Halloween High Times

This is the absolute best waste of time.
Not a fuck given.
Just appreciation for this breeze on my cheeks.
And you sitting across from me.
I like when we get high and sit around.
Nothing has to be said.
No awkward silence.
Just the serenity of the day and the security of a like-minded soul within reach.
I get a little bit higher whenever you’re around.
A little bit more in-tune with my myself.
Just what I need. Normally.
We say it best when we don’t say a word.

And honestly, I’m too stoned to say anything interesting at the moment.
Let’s get some food.

I Hope They Don’t Remember My Name

No interest in all of this
A view cluttered with the unwelcome pandering of the horde
Specters and ghosts manifesting and rising from underneath the falsehoods of the embraced
A loathing breath screams down the necks of the uninitiated
Fear has found its playground

There is nothing to see here
Just a vermillion-colored bath of departed reverie
Hope defiled in the wake of its purity
Shattered spirits upon tattered embers

Ain’t nothing for me here

Prologue

I couldn’t tell you what I was feeling
I couldn’t tell you where I stood

And I couldn’t tell you what you were thinking
And I couldn’t tell you why I cared

Once we shield our inner abhorrence with the counterfeit
Our intuition gives way to the fabrication

And when we wear these faithless skins
All of the iniquity slices through the sky

And the end never ends
The
end
never
Ends

Difficulty: Pro

There is a certain mentality I cannot understand.
The one where a person has an ultimate need to be as difficult as possible.
With everything.
I always wonder how they grew up.
Or where.
And how their parents treated them.
Or if they were even around.
The questions go on and on.
Makes me even wonder if I’m difficult in the way they are.
Or just as unsettling in a different troubled setting.
I don’t know.
But I do know that these kinds of people truly upset me.
And that may just be the reason I hate myself so much.

The Accident on Rainbow Road

Light as a feather.
An unconfined, fluid, magic carpet ride wrenches me back and forth through the restless compunction of my senses.
But I am not foolish enough to feel miserable now.
I feel extraordinary.
Some would say invincible, but the realist in me would never allow such naivety.
I like to lay a good beating on myself from time to time.
A tortured mind is only as sharp as the blades that persecute it.
Through the scrutiny of my own faults skates the silver lining, ever so obvious.
Ever so punctuated.
Get the burial plot ready.
A little more of me has to die tonight.

I’m gonna remember this trip.
I’m a sucker for a good fall.

Insignificunt

A list of demands.
And wintry glare for all directions.
A tongue almost sharp enough to lacerate this tension.
I get it.
You think you’re important.
And for all I know, you could be.
But in this moment I really don’t give a flying fuck.
I’m busy.
Keep it simple, bitch.

Up In The Dumps

Waiting.
For a living. For a sign.
And all the arbitrary signals in between.
If I look bored, at least something is accurate.
But it ain’t you, it’s me.
For reasons just as cliche as that statement.
But it goes a tad deeper with me, you see.
Even further down the rabbit hole.
Beyond the looking glass.
I’m different from you.
And not in the ways you see with those seemingly stuck-in-place eyes.
I’m a thinker.
And yes, I’m a looker too.
But there’s a lot happening behind these brown eyes.
A constant river of completely certain confusion flowing and crashing about.
Simple is knowing where I stand.
What’s difficult is maintaining the balance.
To avoid the void.
To remember who I am.
Even with nothing else, I have myself.
I have a sense of being.
I have comfort.
But nobody knows what to do with me.
And maybe they never should.

Last Stop for the Hot Mess Express

Hot damn, girl!
6 years later and you’re still firing on all cylinders.
Caution just lost in a lunatic wind.
Not even the early hour can make you flinch.
This probably started the minute you woke up.
Just wasn’t today.
Because the days are gluing themselves to the abstract now.
Ain’t no telling when or where.
No looking back.
You’re just gonna keep barreling forward until the track runs out.
Or maybe the ground will sink beneath you.
You seem content in knowing that outcome.
Numb in the inevitability.
Please, throw yourself from this train while you still can.

Home Is Where You Hang Yourself

The clanking of glass on glass and the subtly raucous whispers creep in and out of my consciousness.
I’m here. I’m trying to be, anyway.
Nothing about this is abnormal for myself.
This should feel like routine.
Like home.
Because in all actuality, it has been.
This is where I’ve hung my head.
This is where a thousand horrid thoughts have come to die.
For a few hours at a time, at least.
But I don’t feel welcome anymore.
I don’t feel like I have a place here.
And I think I’m finally certain that I don’t want one.

Things That Shouldn’t Be Entertaining

This right here is a battle for the ages.
Two people howling like banshees at one another.
I can’t make out any of the verbal jabs and hooks, but shit is clearly serious.
I expected more hand movement.
Any hand movement, really.
But it appears both are making their point perfectly well.
Conviction.
Hatred.
A lesson must be learned.
They won’t let up and I have to leave.
But looking away ain’t all that simple.
Two deaf people arguing.
No sign language needed.
Welcome to Tampa.