My life in a poem. in The grotesque metamorphosis of a Bi-Polar human into a Tri-polar monster.

Petulance and pestilence and prejudice and pride.
Pedantic and romantic and traumatic and tried…and true…ish

For a fellow to be mellow below the belt
Should he melt?
Is it like ice when he sat there…waiting with a hammer, shivering and cold and clambering in shambles like a pelt.

well he fell.
Didn’t he?

Yes he did and no one knew it before the end was below them and a figure had drained so far removed that everything looked placid and pale in comparison.
It felt like it moved through threads and pins and tiny little daggers falling like cloaks through the night.
Trees rush through snakes.
A fall through the fog as if a splash through the window is pain and I am dying now…for you…can’t you see....for you?

I want to do something for me.

But a tiny race races through the run in your skirt as you stop and fetter, foolish…yes this is foolish.
Losing a feather or two is one thing but this is just undresseeing and seemingly unseen and obscene and obtuse and misused your trust…this is mistrust…this is us.

I was just a doodle on your face. A mark. A wash. Something of a flick if you will. A tiny little…mmphf.
You know the sound.
Puffed air from between pursed lips like cheeks full of sand bags and baths for your hand bones you drenched them in something that stunk like old moaning…thralls of ecstasy isn’t it?
Tint on the tits…isn’t it?
Something whispered and far removed because you said he was just a child I’m just a child I WAS BORN A GROWN MAN BUT YOU SAID I WAS JUST A CHILD and then you hurt me like a man anyway.

The way music swings and laughs through your head like a cloudy day with rocks under the swing-set when you hit him and he bit you because you both deserved it.
Bloody scabby knees…you licked and loved.
Tasted liked batteries tasted like gum.
Tasted like gun powder…

Yeah, that’s right…he killed his dad just to make the sure the earth didn’t stop spinning, didn’t he? And I don’t think I ever thanked him.

It’s like hiding under her bed when her father walks in and you’re only a kid man you’re only a kid BUT YOU ARE BOTH DOING THINGS THAT ADULTS TAUGHT YOU TO DO but you hide and you hide and you shake and it’s all so dark in here, these memories…and when you finally see her again it’s in the mental hospital, isn’t it. FUCKING ISN’T IT?

And that’s what you remember love tasting like FOREVER because it was in the cafeteria and the cafeteria is the only time the kids who got their socks taken away got to come down and see the other kids ISN’T IT?

isn’t it?

Ballerina’s dance and float through music box and wind chimes broken doors stink bombs and bicycle rides through forests of dead leaves and fairy tale dreams that dominate everything as if one word was god and one god was the land.
Salt and swamps and stench and foam and bile and vodka and toilets and reflections.

Someone wants to play a game and you think to yourself that someone always wants to play a game.
Drinking games and charades it seems
A dark light a bright light a night light a dim light the darkest light and blackness with suffocation and strangers in your room so that you can’t move and it’s all a dream because everything is always a dream.
I found a shirt that I still wear it has glass in it and it cuts me sometimes but I don’t wash it because it smells like you.

cigarettes and narcissists and feminists and turns and twists the way the cream sinks to the bottom of my coffee before I stir it because even though you think it’s cool to drink it black I don’t think you’re cool at all actually.

waffle irons and regular irons are both for mornings and sometimes just sometimes just sometimes…just…sometimes…when I wake up I feel ready for the day and the sun doesn’t feel like a curse upon my skin…like a constant reminder that the only warmth I can ever feel is an incomprehensible distance away from me and always will be.

I want to speak to you but instead I only growl and when I go to hug you I end up tearing into your flesh because you look so good I could eat you and you told me you have always wanted to be eaten.

fluttering upon fluttering, wings upon wings, taking flight through cloudy patches of silver and grey phosphorous and night glide through a stick of storm and bones and stoned to hail winds and trade songs through a galley or an alley to hang your head for the night…hang your head forever…try to sleep on the pavement or the gravel or the wet grass or the cold snow or the spikes.

Shoelace dances like spring boards to bed time where all your bowels evacuated like Penicillin and oxymorons and mouthwash that has gone bad and then worse and then back again.
Grown men out in the snow in nothing but nothing.
Grown men out in the cold
Flutter flutter nothing but nothing.

Crying…the sound of crying…more than one…the sound of cryings…in the dark

hues above all to be laid to rest or put before…turned on again…I put them down now, before you and for you…turned against…your batter is for you…I preserve the cook above all.
Take and all that is asked of you shall be forgiven.
Return and all that is asked of you shall be taken.
Follow and Rest in the mud of the shallow water.
Lead and find springs in the mud of the shallow water.
Divine an ocean.
Divine this land as if it were a snail to succumb to the garish succubus of the one and true beast of the divide. The great divide. The one and only. It is that it is. To meet with Zero and end it all. For once and only once, a true and meaningful ending.

Something to hang your head in for the night.
Something to hang your head in forever.