Discontent/No Motion

i sat and i watched from the line
from the finish line and i felt small
i sank down below, bellowing
floundering
i crunched up real tight
braided up inside of myself as i thought
and i thought
for once of what it would be like to lose you
ex nihilo
from nothing
i slipped and tears slipped as i wondered what i could become
endlessness from speeches of possibilities
not comforting but maddening
no. i could never do it
could never live in possibilities
but as i have such a love/hate-ship with the here and now
now you see how stuck i am
stuck wallowing
in fear
of here/of then/of now/of maybe/of stillness/of moving on/of dying,deadened things
of living in a world i can never know
because i am frightened; frigid winter shock to my bones
of immersing myself fully in any one state of being
its too dangerous
so i continue to sit and wait and waver petrified at the line
the cold nipping at my bones
and i grow older with no motion

Grapes

My internal consciousness has always felt like grapes
Like green grapes. It's not really sensible but let me try to explain myself.
It's like this weight, this feeling (physical and emotional).
A kind that laces up everything I am without me fully knowing it.
Like quivering milk forming at my mother's breast, infant naivety of the concept of being.
Only in moments do I feel the fullness of life.
It's like being lightheaded all the time
Always on the verge of fainting because life is so full and so empty all at once
Full like grapes plump and weighty, filled by the hand of God by living water
But so eerily drained dried and shriveled like my mother's breast
Still full despite me.
But with grapes, push on either side and the juices free flowing
Splatters out like a savage cry silenced by the amount of space surrounding it
This is how I feel
Leaving cracks and pockets of watery sweetness to drip and to drip
Grapes, graciously drained and turned into booze to make a heart beat slightly stronger
Life seem a bit wider and longer
I am full and empty all at once.
Borrowed full, full empty.
Experiencing the world thoroughly
Touch, emotion, interlocking and informing one another
Molding the other, building my conscious full of grapes.
Full, empty;
A bushel, barren twigs
Sticking between lacing fingertips
Putting a hand through a naked grapes vine is like putting a hand to my heart
It's all spindled and spun; empty and borrowed
Full to the brim like Styrofoam cups
Steaming and teaming with watered down life
Sweet life and borrowed time from tits  

Drink Me

I am like a drink;      I would like a drink
Sometimes bubbly;      I hate fizzy people
Perhaps sweet;      People are so sticky
Maybe bitter and dark;      That'sMoreLikeIt
But always, always laced;      Poisoned vein for vein
Layered with toxins that collide with me;    
Become a part of me       Part me from me
I am like a drink       And I am drowning

Trying to Make Me Known

Envy the way words break over pages
Feel sick with sheer weight
Drawing the life out of me
Killing me mercilessly
Holy, Holy, Holy is my suicide almighty
My weight I can't detach from
My guilt for things unknown
My words like jellyfish swimming, folding,
Floating out from my pen to my paper
A sad ballet
If only, if only
Peace like a river swayed me
Back to you my only true love
Real as the weight of my limbs
I step forward, keep stepping but find no relief
I am a wandering Jew
In the white hot pitch of wilderness
That remains unbroken before me
Like a rolling tide my sweet
Electric Jellyfished words slide
Trying to make me known

TV; BOY; MICHIGAN

It hurts to be here if I let you in.
Stepping daintily, cautiously on these grounds becomes unbearable like heartbreak or maybe it's heartburn.
Either way I'm on fire.
My lust for you glutinously, secretly feed.
The ghost of your body, your steps, your life, that ghostly you inflaming the lips that once spoke of this place this strange land of seasons; like your moods your sweet civil tongue bitter to the end.
But it hurts, it hurts, you must know it hurts.
I must want to hurt.
To feel the spark the gross spittle of pretend, splattering against the walls of my mind like hot courage.
"It's alright the jump of my heart will.." But no. We've been here before.
Too much mourning for the morning.
Creating extravagant amounts of time, of space in the thousands to separate you and me.
I am in the unknown of the unrequited.
Unrequited in commitment/courage, for I know you loved me good sir.
Just wouldn't say it. Say it!
My lip curls and I tremble silently, seduced by the fire burning anew inside of me. Lighting up the salted pavements, the single street lamp that flickers.
The forest that is your mind. Burning like hope for the day.
Lighter fluid of the mind I was. Burnt off so quickly without the proper kindling,
The sickening figment consumes.
Left me naked and astray. Vulnerable does not even begin to explain me. I am bear of all pretenses unlike you, unlike you.
The air sticks to my lungs like iced concrete. My breath comes out again stagnant and haggard.
Noble Torture.
Unlike the torment that proceeds of the memories I loved but have not lived. But somehow still breathed. It's not as simple as you said.
Nothing I've imagined; everything I've seen before.
This is not love.
'Love? What about it...Love is mostly just hurt.'
'Love. The fresh good kind."
'I know nothing of the sort.'
Your presence consuming and quelling in my subconscious. Bursting, busting, swelling painfully past my dreaming eyes to ones frantically attempting to push you away from the present. The scenery infected by your words, so sharp so far off.
Needles, needles my friend.
Beach my ass.
I've shared too much with you; I'm see through now like glass.
Go ahead and break
Frigid ice underfoot blown away half noticed
these cracks make my soul retch and heave 
But here in between regret and relief,
There is such a steady
O, so steady
Beat

Fake Roses

Sin is like mold that clings to my innards.
Desperate and mossy, pocked with stench unholy.
But I can't cough it up, it's stuck, stuck within me.
It's struck me down once more, forever more.
I'm tangled up in the mess of me. The mess I've made.
For what seems like eternity...
It sits and it smells.
Like fucking fake roses.
Thick and unclean.

GoldFish

I once had a dream that we had bought fish. Floating ones, that instead of swimming in circles round their see through cup, span in thin air like water meant nothing to them. Air seemed fantastical in that dream. Light spinning, bright glowing orange. Mesh tails and bulging comical eyes. Though while dreaming it I thought nothing of the suspended, cycling fish. I only thought it wasn't fair that you had more fish than I.