i got a 14 year old pregnant

her mom watched a lot of daytime tv,
which is why she decided to forgo 911
and straight to the talk show studio.
she cries in her chair, while her mother
answers the authoritative host's very
personal questions about our relationships
origins, who i am, and what i do and dont with
my spare time in a not so nice tone,
passionate but uninformed.
and the audience is like, "wow!"
and im backstage getting my make-up
touched up staring at the monitors,
listening to this and seeing the title,
i got a 14 year old pregnant 
saying, "what the...huh?"
while being prodded toward the
main stage entrance
by hands and heads wrapped
in headsets
being reassured that
ill be okay as i wonder
if i will be okay.
if i have any downers left
in the hotel room.
coming out to a chorus
of boos thinking,
"you have to be kidding me guys,
oh man."
i dont really remember what happened
before the reveal, the results,
the climax and resulting falling action,
just that no matter what i said
no matter how true or untrue it was
i was just met by razor sharp words and
insults hidden in reactionary questions.
i was all entertainment and we all had
our part to play, we all had to do that
dance like good little sluts
except we just did it because of exposure
or in my case circumstance.
so i just sat there after a couple of minutes
scratching the fake wood on the armrest
of the chair with a worn down fingernail
not really paying attention to what i was saying
just saying things when im supposed to
for the sake of saying something.
because that was what they wanted.
but i knew i really didnt
have to do anything
just sit and wait
because
god sent me here to rock
them and you,
and in a couple minutes ill make
it hot, and in a few minutes even hotter.
it's up to them to
figure out whether or not im
good or bad
because ill never know.
when the results are read,
she is not pregnant,
but i am.
two years ago we met through an internet forum.
he wanted to be a teenage girl,
and i wanted to be an older teenage boy.
so we switched places,
which wasn't hard because
with a little make-up
and hair dye he passed
as a 12 year old she.
he passed as me or who i used to be.
my mom never paid enough attention
to notice.
the producers with shocked
faces asked for close ups
of all faces involved
and audience reactions,
speaking into their microphones,
"where else will the story go?"
but in my mind the story had already reached its
conclusion: the topic was ass to begin with.

i'm sorry for asking but please come take me home

i channel my inner television monologue
staring into the bathroom mirror in the dark
at 2 am on a practice run for spending
the rest of the night with my eyes open.
eating a bowl of pinecones patiently
waiting for the forests of christmas trees
to grow and bloom inside
until they are consumed
by an electrical fire.
just a bottom feeder
on the lower end
of the food chain
scraping by.
just creeped out
because i can't
feel my hair.
i don't think
i'll ever
figure out
what happened
to this place.
i don't think
i'll ever
get over
it.
waking up
not being able
to fall back asleep
is just wasted potential:
everybody needs friends,
but i've never been able
to stand up straight.
i think i like you a lot
only cause i'm so good
at hurting myself.
so lock all the locks,
take all the keys,
and keep yourself clean,
cause i'm alone again
and i don't like the things
i see.

severed skulls swapping vomit

when i woke up this morning i felt cheated that the kitten i was dreaming about didn't follow me.
wasn't there lying next to me in bed.
i couldn't fall back asleep.
just stayed up watching videos online all day about people playing soccer video games, fast food reviews, wrestling, and pranks without any actual interest in the subjects.
just passing time.
wasting the day next to a phone that stopped ringing years ago.
whatever.
light even turns to dark with the blinds down:
bluish grey to black,
the colors and their duration are the only difference.
i read emails from a correspondence a couple years ago with a girl from north carolina, and another with a girl from ohio.
was embarrassed.
not because of the content, or how those relationships played out.
was embarrassed because i shouldn't have said anything.
shouldn't have gotten involved.
should've stayed silent.
other people are scary,
and the person i'm scared of the most
is myself.

aborted my great grandmother with a gasoline douche and random office supplies just so i would never exist.

😻

my goal in life

is to be put into a coma

for the rest of my life span

so i could start over

because i
can escape
everyday
without
having nervous
breakdowns.

and in my dreams
i go over to a illiterate obese
girl's house
who offers me
twinkies and cherry cola
and wants to
fuck.
richard simmons
is on the tv
talking about
the secret to 
"perfect buns"
as she pulls
her panties
down
and picks up
a chainsaw.
her pussy smells bad
which makes me vomit
on her collection of 
childhood dolls
and teddy bears.
so she saws off 
my left hand
and
claims my right eye
from its socket
as recompense,
making us even,
before i walk out the door.

i make it to the train tracks
and get drunk
under the highway
alone in the dark.
i haven't eaten in
three days but 
nothing 
really
matters
anymore.
i smash a couple empty
bottles against the concrete
wall
guilty for fucking
up the earth
a little worst
than it already was.
i lay across the tracks
with my legs
spread open
like some
unconscious
16 year old girl
about to get stripped naked
and
raped
in an unknown bedroom
at a party
by some dumb fuck jock
who's a senior
and is going to get away
with it
because he's the star running back
on the football team.
as the twelve approaches
with two large stones 
on my chest
and a lit cigarette
smoldering 
between my lips.
i wait,
waiting for
the warm sensation
of being cleaved in two
my body penetrated
by heavy steel.
but the wheels of the train
miss
and squeal past
in a incomprehensible
blur
on the other set of tracks next to me.

always the fuck up.

i get up
with the understanding
of my hatred towards people,
even the people in my head,
and my longing to be
with at least one 
of them.

😻

to richard vargas

sometimes
i
feel
life is
like
an elevator
you're
stuck
in
while
d r u n k
and in
the possession
of
a backpack
full of weed.

and instead
of
hitting the help button
you have to
kick the
SHIT
out of the door
and have
someone you know
pry the doors open with
a hockey stick
so you can escape
then
a couple days later
someone who lives on your floor
rats on you
and you and someone you know
gets stuck with the
bill.

love is a...

in the meaninglessness of her life at 18 years old, she hoped that void would be fulfilled  with a boy or a girl and love on a computer screen.

so she could have a purpose: a core just like the center of the earth that kept it functioning and supporting life.

when she was younger, she was bullied at first for not having clothes bought from department stores in malls that were advertised in magazines, television commercials, and music videos. clothes are clothes, but these clothes had some particular type of animal sewn into them like a deer, a horse, or a elephant, or had the name of the brand strewn boldly across the shirt so everyone who passed and saw knew where it was purchased and how much it costs, which meant something.

she shopped at thrift stores or got hand me downs from her older brothers, sisters or cousins, which were noticeably faded and not brand new.

her peers would take photos of her without her noticing or permission, and create meme's or posts on social media sites using those pictures of her on how one should never dress, with titles like, "how to never attract a boy", or "2017 freak show aka failed science experiment" or "worst dressed/ugliest bitch/thing at soloman high march 2017." "faggot" the responses by her fellow classmates from both female and male students did not defend her, but supported the post or meme's message:

"i mean can't even try to look at that. scumbag. lol. it's not that hard try lookin in a fucking mirror!"

"it has nice ass but it's all fake, and i ain't fuckin that unless there's a bag on whatever you want to call it's head, strip it nude and drove its stanky ass through the nearest car wash, triple wrap my dick, close my eyes, try not to puke, and get paid a million dollars. na fuck that 200 million. haha"

each day was hell. she was taciturn and a recluse, and never told her parents about anything because they had their own bullshit about: working, paying the normal bills and her therapy, and trying to hold their marriage together in the meantime. They already had put up with enough of her problems; they couldn't be bothered anymore. so she started searching the internet not for fashion tips, like she used too, but on ways on how to commit suicide. most people don't realize this section of the internet exists, but it does, and is visited by more troubled teens and adults than a normal person can imagine. for some it's just a cry for attention, but for others it is a way to learn and how to teach.

suspension hanging. drug overdose. cutting the wrist deep into the arteries and vertically so they can't be stitched back together. procuring a lethal dose of nembutal from the internet. jumping off a bridge, or any tall building. a bullet to the binary.

she studied the methods, and the only three that were doable were hanging, cutting, or jumping since she didn't know where to buy drugs, didn't have a credit card to order any off line, and her parents' were against guns and hunting all together.

each night she practiced hanging ethernet cords from the beams in her closet, trying to cut off her carotid artery, which stops blood flow to the brain, and will make a human being go completely unconscious in 5-15 seconds, becoming braindead without medical assistance in 10 minutes, and completely dead in around 20. but each time she tried, she messed up, cutting off her jugular causing her head to swell with blood, and a violent headache, which lasted for an hour or so after each practice attempt—the failure pulsing along with her brain. she tried new materials (scarfs, shoelaces, ropes, bungee cords, and even a twisted up bedsheet) and variations on the technique, but to no avail.

"wow, i'm such a fuck up i can't even figure out how to kill myself properly," she muttered to herself before she went to bed, staring up at the fading glowing stars that hung from her ceiling thinking how she is not made for this world but is too inept or maybe too scared to escape it.

but one day, she checked her social media page, which she was in the midst of contemplating deleting, and there was a message notification, and from a boy no less.

"hey i know you dont know me, but i came across your profile through a mutual friend pop up notification thing on the people you may know and clicked on your profile. i dont know if you have a boyfriend or anything, but if you dont i just wanted to say i think you're really cute. and i was able to see some of the art you drew, and think you are really talented. and like a lot of the bands you like. i hope im not being a creep but msg me back if you want to talk or anything. i go to scranton, which is  a couple of school district away duh you probably know that but okay ill be waiting. have a good night."

she reread the message over and over again, trying to think of some way to respond that wouldn't make her sound stupid, desperate or like an idiot.

his name was lucas. he had short black hair that was kind of messy and neat all at the same time. from his pictures he looked semi popular, and got invited to parties. there were pictures of him holding beers, and plastic handles of bottom shelf vodka. her favorite one was of him with his eyes closed hugging a black cat's paws around his shoulders completely at ease.

for the first time in weeks, nooses, hanging off bridges, and razorblades slicing skin weren't at the forefront of her mind, it was lucas's tawny face, lip ring, and brown eyes.

she responded a day later:

"hey sorry for the delay. just been busy with homework and stuff. but i dont find you creepy at all. i actually think you're really cute and sweet. thank you for the compliments on my drawings, i mean they suck, but i'm glad you like them. i love your lip ring. when did you get it? oh yeah, definitely send me some bands, im always looking for some new good music. and to answer your question, no i do not have a boyfriend, but am currently looking for one if he's the right guy (-; if you're not busy sometime maybe we can get together. msg me back if i didn't scare you off and you’re interested."

the school week went by with the same bullshit, as she sat by herself at lunch with her hoodie over her head, headphones in, reading ned vizzini's it's kind of a funny story, and the oregon trail is the oregon trail by gregory sherl eating an apple and a xannie bar for lunch. ignoring the outside world, and just thinking of what lucas was up to right now.

he messaged her a couple times throughout the day, the last one being a skull emoticon = high school.

it kept her distracted, and her mind at ease.

she asked him if he wanted to hang out and go see a movie this weekend or something, but lucas messaged back saying he had to go out of town with his parent's, "you know, just another dumb family function. sry. but send me a pic of what you look like tonight, and we can pretend we're hanging out lol. i'll do the same. (-;"

she was somewhat disappointed, but hey with technology today you can still see each other and sort of hang out, just in a digitized manner. but fuck it something is better than nothing.

so she did her eyeliner, green/teal eye shadow, soft pink lipstick, and rest of her make-up, slipped on a tight black dress trying to show off the best of her features without being too forward or slutty, and did her hair up to the best of her ability.

after ten tries, she finally took a pic she liked, her head to to the side, with her chestnut eyes looking away, but still big, bright, and enticing, hair and pose as perfect and attractive as she could be, and sent it to lucas with the caption, "wish u were here." even though she preferred to use real words in text messages then abbreviations because they seemed childish, but in this situation to her, it seemed cute.

two minutes later, she got a response, "youre so hawt. i wish i was too," with a pic of his straight black bangs covering his one eye, his other blue eye visible, and pale white face in a frown.

she felt a warm glow inside as if someone stoked a fire, and started cooking marshmallows over the warm red coals.

"it's okay. you're so handsome. dont be sad. we will see each other soon!"

over the next couple of days the bullying still continued, but so did the conversations and pictures with lucas. she still had visions of a noose hanging from a tree limb, od'ing on drugs, or a bullet passing through brain matter, but they were less frequent cause now she also had visions of infatuation, attraction, and what could be the kindling of love.

as she lain in bed after taking two xanax, she touched herself through her teal lace thong and masturbated scrolling through the pics of lucas before passing out, falling into her unconscious dreams and fantasies.

hospice

i miss the hosiptal.
my bed.
the tubes
sewed into my side
draining blood
and
the sympathy
they brought
because when
i was close
to death
i wasn't
alone.