Santa Doesn't Love the Suicidal - 12/19/11

Santa doesn’t love the suicidal
Nor the chronically depressed
He only loves the ones who smile
And he forgets the rest
 
Because good kids don’t run with scissors
And good kids don’t cry
Because good kids’ thoughts don’t linger
On each and every lie
 
You better not cry
And you better not pout
And you better not scream
And you better not shout
And you better fake a smile
And shove your emotions down
If you want anyone
To love you now
 
God doesn’t care for the schizophrenics
Who hear his voice in their head
God doesn’t love the young maniacs
Who joke about being better off dead
 
Because good subjects are seen, not heard,
Good subjects slowly die
Good subjects aren’t the boys and girls
With the courage to look God in the eye
 
You better not cry
And you better not pout
And you better not scream
And you better not shout
And you better fake a smile
And shove your emotions down
If you want anyone
To love you now
 
Coach don’t care for the nervous
And Mama don’t want the insane
And no one wants to be friends with
The strange girl who’s always in pain
 
But Coach loves my fake smile
And Mama ignores all the signs
And everyone want to be friends with
The quiet girl who tells perfect lies
 
You better not cry
And you better not pout
And you better not scream
And you better not shout
And you better fake a smile
And shove your emotions down
If you want anyone
To love you now
 
So if I’m not here tomorrow
Please, don’t cry or worry
Just know I went to find the Devil
The only one who loves me for me
 
Because sometimes I need to cry
And sometimes I need to scream
And sometimes parts of me want to die
But you can see which won this scene
 
You better not cry
And you better not pout
And you better not scream
And you better not shout
And you better fake a smile
And shove your emotions down
If you want anyone
To love you now

Alive Today - 12/17/11

She’s got a pretty smile
She’s got an ugly soul
She’s a poet in denial
Fighting for control
 
He’s got a brilliant mind
He’s got a worried heart
He met her dark side
And it tore him apart
 
Run and find a starless night
To help me off to sleep
Run and find a Friday fight
To end this miserable week
Run and find a sharp edge
To draw out all my pain
Run and find a cliff’s ledge
To keep yourself sane
Yeah, she’s alive today
That’s the best that I can say
 
If this was just a girl in love
It’d be a simple story
But she’s not angel from above
Just a demon who got lonely
 
Run and find a starless night
To help me off to sleep
Run and find a Friday fight
To end this miserable week
Run and find a sharp edge
To draw out all my pain
Run and find a cliff’s ledge
To keep yourself sane
Yeah, she’s alive today
That’s the best that I can say
 
If you want to meet the soul
Behind the mask
You don’t have to ask
She’s far beyond control
So come and say hello
It’s not like she’s well hidden
Escaping every minute
But has not better place to go
 
Escape the sleep deprived insanity
Self-starvation and misery
That girl’s a catastrophe
Run, Boy, do you hear me?
 
Run and find a starless night
To help me off to sleep
Run and find a Friday fight
To end this miserable week
Run and find a sharp edge
To draw out all my pain
Run and find a cliff’s ledge
To keep yourself sane
Yeah, she’s alive today
That’s the best that I can say
 
She’s got scars on her pretty thighs
She’s got lies in her pretty eyes
Pain in every sentence
Screams in her hesitance
 
She got a pretty smile
She’s got an ugly soul
She’s a poet in denial
Fighting for control
 
Run and find a starless night
To help me off to sleep
Run and find a Friday fight
To end this miserable week
Run and find a sharp edge
To draw out all my pain
Run and find a cliff’s ledge
To keep yourself sane
Yeah, she’s alive today
That’s the best that I can say
 
Yeah, she's alive today
And that's the best that I can say

Letters From A Very Bad Week - 12/10/11

I.
Open fire and flames.
Open fire and flames and fumes.
Open fire and flames
And forgotten fame
And fever.


II.
Dear Mr. Devil,
We regrettably inform you that we will be unable to make this evenings ball due to the inconvenience of being alive.  We have heard many great things about your parties and were looking so forward to this one.  Please know that we mean no offence and hope to join you next time.
Sincerely,
The Young and Tragic


III.
If I could be anything
I’d like to be a candle.
A simple, quickly-over life,
Nothing much to handle.
Set alight one day,
Left to brightly burn.
A beautiful travesty,
A rose’s bloodied thorn.
The candle killed by kindness,
Just trying to spread light.
The happiness is seen
But the bringer out of sight.
And as the day passes,
The wax evaporates,
Until there is nothing left,
Gone without a trace.
So bring me structured poetry
And overly-lyrical verse,
For I have images of blood
And stars and a polished hearse,
Because I am not a candle
Who will slowly die,
But a bit of dynamite,
Waiting to ignite.


IV.
Dear God,
I noticed the rain.  It rains often here and it’s hard to not notice, but what I noticed was that it wasn’t raining.  And it hasn’t rained in some time.  I know your subjects think the rain is you crying, so I can only imagine that a lack of rain is depression.  I’ve been having trouble crying lately too.  Trouble washing away all the darkness.  It gets bottled up, becomes acidic, and starts to chew away at my soul.  Which is okay for me, because I’m mortal.  But I don’t want to live in a world with a God whose soul has disintegrated.  So come down to visit, and we’ll drink orange juice and cry until the oceans flood.
It’ll be fun.
My best,
The Atheist


V.
You pretty little whore.
You filthy little doll.
Your dress is much too short,
Your ego much too tall.
I think it’s time to take a hit,
I think it’s time to fall.

You know you’re not immortal,
You know you’re gonna die,
So where’d you find the insanity
To look fate in the eye?
So where’d you find the courage
To laugh instead of cry?


VI.
Dear Ms. Dickinson,
You are bad luck.
Sorry,
The Heartbroken


VII.
The lighter met a candle.
Tall and thin and pale,
A girl of only seventeen
Who’d skipped too many meals.
The lighter didn’t know her secrets,
He didn’t know her pain,
He thought that they could be friends,
No reason to refrain.
I don’t know what he saw in her,
The ugly stick of wax,
With a wick wound so tight
She never could relax,
With poorly crafted body
That had cracked too many times,
With  a soul of blood and lust
That thought in verse and rhyme.
And when he found those verses,
Soaked in carnage and tears,
The silly little lighter
Found something to fear.
The girl was a cheater,
Dynamite in disguise,
Who smiled far too brightly
For one who hides such lies.

VIII.
Dear Scissors,
I’m sorry about last night.  It was wrong.  But I was lonely, and sad, and afraid to cry and God wasn’t around to make a joke.  And the Devil wasn’t around to play the right music.  And Blood would not shut up.  It was wrong.  But Poetry had failed me.  But cats make me cry.  But it wasn’t raining and I ran to you for comfort and found it.  It was wrong.  And it really mustn’t happen again.
But I can’t stop thinking about your embrace.  You can be the arms I’m longing for, the kisses I’m missing, the best friend who understands.  You accept me.  Treat my the same when I’m making art or breaking skin.  You don’t look at me like I’ve sinned when all I’ve done is freed the needs I have.
It was wrong and it really mustn’t happen again.  But don’t worry, because I’ve always been one for breaking the rules.
I love you,
Misery and Madness


IX.
It’s a little scary, at first.
That first moment in the water.
Time freezes and you think
You’re drowning.
And you really are drowning.
Forever and all eternity.

But eternity ends
A second later
And the words come
And it’s all over.
Forever and all eternity
It is over.

But eternity ends
A second later.

X.
Heart: Are we alright?
Mind: Are we alive?
Body: Where are we?
Soul: Doesn’t matter.
Heart: Everything matters!
Mind: Everything has energy.
Body: I think we should move . . .
Soul: What.  Ever.
Heart: The entire universe is filled with love and magic!  And you think it doesn’t matter?  Have you never seen a star?  Don’t you remember beyond the universe?
Mind: The entire universe is filled with physics and magic!  And you think it doesn’t matter?  Have you never seen a star?  Don’t you remember beyond the universe?
Body: I’m hungry.
Soul: I’m leaving now.

The Pencil and the Eraser - 12/09/11

The eraser had a lovely day,
Providing a clean slat.
He wiped mistakes away.
He unraveled fate.

The pencil, on the other hand,
Has had a tiring week.
She tried to fill too many demands
And ended up growing weak.

For every time she was wrong,
For every time she failed,
The eraser came along
And cleaned her tragic trail.

That history made her,
Those lessons made her tough.
The eraser thought he’d saver her
But only made the day rough.

Breathing is Easy - 12/07/11

I fell in love for 10 minutes.
I feel in love quickly, painlessly,
like finishing a math test.
In those 10 minutes,
I didn’t feel alone.
It wasn’t quite happy.
It wasn’t anywhere near the feeling
I’ve been grappling for,
euphoria.
But there was another being
who I felt close to,
who I thought understood,
who I was okay with loving.

Duct taped chips of red and blue,
smeared in my chest,
stopped begging,
“Be careful,
stay sweet,
don’t fall in love,
ever.”

For 10 minutes, I was in love.

But it turned out that I was understood,
but still alone.
It turned out that the world is beautiful
but I am ugly.
It turned out that he found my poetry,
understood it,
and began to worry.
So I can only think that
- he only talked to me to make sure I was okay
- he only stood up for me
because he feared I’d kill myself
- everything that I perceived as flirting
has been a check in,
seeing if I’m still breathing.

Well, to him,
and to anyone else who might ask:
yes, dear, I am.
Breathing, living, thinking.
But not the way most do.
I’m not eating or sleeping
or loving -
except for 10 minute intervals -
or smiling sincerely
or relaxing.
But breathing, sure.
That’s easy.
So easy, it’s hard to stop.
I’ve tried several times
and can say firmly,
for the record,
breathing is easy.

Dance With Me, Langston - 12/07/11

She stands -
the potent lyrical potion
palpable in the air,
tossing her soft hair
from restrictive bobby pins
her mother pinned in.

She leans
against the anachronism of a bar
until her young head falls
in a beam of artificial moonlight,
a stream of liquid sunshine,
dusty souls fall through her.
She is Heaven.

Heaven waits -
hanging off the trumpet’s hiss,
lounging in the bass’ lisp,
tethered to the saxophone
and his bleating, bleeding, blurring
baritone bombardment,
bullets of notes blistering
past Heaven’s wholesome stockings.

Open This Soul - 12/07/11

Open this soul
Run a scalpel down the chest
And reveal the toll
The world has impressed
On a young and simple soul.
Open this soul
And reveal a cage
Shaped from a mold
Of the heart it traps
And holds.
Open this soul
And free these words
That none have heard,
Not even the body’s
Own ears.
Open this soul
And let the years
Of silence fill
The caged soul
The tears and fear
Of the moments that escaped
In those silent years.
Open this soul
And heave the monster out,
Remove its chains,
Its shackles,
Its restraints,
And let it more about.
Open this soul
And let sunlight tame
The bites and slashes
Of the monster’s rage.
Open this soul
And free insanity
In a way never meant to be.
Open this soul
And show the mind
That there is no need to hide
From monsters
Locked deep inside.
Open this soul
And see
That emotions do not start
As beasts
But transform
When given only darkness to eat.
Do not
Open this soul.

To A Cat Purring On The Rocks - 12/06/11

I screamed,
completely unintentionally,
but louder than anything
I’ve ever meant.
We were standing around,
 my best friend and I,
talking about Emily Dickinson
and the many physical forms death can take.
We were waiting for the bus in the cold
with a fuzzy, warm cat across the street,
the same colors as the fallen leaves,
except for that white belly,
like the snow we were wishing for.

He forced me to look away
as I stood frozen in fear
eyes locked on more than a single space,
but a single time as well.
And then we waited
for the bicyclist to clear the body
and for the body to stop twitching.
And even then,
the image still seared in my head,
I had to be forced to look away.
So we waited for the bus,
just across the street
from the first death
I had ever witnessed.

I’d seen close before;
walked in on dead hamsters,
rushed a dying cat to the vet,
sat in a hospital.
But today I watch death come and go.
I watched something die.
I screamed
and covered my mouth
and watched a fuzzy, warm cat
depart the Earth.

All I can think is that
it is my fault.
If I hadn’t needed to pet that
cute, tiny kitten,
maybe it wouldn’t have run
out into the street.
But maybe if I had waited for the light
and gone to another bus stop,
I never would have seen the cat.
But maybe if I had planned
a little more carefully,
I never would have hesitated at the light.

It has not been a good day.
I keep trying to find the good day,
but it has not been one.
I forced all the conversation I could,
but each moment of silence
was comprised of death and guilt.
Each fraction of a second
between sentences
was over-analysis of my faults.

And now it is late.
It is dark.
It is cold and quiet.
And we’re fearing nightmares
and cancer
and our own cats escaping into the street.
And I’m fearing ever crossing a street,
or letting a friend cross a street.
And I’m fearing deciding.
And, more than death,
I am fearing life.

My Buddy, God - 12/05/11

God came down,
all the way from Heaven,
to sit in my little room,
to argue with an atheist
about modern music
and Earth’s impending doom.
And down in Hell the Devil
prepares his party
and opens Hell’s doors,
so that the Angels
who love to tango
are never rejected from the dance floor.
And up in the cloud,
departed souls
read poetry and mourn
the modern scene,
shrines, and zines,
and the good ol’ days of yore.
So I invited God
down from Heaven
to my little room,
so he could have
a day to escape
the ruckus of the world’s gloom.