Witticisms Abound.
Ghosts N Goblins

In this house I can only think of what’s changed
The blue front door used to be beige
But that was when i had potential, a future and a dream,
and when it had a sheet metal stormer with a torn screen.
The sides were redbrick, I hate this sickly gray
an infection in my mood that worsens every day
and the floor that never was is a testament to the growth
of a lingering pain from the ones you trusted
I hear the ghosts whisper through these walls
telling all their secrets to the ones who wouldn’t listen
I strain to hear above it all
To learn what I am missing
The yard used to be so open and free
now it’s neglected gardens and the grass is growing patchy
The basement lays cluttered and yet empty
A monument to family’s tragedy

I kinda hate FaceBook.

a few friends in a bunch of people i acknowledge
and everyone’s important even if it’s in their own mind
but the ones i keep around are the ones that notice
that i slip away from them from time to time

keep an eye out, keep an eye out,
the ones in trouble are the ones that rarely shout
but im okay, i am just fine
stumbled off the crooked razor thin social line

im not on here just to whore myself to blind eyes
fuck selfies fuck reshares fuck your timeline
dont you just love this brainless video guys
fuck a picture of sunshine ill go outside

and while im at it fuck your stupid little games
fake candy, fake farms, fake fucking life
youve been sterilized, anesthetized and rendered lame
but thats ok cuz thinking aint that great, amirite?

Cunts and Cowards

Head, heart, back, 

broken, broken, broken.

A huddled mass left in the open.

Giving is the same as harming.

You can only do it of yourself for so long.

One hundred and ten.

Percent, heart rate, blood pressure.

Distress measured in numbers.

But what’s the use?

Our average survivability is a big round zero.

Insert your witty line here,

mine are already wrapped around my throat.

Depression, depredation, depreciation.

The three d’s to live life by. 

How goddamned charming.

We all have our workarounds,

our carrots on sticks,

our dreams and goals. 

Only the unlucky catch up.

Those that keep running never realize

that the world is made up two types of people

cunts and cowards

and we’re all so goddamned charming.

Act III: The Cancelled Play.

Other women have shown me

that you’re a terrible diva

and an even worse lay

Looking back, i’m pretty sure 

you’ve always been that way

so if you would excuse me

I’ll be taking my exit

Conceding the lead of this play.

Don’t look to the next act,

I know all your lines, and

I’ve thanked my unmet understudy

that the role’s no longer mine.

Maybe when your run is up

I’ll toss a rose for the good times

but don’t count on my urbanity

we’ve long thrown out

professional courtesy.

I Am a Professional Crazy Ball Player.

You wanted your space, so take it

I hope it takes you so far away

another town, perhaps another state,

And perhaps you’d like to stay.

You know this is all your fault,

And for once, I can’t fault your logic. 

So please, consider your accomplishment

As I consider another glass of poison.

So leave, turn your back on me.

No compliments this time, but you know I’ll be looking

for another drink to compliment my drunkenness. 

You really are the worst for sobriety. 

Here’s your space, go ahead and take it.

It’s filled with slander and profanity.

Another song, another page in my book.

I just wish you’d decided to stay.

dumped by a message

I met a girl in a bar

who puts you to shame

The way she worded it made me sound more like work experience than a friend. 

Too toned down to be distraught, I drove down the block and made a right at the end.

A pedigree of pernicious precociousness, was I just another in a long line?

Have I slipped up? Is my heart broken this time?

Or will I keep these memories polished so they’ll always shine?

Only time will tell.

Wash away her smell,

Clean the sheets and clear my head.

Lie, alone again, in bed.

Pier Review

Girl, if you got a confession for me,

well you’d better spit it out.

We’re running out of road

and you’re running out of breathing room.

Well, OK! 

Hold your silence if you want

But since we’re here together

I got one for you.

I never felt bad for the shit I’ve done,

for the sins I’ve committed,

no, not a single one, and I’ve

never given a whole hearted repentance.

I really am such a godawful liar.

Could you imagine, me,

sorry for the good times I’ve had?

It puts a smile on my face for sure.

Girl, if you got something to tell me,

you’d better get it out.

I’m neither priest nor savior,

but I’m all that you’ve got.

I hope you’ve made your peace.

I was the fourth pair of eyes to the impass.

Impassively, we waited,

for another to make the first move.

left, right, forward.

Three options, three adversaries.

Who’s it going to be?

A slight movement, a halt. 

We glanced around, not sure knowing,

but feeling the tension growing. 

A shrill noise cut the air.

Someone had snuck up on me. 

Jarring epitaths were flung. 

A light flashed breifly in the darkness,

and I made a right hand turn.