if every day is like today then wake me up tomorrow (prologue) {rough draft and to be continued}

last night you told
me, "we need to talk."
as we drove
back to my aunt's
house up
luzerne mountain.
in the darkness,
my mind was
a rung out washcloth
that was already starting
to become cold.
i lit a cigarette,
and told you,
"can we talk tomorrow?
please i just need one day,
one day without stress,
and bullshit. i'm sorry,
but i just need a day.
one day, cause i don't
think i can take a
serious discussion today.
it's just too much.
every day is just too much.
i just need a break."
standing at the edge
of a cliff kicking rocks
into free fall with
the tips of my sneakers,
i thought putting it
off would coax me
away from the ledge,
but the world keeps spinning.
i couldn't see your
face. i was blind.
i didn't even know
you were standing right
behind me;
i thought you were
still in the car.
you quietly said,
"okay."
i was deaf.
i heard you,
but missed
the sadness sewn into
that one word.

okay.


when we got home,
i smoked a g-bong,
then a cig out of
my bedroom window,
as you were by
yourself in bed
on the computer.
after i finished smoking,
i ate a bowl of cereal,
and laid down next to
you.
tired,
we decided to watch cartoons,
instead of having sex.
i kissed you goodnight,
and passed out next to
you, in your arms
because there is
always tomorrow.

tomorrow.
tomorrow
we were driving to philly
to get your stuff
so you could move out.
tomorrow
was going
to be one day closer
to moving into
an apartment in vermont,
getting jobs, getting clean,
swimming in the lake,
paying bills, going on walks,
and grocery shopping together.
tomorrow
i would cook you dinner,
and do the dishes with you.
tomorrow
i would scratch your back,
and use my tongue and lips
to massage your skin.
tomorrow
we would talk
about our past, present, and future.
tomorrow
your hand would still be in mine.
tomorrow
you would still be here,
and we would still be together.
tomorrow
i would be happy
just because you
will be at my side,
and will be there
every tomorrow
after that,
which is
all i need in life.
tomorrow
is exciting,
and i'm looking
forward to it.

my dreams were filled with
fireworks, endorphins,
your naked body in mine,
and your words, in the time between.

tomorrow became today
when i opened my eyes.

you were already awake,
preparing for what i asked you
to put off.
for something
i had completely forgot about
when i was unconscious:
the talk.

my mind isn't a rung out washcloth anymore;
it is a tea kettle filled with water,
and your words are the flame.
the water comes to a boil,
and the whistling sound
never stops.

i am on my side
with my back towards you
as you wrap your arms around me.

"we need to talk..."
is never the start
to anything good.

your voice sounds like
a piano that is out of tune.
shaky, nervous, and sad.

tomorrow is now today,
and tomorrow is unpredictable,
and never goes as planned.

"first, i just want to say
i love you, and always will.
you are everything to me, mv.
you are my life, my soul, my world,
my happiness. i never thought i would
love anyone until i met you. i want
to spend the rest of my life with you,
and be with you forever,
but,
right now this isn't going to work out."

i am back on the ledge with
one foot ready to put its
weight down on thin air.
ready for my body to follow.

you grip me tighter,
as the tears start to metabolize
in the corners of my eyes.

"i can't go to vermont.
i can't stay here with you any more.
this just isn't going to work.
you can't keep supporting me;
it isn't practical.
and i can't just run from my problems.
i talked to my mom yesterday.
she talked to my p.o.,
and she's not going to put me in jail.
if i go back to philly,
they are going to put me into a program to get clean,
i have a job set up that is going to pay really well,
and my mom said she's going to send me $100 a week
if i do what i have to do, and stick with it."

the whistling sound gets louder and louder
inside of my head and there is no way to stop it.

the dam breaks and the tears start cascading
down my face into my pillow.
i keep my eyes closed;
i don't want to remember the visuals
of this moment in time.

"plus, i have to go to those court dates,
and take care of that whole situation
with my roommate after she robbed me.
it's just not going to work,
no matter how much we want it to.
we can't just hope that will get jobs,
and be able to support ourselves,
pay off our debts, and make it.
i want it to, but it's not.
when we go to philly today,
we are not getting my stuff.
you're just going to drop me off,
and go back home.
if you still want to go to vermont, you can.
i'll try to come and visit once a month,
but i can't go.
or you can stay here, and i'll visit as much
as i can. or you can look
for a place in philly because after my roommate
robbed me, my landlord won't allow anyone else live here.
we can make it work.
it's going to be hard,
but we can do it.
i have never loved anyone as much as i love you,
but like i said, i need to do this."

i start to shake, as the tears
and pain come faster and faster.
i wipe the snot dripping from my nose
into my spaceman sheets,
trying to pretend that this isn't real,
even though i can't escape the fact that it is.
i am not a magician.
and don't know any miracle workers.

"no matter what i love you.
please don't forget that.
please don't stop loving me."

you are crying now too,
still holding me in your arms.
trying to hold me together,
even though i'm completely falling apart.
shutting down.
this is what hurt.
this is what pain feels like.
riding a bike with
a collapsed lung is nothing
compared to this.

"so what do you have to say?
what are you thinking?"

silence.

minutes pass, that feel like years.

i am in total freefall,
watching the ledge i was standing
on with you grow smaller and smaller,
farther and farther away,
waiting for the impact.

more time passes.

at this point we are both crying
as much as two human bodies can.

"please just say something."

your words have dissolved my tongue,
all that comes out of my mouth is hot moist air.

"i need to take a shower."
is another way of saying
i need to leave.
i need to get out of here.
so i grab my keys, wallet,
and a fist full of drugs
while i'm in the bathroom,
and turn the shower on.
i look at myself in the mirror,
and see the shattered visions
of the future i planned
in the reflection of my eyes.
it resembles the half eaten corpse
of a decaying elephant
dead in the tall green grass of the serengeti
being consumed
by vultures and flies.

i tried to escape out of the other bathroom door
that leads into the hall,
and avoids the bedroom entirely,
but you opened the bathroom door
and walked in before i got out.
shit.
i was caught. 
but it didn't matter.
nothing mattered.
shut down.
and numb to the world.

"are you seriously going to leave right now?"

i can't even look you in the eyes.
i can't communicate my reasoning,
how i feel, or what i'm thinking.
i can't even say yes or no.

so i just leave.
i leave without saying a word or where i'm going.
i leave without my phone because phones are useless in times like this.
i leave you standing in the bathroom
crying hysterically in the unknown.

i run down stairs, still in my pajamas,
grey penn state sweatpants and a yellow t-shirt,
hop into my car, snort a line, drive five minutes
down the road to frances slocum state park,
and heading for the solitude of the woods.

if every day is like today, then wake me up tomorrow

my first response to waking up,
is closing my eyes.

i know the potential is there
to get out of bed,
to explore the surface of the earth,
to make french toast and sausage,
to expand my vocabulary,
to clean the dirt off my skin and brush my teeth,
to make money,
to clean my bedroom,
to drive two hours down 476 to 76 to oregon ave to you,
to have fun,
to love and feel loved,
to feel fulfilled,
to be content,
happy,
excited for the next sunrise, sunset,
and the time in between;
instead i choose motionlessness.
unconsciousness.
numbness.
i choose to do nothing.
i choose to dream.

i've become immune to alarm clocks,
and the pinging sound my phone makes
when it receives a text message from
someone who wants to hang out with me.  

my veins are filled with mud.
my brain and heart are dead batteries.
that i haven't figured out how to replace,
and i can't afford new ones
so i'm stuck with what i got.
stuck in this situation:
under the covers,
and shivering from an overdose
of air conditioning,
and the presence of your ghost
trying to coax me out
from under the white drywall sky,
loneliness of this room.
and into the sun.
into your warm arms.

panic attack june 2, 2014 4:52am

right now,
in my mind,
you're
dead
with a needle
stuck in your
arm.
skin
pale blue
eyes still
open.

i'm going
to the bathroom
to puke,
and curl up
in a ball
on the
sand colored
square floor tiles,
as i watch my
phone until
i can't keep
my eyes open.

overreacting over radio silence in my bedroom while feeling like i have to throw up because of an impending nervous breakdown; you are on vacation with your friend in atlantic city.

tonight, i can relate to my mother.

i am chain smoking paranoid thoughts, and cope by snorting heroin.
involving you.
involving car accidents, abductions, sexual assault, natural disasters, and shark attacks. 
even though you're probably in the hotel, in a bed, sleeping.

tonight, i am having a spiritual awakening.
in this moment.
for the first time.
i am genuinely concerned about someone after six hours of phone silence.
so i stay up.
watching the phone.
waiting for your name to come across the navy blue screen in white letters.

tonight, i want to talk to you.
because i've ruined my life, hate myself, and want to talk to you about it.
my hiding places are filled beyond max capacity.
in a couple of days, there's no place to go.
like a person dropping through the air without a parachute during the fall.
i know what they are thinking:
panic
anger.
remorse.
his/her loved ones.
hysteria.
past mistakes.
future regrets.
sadness.
"FUCK!"
death.

it's pure fucking horror that no one can understand because there are no survivors.
it's worse than the moment of impact due to the combination of time, loneliness, and watching the ground getting closer, and closer.

tonight, i am falling.
tonight, you are ___ in atlantic city.
tonight i am concerned about the both of us.

i wrote your name down on my hand for motivation two days ago in black permanent marker, but it faded and disappeared after i took a shower

i gather my thoughts together
with a glue gun,
and start shaping your features
with a pocket knife,
widdling the excess material away;
i keep occupied,
but it is
coming out all wrong
because i am not very talented.

i sculpt a replacement:
it is an inanimate object.
it doesn't breathe.
it doesn't eat.
it doesn't talk.
it doesn't send out care packages
with wooden weightlifter knick-knacks.
or rewashable neon green sticky hands.
it isn't alive.
it isn't you.


it doesn't look like you,
even if i squint my eyes;
i'm trying my best.

we texted each other
earlier tonight,
but we haven't actually talked in a week.

i'm having a two hour conversation
with myself while
drinking a fifth of rum,
and watching two girls make out
in my passenger side mirror,
i look at my reflection in the rearview,
and realize i miss you.

but i can't tell if
i'm just being a bitch,
and overreacting.

 

thoughts before bed 3/18/14

laying in my bed,
i close my eyes,
and draw pictures of your face
with my imagination,
and hang them on my wall
with scotch tape.

you lose matthew. sorry, man.

this is who i am.

back in the best of times,
which isn't really much different
than the worst of times;
i am trying to tread water
to keep my head above the surface.

i want to see the sunrise tomorrow morning.
i want to close my eyes and look forward to it.
i want to sleep in the ocean's waves, and be warm and comfortable.
i want to be less lonely.
i want to become someone i would enjoy being around.
i want to kiss your forehead when you're sick, make you chicken noodle soup,
and tell you, "there, there darling. you'll feel better. you're going to feel awesome soon.
do you feel awesome?"
i want to sleep next to you so i can pick out the melodies under your breath,
and hum them at a later date.
i want to stop being a disappointed disappointment.

i want to stop wanting so i can start doing.
but every morning when i wake up,
i look for a reason to open my eyes,
and come up empty handed.
resting my head on the grey, oil stained cushion
of an abandoned backseat from a mini-van
thrown out in a dumpster
from a post-apocalyptic society.

i'm sorry.
sorry for being so lazy darling.
and for being such a coward.
if i discovered bigfoot or a ufo
i would give all the credit to you
because you are the only thing
in the world that matters.
the meaning behind all the metaphors in nature.

i nurture so many regrets as i tear the pages out of the calendar,
one by one; time is passing,
and it's sad to see it pass sitting alone
in an empty bedroom overflowing with empty beer cans.

i'm trying to rearrange all the individual pieces
to form a limpid picture that
makes sense to the both of us,
even though it never will
because i am too far gone.

so i am left with a choice
between death or insanity.

i am laughing hysterically
while shooting bb's into my white teddy bear
with a blue ribbon around its neck
that i hugged after i was born,
and can't explain why.

i apologize in advance love.

navy blue lace thong

source.

in your polar bear paws,
i don't know if i should feel like a cub, or a seal.

Dia De Los Muertos.

photo source 

Walking around a cemetery with my hood up, when the sun turns orange as it gets ready to go to sleep, I sit down and rest my back on a worn out tombstone that says, "mother, sister, and child."

I forget why I'm here, but I'm not afraid.

Just tired.

Sleepy.

I pull a flask of scotch out of the breast pocket of the brown denim jacket, which is frayed at the cuffs, and take a pull.

I don't know when they arrived, but they are here:

Skeletons wearing dust covered suits, and tattered color faded dresses.

Smoking cigarettes.

Playing cards.

Reading yellowed paperbacks as the wind carries the smoke out of their chests.

We are all in a circle.

Just passing time, and curing boredom.

I pass the flask into the stained bony fingers next to me, and someone tosses me a light.

"Thanks."

Staring off into the distance.

Looking at nothing in particular.

Just humming funeral songs in spanish.

Observing two of the younger skeletons making out without any tongues, feeling each others rib cages and pelvic bones.

Pulling blades of burnt sienna grass out of the ground, and scattering it across my sneakers.

Thinking about my true love.

A skeleton sits next to me indian style wearing a lavender floral patterned party dress with a hole on the hip takes a pull from the flask, and passes it back to me.

"Do you have a girlfriend?"

"Na. Well...maybe. I don't know, it's complicated and confusing."

"Isn't it always? That wasn't a very good question, but I got a better one: Are you in love?"

"Yes. Yes too all of the above...actually I don't know, maybe I'm just lonely. Or both."

The skeleton wearing a lavender floral party dress with the hole on the hip leans in closer, puts her arms around me, and rests her skull on my shoulder.

"Shhh. Shhh. Shhh. It will be okay. I can't guarantee that, but it'll work out one way or another. You're not going to be alone forever. However, it isn't going to change in a day. So don't think about it right now. Just have some fun, and let it happen."

Her earthworm perfume slows my mind enough to allow me to notice each and every passing second.

"Thank you. Seriously, thank you."

She tries to smile but can't, while two skeletons in black suits pour out a 40 into fast food cups in the waning light.

"You're welcome."

I get up, walk two graves over, and pull the bouquet of pink roses out of the white vase sitting on top of the granite tombstone.

I come back and hand them to her, then finish what's ever left in the flask.

One of the flowers gets stuck in her empty eye socket, and we both laugh.

"I can't smell them, but I remember their smell. Succulent. And sweet. Thank you. They are beautiful. That was really nice. I see flowers around here all the time, but never think about their smells. When you don't have a nose, it's easy to forget that smells still exist. Thank you for jogging my memory. For making me notice. You're really nice. Never forget that. Okay? Never forget that you still exist after you die;you just exist in other people."
 
"You're welcome. And okay. That is something I will always try to remember."

She pushes the bouquet into her face one more time, before laying it on the ground, then takes a cig out of her pack, lights it, and places it in between my lips.

I inhale.

The last ray of light disappears behind the horizon, as the sky starts to change from red to pink to navy blue.

"You ready?"

"Yeah."

The skeleton wearing a lavender floral pattern party dress with a hole on the hip sinks her teeth into my arm, as the rest of the circle puts down their drinks, and encloses in on me.

As the day ends, I remember.

i understand if you don't want to talk to me anymore.

my alarm clock goes off,
and i punch it in the face.

smashing my head
against a brick wall,
trying to breakthrough, and always failing.
blacking out,
and waking up
alone
saturated in a pool
of cold sweat
and partially coagulated blood.

a dented forehead.
a cracked skull
exposing the thought of
you in the front
of my mind.

fuck.

i repeat the process
over and over,
and over,and over,
and over,and over,
and over,and over,
and over,and over,
and over,and over,
and over,and over,
and over,and over
again with the same results.

you watching.
you crying
as i hit the floor.

negatively affecting you.

i'm passed out
while you're
on your knees
next to me,
cleaning my wounds with
your delicate tongue.

fuck.

i wake up.
alone.
and realize i am an equation:
(piece of shit squared multiplied by the square root of manipulative bastard equals motherfucker.)

i wake up.
alone.
and repeat the process again,

an observation about myself 2/2/14

i miss holding hands with someone else, more than having sex.

i'm lonely.

this isn't a poem or short story.

(but maybe it is.)

sorry i bitch.

email me if you want to talk or call me a motherfucking motherfucker asshole: crakpipefellatio@gmail.com

unspoken words remain unspoken

you are there.

i am here.

here is the middle
never visited.
(if you ask, "is this about me?" i will never admit to it.)


blood and puss suppurates
out of the lacerations
on my arms
even though they are already
scarred over.
it contains the toxins
created by
the pictures hanging on the walls
on the inside of my skull.
true love has never been fully realized.
the ideas are coated
with dust and mold;
cotton colored skin
has started to turn
gangrenous.

dead leaves
fixated in mud
and clothed in ice.
inactive.
paralyzed.
frozen.

the words sit in my mouth
like unused vomit
coming up from the stomach.
i swallow due to
nervousness.
shaky hands.
sweaty palms.
what's unspoken remains unspoken.

pull the zipper
sticking out from my forehead.
examine the synapses
and wrinkled contours of my brain.

when i asked you to leave
with me,
i was serious.

i would build
you
a house made out of
fuzzy blankets
and soft pillows,
different shapes, colors, patterns, and styles.
warm.
and insulated.

i would wrap you
in myself
if you ever started to shiver.
but i'm afraid of
squeezing you too tight;
closing your windpipe
unintentionally.

i know.
i know.
i know.
this is inappropriate.

you don't really need me;
i'm not a luxury.

i am as important as
a spat of used bubblegum
cemented to the concrete sidewalk.
bright pink
hardened
and
flecked with particles of dirt.

i apologize in advance
for getting stuck to your shoe.

i apologize in advance
for getting under your fingernails.

i'm sad.
i'm lonely.
i'm sorry.

that

you are here.

i am there.

and this is 

the middle

never visited.