anarcho-hope

a blade of grass cuts my ribs blood coming all out like juice boiling in the hot summer humidity. real money spent on real shit to fill your real home that becomes a real coffin for your real death. the lawn mower slicing through the hair of my mother unforgiving. fists of apes pounding tree trunks shaking the homes of feeding birds. the harrowing tale of how my bed sheets are getting staler and how loneliness only lurks around the desperate. a gag ball stuck in a geyser will eventually be spit out and hurdle to the earth like a falling astroid. the dead plastic that fills the house of hoarder starts to become play things for ferrel cats. so

It is time to head out. Jeans re-worn for a week straight, that stenched denim rubbing against another pair of sundress legs. The vaudeville madman strikes again and it left the crowd yawning. This feeling is like stubbing your toes every few hours. Spending days writing in composition books, the same fucking sentences. The crow was shot and left in the field with english setters hurdling forward at the fresh smell of blood. Disappointment. You don't know someone until you have had them go behind your back. A haze of grey staining the sky and just as soon as the world turns we can all go to sleep. The next prophet will have sunglasses and be

There are plenty of ways to lose yourself. A palette of latex colors spit across the city block. It is all a part of that numb-mouth candy and everything is starting to register in a less linear way. Dead bugs scattered across the dashboard like a wasteland of carcasses. Oh, the humanity! All my friends wear the same old t-shirts they had in high school, like tattered flags harkening back to a simpler time. I swallow the tasteless paper and start my old Camry that will still shake if you accelerate too fast. Nate: She's pregnant? Me: Yeah man, you know how she was sleeping with Alex? Well apparently it may not even be his kid. Nate: Shit..

Unkempt lawns limbo with the wind and the room I've locked myself in is starting to get smaller. At this rate I'll never get home, I'll just keep returning to the strange place that exploits the brevity of minutes and the enormity of hours. The red bumps between my toes won't quit itching and my hair won't stop growing. I would give anything to escape the super-imposed images of yesterday's shit-storm. I wake every morning with wide eyes and fall asleep with flushed cheeks. Coffee mugs are creme brulees of dried coffee and ash. Unchosen celibacy has gotten me to resort to flipping coins with hard shut eyes.

 Dead birds dive to the ground, landing with a padded thud. A dirt cloud mushrooms from the impact. She said she collected jewelry. Pearls set across her freckled chest. She couldn't believe it. The reason you live is to find something to die for. Flatline living with a poor concept of who you are. She broke her hand trying to slap me in the face. I drove to the hospital. Silence the whole way. Measure progress by how many people have seen you naked. She paid for the drywall and we made up the next day. She said to never do it again. She is away so much what is the point? Every "I love you" is empty and for the sake of pretending we are OK. W

Being a sack of shit isn't as easy as you would think. I memorize the lies I tell my friends so my story will line up. An alibi about how everything is ok. Split the difference and just admit that I was always right. The top is spinning across the cracks in the hardwood floor, oscillations becoming bigger and bigger. Key lines running across your car. Maybe you shouldn't have been a cunt. Eventually "sorry" loses its meaning and drunk phone calls just become a staple of the nights since you left. It hasn't rained like this in a while. If it keeps up the streets will flood and I can just float to the ocean. The escape artist's last attempt

Is it too late to just give in? My thirst for knowledge is nothing more than me pretending to care. Convictions go out the window when the butane is pouring. Hot glass and forgotten times. I don't know what love is, I was just trying to get my dick wet. Does this mean anything yet? Words thrown over the telephone wire. Hung to dry and forgotten in the rain. We were never as fucked up as we thought we were. It was never a drug addiction. It was me just wanting attention. I'm a coward, not a wreck. You were all stupid for thinking I was good for anything at all.

It is all a hoax. You don't need anyone.

Sperm dumpster. That is what we called her. Sperm dumpster. She had us fooled the whole time. She knew how to live better than any of us. She loved everyone. Tar black hair and a smirk that would discourage the manliest of men. She figured it out. Sprawled across a messy bed we talked about who we were and where we were going. Normal college shit. We were on those chemicals that had a way of working in our brains. Firing rusted pistons, moving gears that had been immobilized by years of public education. She said she didn't want to be anything special. Just someone who could make people happy. We spent the rest of the night seeing ho

Suck it up, act like it doesn't get to you, give fake names and don't leave a trace. Heaven is falling fast. The fault lines are getting further apart. Hell will swallow me. The bird pecked my eyeballs out, dangling from the stalks, it told me about the mathematics of everything. A plastic bag caught on a tree branch, the wind shakes it free. Stained glass panes, rained out, you can only get so depressed. Wind sprints where you breath in sulfur. The smell makes you gag. It makes you gag. It makes you gag.