opprotunities

i'm not looking to open doors, just slamming them shut with my free hand in the way, breaking fingers.

i will send you a picture.

hands looking like blue, purple, and green pieces of coral that are snapped, oozing blood.

you can put it on your desk at work.

or set it as the wallpaper on your phone.

the teddy bears we were given at our birth won't save us from the inevitable

so it goes,
i'm filling up a styrofoam cup
with brown snowmelt and debris,
and slamming it down.
sure i'm poor and thirsty,
but there is no reason behind this.
trying to construct a life
for us
made out of ice in
a sub artic climate
and watching it fracture and crack.
nothing is permanent
is a sure way to
DEATH.
i haven't seen sunlight
in weeks
except for video recordings on
television.
spinning around in the dark
seeing flashes of light,
dizzy,
throwing up in the toilet,
this is how i've chosen to spend
my time:
peeling skin off my fingers
alone in a room
locked in my head.
sorry,
but i can't let myself off
that easy
because destroying something can be fun
beautiful, and terrifying
all at once.
because i'm not a good person,
and people's lives are happier
when i'm not included in them.
not compatible,
out of date,
and smelling like four week old
laundry covered in stains.
bind my wrist
with a spaghetti covered t-shirt.
then lick my cheek
to get the taste
of blight.
swirl it around your mouth,
and spit it down the drain.
i can talk for hours
about random shit
that isn't important.
i can glue cigarette butts
to my lips so any offensive words
are filtered out into
old fast food bags
with moldy hamburger buns
and cold fries.
there will be nothing left to interpret.
there will be nothing left to say,
except,
"hi, how are you?
that's good.
im fine.
im okay.
that's cool.
oh really?
wow.
uh oh.
what are you doing?
word.
hahaha.
i understand."
no you fucking don't.
fluently thinking
before speaking
is what we call a
conversation.
DEATH.
this is supposed to be natural?
normal?
snapping wires
that connect
something to something,
someone to someone,
by clenching my jaws.
i haven't eaten
or brushed my teeth all day.
i plan to kill every flower
in your house
by breathing on it.
i plan to make you
submit by breathing
bad breath into your face.
i plan to make you submit by swapping spit
with a radioactive tongue.
side effects may include
nausea, shortness of breath,
loss of limbs, wrinkles,
an erection lasting longer than sixteen hours,
infection of vital organs,
suicidal thoughts,
cancer,
DEATH.
DEATH.
DEATH.
DEATH.
DEATH.
DEATH.

the way it always works out

there is
always
a space
between
you
and
me.

imagining yourself dissolving like sugar in a bath tub

alone, and isolated
in your bedroom.
on your knees
with your forehead
pressed against
the white drywall
listening for sounds
and noises coming
from something
or someone
that's alive.
staining that spot
yellow
with your sweat,
tears, apathy, and patience.
this is as close as you come
to prayer.
you want someone
to save you from
yourself.
you want to save
yourself from yourself,
but can't.
you listen,
and only hear
unspoken words mixed
with silence.
your computer and cellphone
died
a long time ago.

when i wake up

two miniature women
scale my face,
and sit next to the corners of my eyes
resting their backs on the bridge
of my nose.
each one takes out a crowbar.
they pry
each eye out
to donate to
a blind five year old boy
who wants to be able
to see his mom, his dad,
his friends, the color green,
the world around him.
they want him to be happy.
the miniature women 
replace my eyes
with glass ones.
like changing
an burnt out 
light bulbs.
when they finish,
they pull out sledgehammers
and smack them against
the glass pupils until
they shatter.
i blink.
embedded glass shard teeth
forming two small mouths
ready to consume anything
that's in front of me.
there is nothing in front of me.
the two miniature women
hop off my face.
they don't leave yet.
they want to observe.
i'm crying blood.
two warm salty 
red streams.
my hands lead me to the tub,
i fill it up,
slip into the hot water,
and do nothing.
nothing to do.
nothing to say.
nothing to consume.
nothing in front of me.
no where to go.
nothing to look forward to,
which was the case before 
i lost my eyes—
tomorrow never has had anything to offer.
hopeless.
miserable.
frustrating.
a waste of time.
and boring.
the two miniature women leave,
on their way to 
the blind five year old boy's house,
wiping tears out of the corners of their eyes
with the back of their hands,
not regretting their decision.
i wish i could tell them,
"i'm sorry for being a disappointment
i'm sorry for being a bad person."
in the end,
i want that little boy to be
happy.

"Wouldn't it be nice to get away?"

good moments are easy to forget sometimes

my coworker ria encouraged me to write some smut. 

"like sex. like write something that will turn people off and get them off. mv, i know you have it in you to write something like that." 

she told me about how earlier this week her son referred to his balls as "those brainy things down there," after he was describing his doctor visit to his older sisters. 
we laughed and had a full conversation about how balls, should from now be called and referred to as brainy things, "because they do kind of look like brains," and kept shouting "brainy things" back and forth to each other while cutting meat and cheese for customers.

then she told me my deli manager always says, "a dildo never asks, 'is it okay to stop?'"

i described to her what going into the projects is like. and told her that im going to be going away.

she then told me how much she and other people love me:

"like that elderly couple who i just waited on. they were seeing if you were here. but you weren't yet. then you showed up and their faces lit up. and they started asking how you were, and how you're a good kid, and to take care. then that other guy comes up and tells you how you're such a nice kid, cuts his meat perfect, then you asked about his wife and how she is doing. people love you mv."

right after, a guy walked up to the counter.

"hey dude how are you doing? i haven't seen you in awhile. you've been doing okay?"

i told him, "i'm surviving. and alive. what about yourself?"

he smiled, which made his beard move and said, "the same. at least trying to."

i handed him his pound of american cheese, "it was good seeing you, have a nice night."

"you to man. hang in there. and take care."

he walked away.

ria pointed at him as he walked away, looked at me and said, "see. people do care. there is hope."

i said, "yeah, it's just easy to forget sometimes."

then we proceeded to talk about dicks.

and how she doesn't like huge dicks. "like they're not all that they are cracked up to be. shit's intimidating. do you got a big dick?"

"7 and a quarter."

"not bad. but you might be too big for me. hahaha."

i snapped my fingers, and said "aww shit." then laughed, thought of a sam pink reading on youtube, and sang "big dick hustlers. we're fucking awesome." 

i pointed at her, then myself, and laughed some more. but felt kind of shitty because we know there won't be many shifts like this left because she's getting transferred to the duryea store, and i'm going to be put away. "don't worry mv. you gotta stop thinking. and just do it. i know you can do it, you can get through this. i'll miss you. but remember write me and other people something that will turn them on. just try out that sex shit, and make it hot and raunchy!"

"oh baby! i will try. but i suck at sex in real life, so i'll have to pretend. i'll mention people getting wet and big dick shit. haha. thanks. i'm going to miss you a lot too."

it's moments like this is wish i could save, and crawl back into when bad things happen, until they pass. because good moments are easy to forget sometimes.