It Only Takes a Pen to Admit

You and I, my friend
Are just misspelled words,
That no one notices,
Or cares to fix.

Playing Dead

Seeing what
"you"
really mean.

If we all agree to destroy ourselves together it will be much less depressing, hell, we'll even call it fun.

Champaign flows like trash
infested creeks, sludge can slow,
I fight for you like a bull
heaving dry and wet on his
prized day
reaching out
with fists bent into palms
breathing in all the sounds
from the rooftops, from the streets
the deadened, skeletal conversation,
words with no meat,
a tongue weak, only catches liquid
and no meaning,
an anemic phrase
and bulimic butterflies
to keep that pencil-line
smile stitched to your face.

Sometimes it feels like I'm alive.

Everybody Knows

Homies don't explain.

Reflecting on too much

It seems as if I know
I will die today,
simply by the way
the snow hits the ground
so gently,
so frequently.

Speech as a mirror

Whenever you speak of another,
you really speak of yourself.

Making Sense of Repulsion

We've become too much
like magnets,
when i thought
at first
our chemicals
were reacting
quite well.

This is the Truth

This.