you are two hours away, and my call has been forwarded to an automated voice message system, which means i have to figure out what i'm going to do today

instead of going to the beach.
instead of going for a swim in the pool.
instead of getting a tan.
instead of eating steak off a paper plate at a family cookout.
instead of telling my grandparents about how i'm broke, lonely, depressed fuck up that can never achieve the future i want, and tell them about because of my selfishness, and poor choices; i'm not the good person they think i am, nothing special, just a piece of shit.
instead of taking a shower.
instead of hanging out with friends, who fight all night, get fucked up, and lose their ability to talk.
instead of hanging out with friends who i have to drive around because they don't have a car, money, or a house/apartment we can go to.
instead of playing video games.
instead of going for a walk in the woods.
instead of clubbing.
instead of going to the bar.
instead of meeting a couple from mississippi that is on their honey moon.
instead of going to the casino and wasting loose change on slots.
instead of slamming a bottle of tequila.
instead of brushing my teeth.
instead of ordering the perfector fusion styler off an infomercial at 5am so i can get salon results at home, and forever change the way i style my hair.
instead of saving money.
instead of looking for an apartment, and job in south philadelphia.
instead of moving.
instead of making plans to move.
instead of paying my credit card bill, and debt to my parents.
instead of saving a child in africa for twenty cents a day.
instead of writing a novel.
instead of putting my faith in the promises of other people.
instead of quitting smoking.
instead of turning my dream into a reality by working on it with my hands.
instead of looking forward to tomorrow.
instead of looking forward to today.

i stay in bed,
while waiting on a phone call,
or making them, and failing.
so i settle for texts,
and express how i'm feeling
through abbreviations,
and emoticons,
as i swallow
pieces of wood
and gallons of gasoline,
while i run a fuse
down my throat,
and into my stomach.

i light the fuse.
it crackles and hisses,
as it disappears into my mouth,
and ignites the fuel into flames.
burning from the inside out,
you won't understand
what's happening
until you are sweeping
the ash into a dustpan,
and dumping it in the garbage.

you find a charred note
on a piece of loose leaf,
written in black ink,
and stuck in between
the bones on the left side
of my ribcage.

"the only thing i ever
wanted to do was to be with you.
ps: sorry for overreacting." 

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.

Keeping Pressure On Open Wounds That Are Insecure

you can't see it,
but my throat
has been slit
numerous times:
layers of scar tissue
built up
layer
after
layer
split open
like broken threads
of string
cut open
with a pair of orange handled scissors
frayed.
covered with
a brown wool scarf
my mother
crocheted for me,
the first time she used
her hands
those delicate slender hands.
a christmas gift
keeping pressure
on open wounds
that are insecure;
they have the potential
to become
fatal.
blood soaking into
the fabric
turning it
crimson
more floods out
turning it maroon,
i take it off.
you can examine
the decaying words
lodged in my throat.
but i don't know
if i'll ever remove it.
my shaky hands show
i'm scared and nervous.