Change.

God once asked for change
but you never gave him any
don’t call yourself Holy

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Caged.

Cut my wrists watch me bleed
love songs onto this page
you’ve made angels from my demons
and now I’m free of this cage.

I’m sorry if one day I let you down
its just my wings were clipped and its hard to fly
when the best I can do is fumble around
and sing my mournful cry

A cry for those still locked away.
A cry for those who stay quiet.
A cry for those with too much to say,
voices interrupted by perpetual silence.

God is no holy man.

Off the pages in a black alley
lives a dejected God in his infinite totality
people pray for change but never give him any
when all he wants is a hot meal and someone friendly
because even God can be down on his luck

and if that’s true then maybe we are too
my love you are mine and I will not lose you so
I’m pinching these wrists to draw poetry
in the beginning God made Adam and Eve
if that’s the lie you choose to believe

The truth is God is no holy man
he is just a man with nothing more than a plan
to create a world where life was just
but man is nothing if not corrupt
and now God is left alone and he cries

not from the cold, the pain, or even loneliness
he cries because he knows that if only
people knew they were born true and good
then maybe he could be understood
as a man who is trying and just down on his luck.

What ifs and thank gods

I wonder if you still think of me:
On nights spend alone do you juggle
thoughts of what ifs and thank gods
dreams of countless moments spent
beneath the bed sheets of maybe you
dream of arguments so bad that
you are happy I am gone.

Imagine if we could shed the distance
the anger and stubbornness and just
dance under moonlit fires and tell me
that’s now how things were always meant to be.

Do you miss me?
If so, then I might miss you too.

Wondering.

You’re wondering if I’m happy:
Happy like chest pounding to keep a heart
beating long after it’s time has gone

wub-dub wub-dub

Sing a song of vitality
for an audience of
olanzapine, klonopin, lamictal,
Zyprexa, Remeron and Pristiq
who clap every time I fail to be

Happy like a boy who lost
his memories of a time before
the chemicals blew out
the fire burning its way through
body and spirit stay silent and you’ll hear it

wub-dub wub-dub

You’re wondering if I’m happy:
Ask later, the boy you seek is not here.

One-Way.

Bile rises through my pharynx
sixty-minutes of play a day they say,
please accept my thanks
for forgotten memories, I’ll promise to pay

for good times spent with a burning heart
so intense there is no pretense
that you are not a part
of the misplacement of any form of sense.

You make me feel on top of the world
as I plunge my head in the bottom of a bowl
give my friends a smile with tainted pearls
there’s a void in my liver and you make it whole

I believe sobriety is the one true sin
so I take shots at heaven
over and over again.

At the bottom of the bottle
is a one-way ticket to God.

Dear Darling,

Dear Darling,
Thank you for always being with me
embroidered on your sleeve perpetual loyalty
you kept me warm and safe on the nights
the monsters came and threatened my life.

Dear Darling,
I miss you more than you can believe
I dream of the times where we were free
of this chemical wall between you and me
that got in the way of everything.

Dear Darling,
I have taken your lessons to my heart
so don’t ever think we’re truly apart
because you taught me so much when you told me to die
without it I know I would not have survived.

Dear Darling,
You will never be forgotten
but our relationship is stale, shallow and rotten
our home is quiet for it’s the end of spring
now it is winter and only the Mourning Dove sings.

Dear Darling,
It is time for you to go.
Somewhere far away only you would know.

Dear Darling,
Good-bye.

The color white.

I like the color white.

The kind of white you get from clenching
the steering wheel too tight on sharp turns
and two-lane roads on your way to
a destination that is not a hospital

because the palette there doesn’t suit
when the idea of purity brings up the sound
of plastic pearls scattering across the kitchen
crunching under dirty boots but innocence

is a choice we all get to make and it was not
a surprise to find your eyes void of all the
colors I used to love leaving me nothing
but white.

Purple.

I follow the God of Purple
crush, grind, combine
minerals in the black tendrils
of my hair for I am a man of faith.

Walk down busy streets
to show the non-believers
how to properly serve
a higher power.

So proudly I tout myself
as a Holy Man speaking of
the day my God returns
and wipe the other Colors away.

I follow the code in front of me
but in the absence of my god
I have fallen victim to corruption
spewing words of heresy.

I committed the ultimate sacrilege.

As I watched the severed vessels
of my Holy Purple I realized my sin
I pray forgiveness, but my God seldom
shows mercy.

 

Real.

Doctors tell me I am more than my disease
as if these demons in my head are imaginary
wispy concepts intangible, synaptic release
self-loathing forcing me to be reactionary

Wake up – three pills, sleep- four pills
treating the fraudulent with the real
drowning in chemical waters if only for gills
turbulent emotions swimming through the feels

Predators deep in the ocean pouncing on darkness
Further- I – go towards the bottom
of where I made the Devil’s bargain
always there never forgotten

Pierce my heart and see if I bleed
this illness is real, one day you will see.
Tear apart this vessel, erase the façade
there is more in this body than just me

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