Spontaneous Loss of Control. I. Anathema
I'm sick of it all.
Sick of the four Gorgon headed snakes,
Sick of the sick
Sick of the slowly dying,
Wasting away with inward glances.
I am nauseated
Will be ill forever
With the smell of lilies and morphine
In an overhot room denying the chill of death
With false vivacity.

She feels useless and redundant.
Her body has failed her
Much like her family secretly endeavors
To do behind her back
Their love is overwhelming
But it also kills her
Worse then a cancer
It is a poison that she has seen
Infiltrating and seeping
Even in the beginning.
One of them is the eldest
Riddled with complexity
Complexes,
All of them so complicated
The puzzling pieces of hereditary traits
never fitting together
Not attempting, nor compromising
But drawing blood
and leaking poison into red swelling wounds
We are all soaked in blood and vileness
Carnivorous orchids crowding for sustenance;
It makes me shake.

Her neck aches
They are tired of waiting in the waiting place.
She feels weak and tired
Death would be a blessing from this depression
-Ritulin just gives her more time to think
Of what won't come soon enough.
Meanly, I am happy it keeps her awake
Making her realize
What 'alive' means
As her senses are heightened
her blood races dangerously.

I wondered long ago
If she was strong enough,
Not so full of pride
With such sense of what is right
Whether she would have done it herself
Whether she'd tried
And no one had noticed the botched attempt
Attributed it to temporary bouts of senility
Feebleness.
I wouldn't have said anything bad.
She's never thought ill of me
I never would think ill of her
Even in death;
A time past consequence
A time past retaliation,
Past power
Like she seems now.
Powerless to live
and unable to die.

"I love her, but I just want her to be happy
- to get what she wants so badly"
Even if it is death
I've never been so afraid
Of what she is not afraid of,
so desperately trying to embrace it.

II. These Peaches Expire Soon
If a man stabs himself in the chest
And slowly dies
Who hears him
Had he not announced it so?
I didn't.
I wouldn't hear a beautiful boy
Killing himself
Because he wanted nothing else
But darkness and eternal quiet
From a racketous
Weeping wound
Of a world.

I loved him before
I would love him if he left unexpectedly.
But I would understand.
I would understand that living life
Is an effort to stave off death
Planned or unplanned
More then likely planned.

The world is full of cowards
More then we would ever acknowlege.
Cowards who walk their dogs
Instead of walking into traffic,
Cowards who do the dishes in the sink
Instead of following them into a winter river,
Gutless people hiding behind music on a bus
Instead of stepping in front of diesel powered cheap transit.
Gutless people golfing on a sunny day
Instead of screaming at gods
Drivers to the wind during a thunderstorm
Spineless selfish idiots who buy expensive cars
-One more reason
However trivial
Not to cross the center line.
Having children
To give themselves reason to stay
Just a little longer
-Tolerate it
Just a little bit longer.

Composting,
Carpooling,
Recycling,
Bicycling;
Stalled suicides?

If you're lucky
You'll die in your sleep.
I'll miss you
When you forget to open the garage.

II. My Bukowski (There are so many names for this poem's existence- 'foolish' is the best one)
You suck.
It sucks
no matter how much
I care for
you
how much I help
you
how much I miss
you
when you're
not around
that one day
inevitably

I will be bumped
to non-existance
the back burner
by a skinny
beauty
who never claims
to understand you,
help you out
inspire you
rather, spending
the little money
you earn
unhappily
in prolific amounts.

And you might
be unhappy
That's the only reason
You'll ever need me
still
Or love me.

I would die
to get you drunk
at your typewriter
to proof-read your work
To do crazy dances
of inspiration
Together

Make your coffee tar
hear you bitch
and complain
of rejection slips
While I do the opposite:
Comfort you
Listen to you.

Slide you food
Under the door.

Paint in sunbeams
While you sleep
Stonefaced
In sloven sheets
Too much of the world
running through your mind.
I know it exhausts you.

Move constantly,
Live paycheck
to miserable paycheck
Foster our little
addictions

Show you
simplicity
And real beauty.

Because I can
be real
Though
you
are impossible
at it.

(As you can tell, I sort of lost it a little tonight.)   ¶ 12:39 AM