I Think I’m Alive

Not with sugar or spice.  But with bits of dust and dirt.  I’m alive with the thought of being alive.  And here I lay slowly walking thru the motions of everyday.  I rise and fall by my basic needs.  I creep and crawl past my responsibility.  I want but no longer need.  I’m older but not at all wiser.

I’m enjoying a new passion at least, its fun but lazy.   Work is distracting and non-important.  Sometimes I think people like me but that drifts away like all my breaks.  I’m bored but no longer care that I’m bored.

I don’t really feel much.  I feel tired or I feel anxious or I feel angry.  I don’t really see much after that.  I don’t ponder.  I don’t dream.  I don’t play this game of pretend we love so much.

You know, tomorrow is another day.  Next week is just around the corner.  I think if life goes on it will be by accident.  Tripping over my own feet into something I don’t really want.  It’ll happen all on its own in the dumbest way possible or not at all

My money is on not at all.

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I Love You But Not Like This

I really don’t know where to begin on a whole new level of not knowing.  I want to talk about the racism, the hatred, and the uneducated majority of this country willing to care one ounce about the world.  The god fearing (lower g because you don’t deserve to say something with respect) one issue voters of this country.

This country enabled the reversal of basic human rights to its own nation.  We took away voting rights, were going to take away healthcare very soon, and woman rights soon to be next.

For the uneducated with very little understand of how government works.  This president election gave ONE party the ability to pass or reject anything with majority rule.  It has no roadblocks.  Its been 88 years since this last happened.

I can’t pray for you.  Not in the same breath these people use the word pray.  I can’t have faith in the same country these people have faith.

I cannot support this government the same way I can’t support my family.  Its hatred with a large side of denying they hate people.

Its an abusive alcoholic suddenly sober and never apologizing for all the the harm they did.  Its an attacker playing the role of victim when its all said and done.  We cannot overcome are own faults or fears with this family.  Nor can we overcome them in this country.  The closet racists are out in the open today.  You scare me in ways you’ll never understand.  I don’t think I can ever call you family again.

We voted for more gun violence.

We voted for less rights for women and minorities.

The worst.

The absolute worst part.

We voted for greed.

We voted for money.

And we were dumb enough to vote for it from a person who has never proven he can make money.

We voted for the trail of tears (greatest president since Andrew Jackson).

We voted for rape (its now a misdemeanor in California)

We voted to deny voting rights (we took that away before this election started.  Taking away 500+ voting locations from minority neighborhoods.)

We voted to kill the american people.

If you walked away from this happy, fuck you.

If you walked away from without a care, fuck you.

You’re either racist or dumb.  Or worse, both.

I will no longer accept this in my life.  It is not ok.  This is not how functioning adults of this planet should act.


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And I Wonder

Are we still here among the rocks and the trees.  The cold wind still so bitter.  Much like another place.  But were still here standing next to same old lake.  I haven’t traveled I’ve just thought about a lot of things over the years.  The ground I stand upon is worn from my existence.  The sun is tired and its gone now.  I’m still here and I’m tired too.  But I don’t shine.  I don’t brighten the world around me.  I just witness the nothingness that goes on around me.  The unnecessary steps of life.  I bought a tire today, just one.  I know your supposed to by them two at a time.  But money only comes to me by the dollar.  The sun only comes by the day.  That’s why I keep every night I can.  To try and create another sun.  Another day.  Give me a bonus.  Let me work that overtime.  Let me create all those extra bits of life I can’t find normally.  Is this enough?  Does all this make me worthwhile.  Does my life gain meaning because I feel this way.  I feel this pain.  I feel this happiness.  Does this all make me human.  These words.  These dull dull dull metaphors.

I don’t see it though.

I can’t find the meaning.

Word after word.

Searching for myself.

I can’t see myself.

I can’t feel myself.

In this frigid forest, under this cloudless sky, miles away from everyone.

I hear the noises of nothing.

And I wonder.

Am I even alive?

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Just Won’t Wait

A wicked creek runs thru me.  The wind blows from me.  The same way the blood flows out of me.  Am I still awake.  Am I stranded in the ocean or a lake.  Is it close.  Is the end soon.  Can I at least compose.  One last little bit of me.  For you to read.

Tell me.

Was I enough.

Was I apparent.

Did you see.

I was always really rough.

Making myself transparent.

I’m quiet with my half baked lies.  I get carried away with not getting too carried away.


A wicked creek runs thru me.  The wind blows from me.  Al while the blood flows freely.

I am.

I was.

I will always be half the person I wish I was.

Truth is.

I love too much.

For someone who is throwing his hope into hands that just won’t wait.

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To Kill My Sanity

I like to think I’m ok.

At least I’m fine.

That’s why I’m awake at 5 AM.

Writing to no one about nothing.

I really like the rain because it takes away all the noise.

I really like to lay down and listen to the silence.

Its beautiful silence.

Its breathtaking really.

I wonder if I can love

I know I can lose.

I can leave.

And I can be left.

I can barely live anymore.

I just want to say “Hey, what do you do for fun? Want to go do that together?”

Am I enough of a person who can step into such waters and scream these words into the onslaught of nature?

I guess the silence answers.

It gives and it takes but it never keeps.

It cannot keep what won’t stay.

Here I am.

Stuck between what won’t be.

And all that is desired.

And here I am.

At 5:02 AM.

Wondering if its still ok to like people.


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I will travel this road again and again

I want more then nothing the defeat of me.  The destruction of myself.  And the end to this poorly written story.

Do not listen for words of need.

For low whispers of a wiser man.

Nor do you wait for what will surely not come.

Do not think

Do not read anymore of this.

I’m a wasted person with a short lived wasted life. I couldn’t even think of another word for wasted so I used it twice.

When I write I always want to enforce some unneeded emotion on the reader.  Something annoying.  Something painful like a paper cut.  Not life threatening or really that important but you notice how annoying it is.

I want annoyance.

Borderline hatred.

I want them to curse the wasted time from reading this.

Most of all.

At 3 AM.

When no one is around to read this.

I want them to feel loved.

To feel that little bit of warmth that hides inside of us.

That all purpose innocent happiness.

When we look at the lone flower on a hot summer day.

A snowman some kid made that’s falling apart because kids suck.

The end of a book you just read.

That unquestionable bit of happiness that the world has to wait 3 seconds to take from you.

I saw her blowing thru the wind like the dirty receipts and empty Twix wrappers along side her.

It was far too hot for the coat and far too early for the 5th of jack.

But we see what we want.

And I saw heaven open up right in front of me.

And then I saw it throw up all over the stop sign.

And then I saw it trip over the curve.

And then I saw London.

And then I saw France.

And well… I was really expecting underpants.


If I could.

I most certainly wouldn’t.

If I should.

I still wouldn’t.

If all depended on what could be and what should be.

I still wouldn’t be.

Existence is but my life existing on its own.

Out of my control.

Out of my hands.

In the hands of another.

But that person doesn’t exist.

And I’m falling like a thinly explained plot for a story that  never gets written.

And here you are.

Reading this drabble.

Pretending its worth your time.

When its not even worth my own.


I wish I could be a better me.

Its depressing witnessing every sad fucking second of my life.

I just wish I guess.

For my short bits of excitement to not fall on the deaf ears of the ghosts in my room.

And for all the thoughts I have.

To at least once.

Be heard by someone who cares.


Just one.

I could say I need just one falling star.

One perfect night.

One warm hand.

And one untouched beach.

I just need to win the lottery once.

I’ll be set.

I’ll be ok.

Just let me have one miracle.

And I’ll be alright.

I promise.



I think I just wrote myself into a deep dark hole of depression (again).

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I Fell Far From Myself

I want to look at you.

Like I look at new snow around 3 AM.

Like the sun mid-July.

Like my pillow around  7 AM when I want to keep on sleeping for a few more hours.

I don’t have any good concrete reason for this need.

My love is as paper thin as the paper I wrote this on (its non-existent).

But I want to need you.

Like the rain wants the sun.

And how the perfect summer day prays for the storm to come.

I need you in the worst way.

Which is not at all.

I’ll regret it like the tattoo of your name misspelled across my shoulder.

Or bouquet of flowers I paid far too much for.

Or all those nights I stayed up writing pointless little scribbles about you.

I think I regret those the most.

I am such a non-threat to the world around me that I do not exist as a possibility of interaction.

I will keep on hating myself.

I will keep on being depressed.

I will never be a person worth caring about.

That is the one guarantee in my life at this moment.

And if I know one truth.

Only one.

It’s that you deserve every opposite of me.

If I could tell one lie.

Only one.

I would wish that could somehow still be me.



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This Is Stupid.

You know.

Its 1 AM somewhere.

And your sitting alone staring at the ceiling.

For some simple reason.

The idea of me reappears like the ghost of Christmas past.

All the lies become so true.

And all your stories become memories again.

The one about Melissa.

The one about Kyle.

And that one time you almost died.

I miss my fake life and all the ghosts that filled my heart.

You miss the blank spot of cement you could bleed upon.

If I was a canvas awaiting you.

Then you were the serial killer with a bloodied knife.

I think we both misunderstood what love was.

Scars don’t really heal.

They just become something.

Changing you for the rest of your life.


(((When you weren’t looking I wrote the stars across your back)))

((((I still can’t find the knife you stuck in me))))

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I Don’t Know Where To Go

I think the biggest lie you can be told is that your beautiful.  It plants a seed in your mind and grows something hideous.

It can grow despair.

Or it can grow hope.

Its a dark gray sky on a stormy day.

Or its the beating sunshine of an endless beach.

It creates an illusion of absolute one way or another.

It is a needed word in the world.

For its absence can kill as much as its presence.

Beauty in itself brings great satisfaction.  The flowers, the bees, the wind blown trees.  Gratification breeds into us the need for more gratification.  It twists us into an existence we can’t sustain for long.  A bit of happiness that can only be found in the moment and in memory and nowhere in between.

I don’t take much from myself.  That I’m loved or that I have people to love.  If a world without me never changes then a world with me is no different.  If I cannot conceive change with or without beauty.  With or without life.  Then with me or without me I add nothing to this place.

I am an observer of this nothing.  This false bit of existence.  Further proof that we are just random bits of evolution thrown together on this ever changing rock in the sky.

I pine for self-importance.  I’ve read one too many books and watched ten too many movies.  When will my plot twist come.  When will my beach become a storm and the sun break thru the clouds above me.  When will I find gratification in myself.

Is this world just a play thing for the self-important and useless?

Am I the red shirt barista at the coffee shop that is life?


Why do I pine for a world where my words are as real as my emptiness.  Where I can write myself the sky and turn the rain into a million stars.  Do I need beauty so much I will create it.  Do I need love so much that I will love myself.  Do I need the world so much I will create a new one just for me?

Do not call the night.

Do not call the night

Do not call, alright?

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I’m Bored I Guess

I saw a person walking in the distance.

I saw the clouds.

I saw the rain.

I saw myself in the rippling reflection of each puddle.

I saw my own shadow around each corner as I ran further ahead.

I saw the sun.

I saw the sky.

I saw it all runaway from me.

Even myself.


My favorite pastime is to lay around and justify all my bad habits.  I’ll convince myself that I’m only lazy and out of shape because of my anxiety and upbringing.  I don’t really have anything else to add to this statement.


I miss the quiet.  I miss the night.  I miss the blank ceiling up above.  I miss the wasted time.  I miss dark.  I miss the silence.  I miss the feeling of not being alive for a few hours each day.


I’m one of those slow learners.  Somethings in life just seem impossibly out of my grasp.  One of those things is realizing which people actually care about me.  I can go years without noticing or acknowledging it.  I will blow people off forever never taking there sense of “friendship” seriously.  And if they try to care I’ll just tell them no because they couldn’t possibly actually care about me.  For some reason I’m remembering all the times I’ve upset people by not taking them seriously when they care about me.  I kind of has this just self admittance that my life is just a worthless pile of shit and nothing will ever change that.  I try to not let my own shittyness overrun and fuck other peoples lives, etc.  I’m a sack of shit, its who I am.  Doesn’t mean I need to be a sack of shit onto other people.  But it does mean other people can’t change the fact I’m a sack of shit.  I’m not a saint.  I just like to think I have somewhat of a sense of humanity in my everyday life.   I do not take anything good from it.  It doesn’t make me happy or make me feel like a good person just because I don’t shit on other people with my own shittyness.  I don’t get those butterflies in my stomach when I’m nice to people.  More or less I’m just shoving people out of the shittyness hole because I’m the one that’s supposed to be using it, not them.  I only things deserved in my life are the brief moments of distraction I allow myself everyday.

I hate this though.  This feeling of…. disdain… unfriendliness….unlove if its such a thing???  Some people seem to care at some open faced thin level of life.  I even seemingly care about them.  I don’t feel like I actually care about them.  Just they happen to be around me more so there allowed more of my humanity then other people. As if there existence doesn’t pain me one way or the other.  And I could be alone all the same and nothing would be different.

I try I guess.  I tried maybe.  Maybe its because I tried.  No one should write off life just because it didn’t work out.  But I can write off life because when I talk the most no one is around.

Even if by choice.


I got something etched into every corner of my soul.  I got all these words written across my heart.  My love, my feelings, my everything painted inside my skull.  I got flowers in my stomach and a river running down my spine.  Every vein inside of me but the worlds most useless puzzle piece.

If I was a picture I would be blank.  If I was a song I would be silent.  If I was still a person I would be a shadow.

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