The things I say

Oh, the things I say

when I am drunk

My honesty is 


Give me what I want, boy

The whiskey says

You don’t have to read my mind


For some reason I’m still supposed to read yours?

No, I will never be ready

for the real world

I can’t take the pain

But if you let me escape


I hope you regret it

for a very long time. 




is my drug

And I marvel at your fear

of me

And my need to look pretty

for your ex-girlfriend 

I will always doubt

your feelings for me

Perhaps it’s my insecurities

Or perhaps it is only

to forever keep

my longing. 

The Epitome of Splendor

He said the only cuts worth having

are the ones that scrape against bone

the ones that grind you down

and build you back up

He whispers through the bitter-blood taste of the Cabernet

Do you know pain?

I etched it into the skin on my wrist

years ago

the night of delirious bowling

I made myself vulnerable

only to swear never again

I have paid the price for this oath

For apart we were a plague upon the other

Together we were the epitome of splendor

Do you think this is true?

His grin is cocky,


and he tells me

My writing is the epitome of spendor

when he is the muse. 

I miss those days

Life is short

but this road ahead of me seems long

Outside the chaos never stops

like hale beating at an old chained up dog

I think I know more about hate now

than I do love

More about fear

than I do comfort

There were days when you would just stab your enemy in the neck

and be done with it. 

I miss those days. 

Nowhere near Nirvana

The wheels turn

but we go nowhere

Spin, spin spin circles shugah

the hamster wipes the bloody spunk off of his face

Keep running, you’re nowhere near


She could be the death of me

but you can’t kill

what’s already dead

He said it with a cigarette bouncing between his teeth

a needle-prick muse,

a noose around his neck

Tongue these open sores

they taste like  popped cherries

when you’ve still got some good tunes up your sleeve

Sadly they’ll bury you before your blues will every play

on the radio

The white trash angel in black eyeliner

will stretch her bleached anorexic wings and shout

Hide the shotgun

save the American icon

But it was already too late. 

Faith (in the end) 

In the end

we’ll lie beneath a cold black sun

my heart will ache for silver moonlight

and the sound of your laughter

I’ll tease you because once you believed

and I was only just trying to please you

I never had the faith.

No, not like you.
In the end we’ll walk through

smoke and fire

and I’ll long for rain

I’ll give you the only thing I have left to give

But you’ll say my heart tastes cold 

like chameleon skin

And I’m proud

as a plucked


Pleased as a punch

In the gut.
In the end we lost our faith

It was beaten out of you

and bled out of me

in tiny droplets

and I’ll wish it were war paint

and I’ll wish it were wine

For the only real salvation I ever found

was when the world blurred

around your mouth.
In the end we’ll die in darkness

and I’ll dream of stars

and the fire in the blacks of your eyes

as you whisper softly

“I told you so…

na na na na na.”

I can still dream

None of this is easy

the things we cannot live without

are slowly killing us

Spilling us out into the radioactive


But I can still dream

The Blacks of his eyes

are not black at all

but burn like lit cigarettes

I will wander inside those tiny embers

and wonder 

Can we live forever?

All the teeth gnashing

and regrets

Didn’t do a single thing

I’ll snort whiskey out my nose this night

and put on another ring

(I’m fucking kidding!)

But I can still dream

Although my heart is stone

my heart is dangerously sentimental

For you

I gnashed my teeth together many a night

crying “this will not do!”

And it did nothing

for me

Because he was vile, after all

and I fucking loved it. 

But I can still dream

He writes poems from the future

it’s the strangest thing

Perhaps he chased a lucky albino’s foot

right into the fire

that decorates my wall

He’ll return to me someday

covered in soot with adventures to tell

For I can still dream. 

Tail Feathers

I had dreams 

stacked up like dominoes

and an itchy trigger finger-

I would have liked to have

wrapped you around

But you see, I can laugh at myself

I can laugh at anything

given enough time

Even at the storm that swept my heart

out to sea

You could never be controlled

or tamed

or kept in a jar

That was a foolish thing to dream

Still I can pluck your tail feathers 

and dip them in ink

and write about 

what it was like to breath

within the eye of the storm. 

Who are you?

The one headlight is too bright

My head is in the dark clouds

I can roll the windows down

I can turn the radio up 

Wrap my nine inch nails around the wheel

Light a smoke


I can forget all about you 

My mind is in the silver clouds

The wind is in my hair

Who the fuck are you?

To bring me down