pure morning

All the books you started reading, all the boys you started seeing, every half completed sentiment that you always meant to say gets stuck inside a memory like a miracle unfinished and you only feel like going back to where there's no place to stay.

Your face is pasty because you've gone and got so wasted, what a surprise.

It's a broken house, bloody handprints on the wall, ghosts out in the hall. That's where mamma lives. I still hear her calling out my name, singing I'm sorry now, I didn't mean to hurt you like I did. I always wanted to make a change. I always offer the worst in me, all of my hate, all my anger, all of my self-loathing. You can't go wrong if you bring love. I'm a broken man, blood on my hands, ghosts out in the hall. Just ignore them all, but I still hear them. I can't hear her, I won't die here. Time to fly, time to fight, time to be a better man.

I woke up with a headache from the night before,
cause sometimes I drink. I spent my night with my
head in a toilet bowl, it's where I like to think.

hands shaking like milk, my thoughts turn to you again – a jealousy over a typewriter. and over your ability to be free, my ability to stay grounded has left me alone again. Robert smith in my head phones as I sit in my car, in the freezing cold, because its the only place I can smoke and type/write at the same time. a desperate desire to not be alone has ultimately backfired. the people I place on a pedestal only to have them fall down around my ears. the ones you least expect, are the ones who give the best advice. its cold, I’m cold, the blood in my viens has curdled again and no one can tip out this sour milk stained by thoughts so decrepit that my heart trembles. this car seat is numb, my ass will fall through it and I will fall away and there will be nothing left but ash. those meant to miss me wont, and the others will. the ones who whisper my name before they sleep and the ones I throw away like used sanitary pads. I’m sorry, more sorry than you could ever imagine. but I will never back down – this brick is slowly drowning, just like a smashing pumpkins song. a stencil for the 90’s. he broke down, I broke down coz I was tired, of lying. ive fought this battle to get sober, now I can’t play the blissful game of ignorance anymore. the guilt, the guilt is consuming. its whole, in its entirety, my fear of everything. my fear is debilitating.

a disgusting anecdote of fear, of novels read under covers, of bukowski and tea and sympathy. of love, of hate, of deep sadness, of delight, of vulnerability. I wilted, you grew – you never knew, you never will. no one knows, except those queens of the night, the ones who wear white. oh I love a little poetry, I know you do. I’m a writer, not a duke – she said, she whispered in my ear. I felt my toes crunch and my heart creep inside my chest, only to spasm and not regain its dignity and composure. its all gone, its disappeared, like alice did, only to emerge corrupted and raped of her innocence. dreadlocks and cobwebs, intertwined, a love that endures all things, or a love of ignorance, of bliss, of a nirvana that only exists in the brain. a clinical orgasm and two blankets, its cold she said, too cold. dreams of a sexual revolution, or a revolution from your bed. it always begins, it never changes, things never grew, I never knew. I stood tall, through it all – perhaps I even did it my way. sitting on my ass, in my car – what to do, where to go from here?

"I hate to be the one to break it to you, but rock and roll can't actually save the world."
"See, I disagree. Walk into any club on the strip tonight, and just look at the kids. Look into their eyes. I mean they're all looking for something to believe in, and I think that music can be the thing to change the world."

I want to share my tin man heart with you – or the scarecrows nonexistent brain – you can be Judy garland and I can dance in the rain.