Ugh, Bro, You're Really Harshing My Mellow

Well, yeah, we know you look so great staring down from your high horse, standing on your glowing cloud, etc, etc …etc. You made your point. You really need that label. Yeah. You really need everyone to know. You’re not a drunk, just a loud mouth. You’re not high, just stupid. We all get it. We ALL get it. You’re so pure and you’re so good, yeah, you’re so much better. Well I’m out of here, and you’re just talking to hear yourself now. The only pressure I’ve ever gotten is from your side (probably because you’re so right). I just want you to know that it’s okay just to live your life. No need to sleeve your morals. No need to force your opinions. You’re almost as bad as Christians. Just as much of a hypocrite. Don’t drink, don’t smoke, don’t fuck and be sure to let everyone know you really need that label.

I Consider This Proof That Doctors Are Gay

We made out and I got whatever you’ve got. My throat wakes me up I’ve got that constant cough. Fuck this stuffy nose, I just want Theraflu and cold nights next to you. It’s been two weeks and I’ve just been toughing it out. An apple a day, that’s what they say, but I’m downing cherry syrup and making my life a haze. I painted monsters and some airplanes dropping bombs because I really have no idea what the fuck is going on. You keep me up until 7. I swear I’ll never get better. I’m coughing my lungs up. My nose won’t stop running. It’s fucking pathetic, I can’t help but sweat it because I’ve got this fever and I hope it lasts all year. Bring me cough drops and Chap Stick and soup and some movies. Bring me your legs across mine. Bring me anything as long as you’re here. You keep me up until 7, I swear I’ve never felt better, I’ve got this fever that I hope will last all year.

11/4/08

Lost my grip. Now I’m floating aimless in an ocean of skin that’s faltering. Too rocky an endeavor to not affect my withering bones, the way the ice storm froze your water colder than I could believe. This atlas is old and these islands are mapped incorrectly. I found myself in the uncharted latitudes and longitudes’ meeting place and stranded off the coast of anything that should mean anything to me. I carved this grid into the skin between my teeth so I could come back and drown myself when I get tired of losing sleep.

This IS A Love Song

Fuck this fucking planet, fuck the fucking world. I’m tired of being great, its getting fucking old. Darkness screams my name and begs me to stay asleep. I grip my jaw so fucking tight I crack my fucking teeth. I want to punch a hole through the entire fucking world. I want to fight a speeding bus and end up in fucking hell. I want to blow your fucking head off with a shotgun through my brain. I want to fucking kill myself when I just see your face. FUCK.

9/19/08

Make your millions, flattened city, cover your culture. Stretched your skin too thin, you crushed your beauty under the weight of golden arms. Now this is a worthless ship sailing on the naked tides of an empty ocean. I can see the snakes from up high slithering through your grid work. Congratulations lovely, you’ve killed one thing I adored, but I’ll decorate this city with the names of what you lost.

9/17/08

Crying on my doorstep, filthy with instigation. Weave your web someplace else, little spider. I need some time to grieve. Wishing without hoping because I know your day will come. Sorrow spread so fucking thin that my lips can’t feel it rushing down. Brick-faced indignation, chest-piercing stares. We settled for so little but you cried until you got what was theirs. Make molehills out of thin-air, and mountain-size your world. I’ve got shoulders fit for weighted means, but nothing like your words. Dusty resolutions made clean with little effort became the revolution you yearned to cling to. Forget your own four seasons and make weather all yours. We can live in a sea of regrets as long as the water’s warm.

9/16/08 #2

Meander somewhere between distance and dissonance. Scar the tissue of the wasted words. Scatter smiles. Place the fault on the shoulders of reason. Make an effort to scour it clean. Waste these letters on burning paper. Write your name on all the ashes. This is the following message. The recorded voice right after the siren. This is worse than living. This is the feeling of waiting in the wings.