Its dusk out and i need shoes on, a pair of ears too

A grass lawn, bigger than a neighborhood




Empty and filled




Of people and with paranoia




The mountains near drank the sun, what’s left was the sunken child who nursed a red sunset




The sky dusks a deeper blue to the east.




Hopefully when it spits the sun back the other side things will have changed.




But it gets darker here,

The crickets louder.




My silent tongue has my teeth resting heavy on my jaw from underuse




So much to say, with none to speak unto.




My job in customer service has me uttering thousands of paragraphs a day without a word said.




Not even so much the sun, or the vacant moon to talk to.




Not even a dusk dark enough to sport a star or two.




Just a scraped blue pallet, awaiting nightfall




Never-mind, i see the moon now

Holy shit a full moon, looks dope though.




Its massive and yellow. Like its face was a couple’s initials carved into an aspen tree, love long broken, left to rot and grow round... never forgotten




It was hiding its big eyes behind a suburban shanty— thats why i missed it




Last time i took these meds, i don’t remember the poems or the red cursive.




I just woke up and had to go to work again.




Jolene must’ve been a real bitch to leave Ray Lamontagne like that.




One year.




A rotation round the sunken sun has left me remembering a night dressed by one song — beach baby, bon iver




A song so drenched in blood, sweat, and cigarette fumes its hard to remember.




All it’ll go down as is my last time losing touch with reality. To others recollection; finding it




Its been a pretty low key fucking year.




Work




Work

Work

Work

... but i was totally chill and motivated by it...




Damn that moon.




Damn that dog that keeps barking its way into my tunes— dude please...




The sky’s cleaning out all its yellow now like a colored car wash on a Saturday morning




The one i missed when i medicated.






This poem was medicated, so lets see how much i remember.

They’re leaving me behind

The trees would oft’ me shade,

If not you’d cut the leaves off.

I’d lie in wait under the ground.

If wood grew for a crypt.

My throat would strike you.

If not to be shut by wishing for better.

So I’m left to walk

Or lay wake

in worry

Or wait...

Spool spinning still

With not a length or two left

Demarco's Winter

One year ago...

Once upon a time...

My life could be described by a handful of songs

My entire story was already sung

That's why I can't listen to Mac anymore

No matter how depressed I try to be

I won't ever beat my low score

I'll never be as raw as I used to be

I'll never get to love someone like I could before

Words don't deck me in the face like they once did

I feel old

I feel callused

I am opaque

This life...

These meds... 

It's like I've been screaming since I left Logan with my mouth wired shut.

No highs anymore...

No lows...

Just a heart rate monitor reading a flatline on a"Suicide Success Story"

4 Months in the Mad house

When the smoke was finished making me spin
Four months ago
Something inside broke
Something Important

Not sure what happened that night
Beyond the gore...

Not sure what changed

I can't cry anymore

Four months since
I joined the Mad House

Four months since
The voices had their mouths sewn shut

Four minutes till
They come back with a vengeance

Why I do what I do

It's not for attention
It's not for a high
It aint for a smoke
but for what I found in mine eye

Lucky 20

Looking for new eyes tonight
Ones I can see through
The eyes I knew once...

They said yes

Mine said no
No, over and over again
But those eyes...
Snake eyes

Now mine stare at the lights over the valley

Necking a smoke

Wondering how things went from deacon to addict

Acronyms

Kold
the words he never told

It
fire he'd ought not lit

Lashes
upon his gashes

Lives
taken by the knives

Edge
leaning off the ledge

Dead
what's inside my head?

--------

More
tales to his lore

Yes
Take another guess

Sick
wounds he will  lick

Ever
addiction's so clever

Love
killing the dove

Filthy
bloody boy so guilty

--------

Fear
of never getting near

Old
habits like mold

Rope
never could cope

--------

L abel
the boy who isn't able

O ath
could never stop the growth

V essel
red with a mortar and pestle

E nd
why is there no end?