Monday, March 19, 2018


if it's not smoke blood and fire
could it be the end
if it's not dead disappointment and desire
could we still pretend

there is a perverse joy in
trying to wipe the slate clean
but the words bubble up from the bottom
ignoring everything we have seen

it sucks you down under
degrees of disjointed miasmic pain
the disinterest the conversations
spoken by deaf tongues

so the words are strewn
in gardens like the leaves
that come home after hurricanes
to be trodden under feet again
right swipe: madness

Sunday, March 18, 2018


a face torn from the bones
bones torn from flesh
a soul torn from the body
a body torn from a city

everything was given for granted
everything was so taken
when the sundering blade fell
all promises were forsaken

now the pain is a joke
that comes without a punchline
keep bleeding from the teeth
spitting blood, but it's fine

tear open another scab
what's the fun in healing
at least the wounds have a purpose
they give words to the feelings

gonna run this theme into the ground.

Friday, March 16, 2018


the threads severed
with blades made of bones
one by one
they fell like tears of the sun

cracks in the walls
walls coming down
exposing the features
of a clown with a frown

the threads severed
his balloons float
away into the sun
seeking redemption

as the night fell upon
the dreams of the dreamers
trapping infinities
in the blink of an eye

Ever feel like you were going to explode?

Tuesday, March 6, 2018


slowly i rip
pieces of my masks
tear up the strips
of skin
exposing meat
i am all red, yellow, and blue
under my skin
i am just like you
my bones covered in sinew
blood slowly drying
living, yet dying

Fuck it. I lost this somewhere.

Thursday, March 1, 2018


all it takes is one
to dig the fingers in
poke around to feel
for what should have been
but the cavity is empty
like the graves of my elders
but what was i expecting
from this futile exercise
perhaps i should exorcise
this shell
to carve out a place
in my own private hell
why should i look outside
when i don't understand within
so i cut, slice, and prod
till i reach all the way in
in the end i will
eat myself if need be
even if my eyes are shut
i still need to see

There is a Stephen King short story Survivor Type. It's about a surgeon who is smuggling heroine in an airplane and he crashes on an island. It's horrible and amazing what happens next.

Tuesday, February 27, 2018


the house is vacant
there is no one inside
the wind whistles through the windows
rats are braver, they don't hide

the mouth of the door is wide open
exposing broken teeth to the world
even ghosts have left this sepulcher
an empty shell filled with memories

there used to be sunlight here once
when the world was young and colors bright
but now it's all monochrome
every day is colored with the brush of night

and here sits a skull
with a clock stamped into its third eye
that stopped ticking
a long fucking time ago

Thursday, February 22, 2018


grind grind
eat that up
chew chew
then swallow
that's the cycle
fall in line
deep breath
everything is fine