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.

Father

I wish  I could dye my hair
to feel better about myself
because somebody thought
I looked like you,
but my darkness
is more complicated
than that.

6/14/17

i cant concentrate on my mood swings,
they're just something i have
no control of.
sitting around,
in a bedroom
after watching a eighteen
year old sucking
a hard cock,
face covered in come, just
feeling alone
and guilty.
what can i do?
except put it all behind me,
and absorb
the chemical deficiencies
until they become something beautiful
that i can tolerate.
an explorer splunking
the depths of his own
neurochemistry
until he dies from
the pressure.
not feeling
a goddamn thing.
consumed by angels
flying to heaven
with my guts
dripping fluids,
locked in their jagged
teeth.

the examined life is not worth living

splashing cum stains on a washcloth as i waste away in the night

when i studied
the geography of her body,
i became hopeless.
i am not
a cartographer;
i am shit.
sitting in the dark,
stuck in the routine,
i will tongue kiss her ring
to demonstrate my
dedication
as a busy body
coming down.
trying to control
her breathing.