any treasure, not even this specific one, infects your stomach with butterflies that have serial killer tendencies, and coats your skin with layers of sweat.

you haven't showered in weeks.

you haven't earned a living, which means no two story house, no in-ground pool,  no heated toilet seat, no sports car at 50, no outdoor patio, no backyard barbeques, just yellow teeth, blood in your spit, a runny nose, frostbitten toes, pinned pupils, late nights alone, high, distracting yourself with sad piano music, free games on the internet, chocolate bars, a dull pocket knife, and porn; the text message and phone calls stopped months ago, and never resumed.

your heart is misfiring, and beating irregularly.

you haven't fucked a pussy or sucked a dick in years.

you have been in love, but in love with imaginary friends who are based off of real people that don't talk to you anymore.

real people scare you.

you're talking to yourself in an elevator, and the people around you suspect that your brain was lost in a storm drain a long time ago.

spitting up yellowish green shit out of your lungs and onto the floor.

trying to show off to everyone around you, while you think about tying an ethernet cord into a noose, and drowning in a dirty bathtub.

try to predict what will happen after you close your eyes tonight.

just hanging around without any inner drive or ambition.

replacing hellos with goodbyes.

unhappy.

down.

no fun.

you're not brought up at family functions anymore, your parents' explain how your older sister is to interested relatives/family friends.

you haven't done anything important ever, so why should you start now?

sorry mom.

sorry dad.

 

Drawings, T-shirt Company, And Other Hood Shit.

i think shannon and i are starting a t-shirt company with some of my prints. this is still at the early stages of inception, but the idea is progressing. that's all the info i have for now.

Here are some of my drawings, all of them for sale except "stay brutal":