and say the more I see of life
the less I think it’s worth living,
because let’s face it,
it doesn’t truly get better
it just changes;
suffering and loss
are hurdles on a never-ending
that you’re expected to run
for the rest of your life.
And God help you
if you don’t want to run it
because that means something's wrong with you.
That means you’re crazy.
I’m going to be fearless
and say something that no one wants
to hear, or is likely to believe:
the “right to life” is a myth,
because to have a right
is to have a choice
and life is an obligation.
To want to end it
means you need “help”—
either in the form of a crucified savior
or an expert with a Ph.D. and an eagerness
to label you.
All it really means is that you
don’t want to run that damn obstacle course,
and you shouldn’t have to
because you were never given a choice
from the beginning,
i know i probably
harder, worked on "us"
but i just didn't care enough.
i guess you shouldn't have
tried to stab me that
one time when the
i guess just because you
thought he was better,
it gives you the
moral obligation to
never even try
to pretend that
you cared at all.
it sure seems like i'm
just alone or lonely and
trying to live someone
elses dreams through my
i cough up these vicarious
feelings and sell them for lust.
these street corners hold
my moments of joy or
at least my best moments
hollywood here i come.
Why is it the week days go so slow?
But yet the weekends are over in an instant.
I have gotten so used to being constantly on the go,
That every part of my life has become routinely consistent.
Whenever I have a time slot that is vacantly free,
I feel as if I should be developing or preparing for something else.
I always feel as if there is somewhere else that I was meant to be.
I never take full advantage of the short intervals I have to myself.
I’ve had enough of the early mornings and the constant yawning.
Dreaming of over sleeping and then opening my eyes all of a sudden.
Even the usual serene sounds of the birds chirping have become haunting.
Every morning I wake up to my annoying alarm and tap the snooze button.
I work, wait and anticipate for the week to end.
Making hopeful plans to catch up with some old friends.
And before you know it Monday has dawned once again.
I wish the weekends had more days imbedded in-between them.
omit and simplify or
turn inside out and kiss good luck
the broken fixture in
under your pillow
like tooth faerie bargains
you only indulge
out of sentimentality
for the inoperable
that clung to my lungs making it hard
to breathe. lying in bed,
you pushed safety pins
through the tips of my fingers,
'and now i love you.
and now you're safe.'
the taste of blueberries is overbearing,
like the feeling of being in your arms.
too tight, you constrict me with your
iron-made wishes, your need to wait
while i would rather float
and hope tomorrow's better.
cicadas sing, but not in the snow-
when the frozen ground is falling into
black holes like ribbons from trees,
touching the ground and bursting to flames;
the sparklers are fizzing out.
and once upon a time your kisses
tasted like summer, but now they taste
like copper and obligation.
am i falling out of love?
or am i just disenchanted with
locking myself into a box called tomorrow
when i would rather run a marathon today?
there is window in this tower,
but jumping out would be suicide.
i can't see what's at the bottom,
and what if freedom is just as constricting