the first time
i ever thought
about suicide
was at age eight
i finally came
to terms with
being molested
at age four and
decided i wanted
out
but i never could
climb the ladder
or tie the noose
and go through
with it
i learned many
years later you
have to snuff out
any will to live in
the body to achieve
the goal
thirty-five years
later and the world
has put me on the
edge of the future
my eight-year-old
self dreamt about
each night while
hoping for something
better
another night spent
talking to myself
pretending this world
still has a place for me
all the right women
found some other
perfect man
now, i’m staring
death in the face
alone
remembering the child
that lost all hope by the
age of eight
thirty-five years later
still hanging on by
aging threads
but it’s on these nights
where the question for
what has no fucking
answer
i look in her eyes and
wonder why i could
never find the chance
to have one of those
moments a life is
built upon
i look at the shotgun
in the corner
and understand one of
these nights a neighbor
will be calling the police
for what they believe to
be fireworks
there’s this endless
madness inside of
me that never rests
i wouldn’t describe
it as insanity
unless of course,
that gets me a better
class of drugs
but i often wonder
when i close my eyes
each night
why do i even bother
to wake the following
morning
the grind isn’t worth
it
the squeeze isn’t
good enough
and the hope if random
nudity doesn’t excite
like it used to
the end is surely near
they think this
is easy
that all it takes is
a snap of the fingers
and the words just
magically appear
on the page
they don’t understand
the pain, the scars
the horrific memories
that make you cry
the fact there is
no joy
the rainbows fade
into a ghetto where
you saw a man shot
down on live television
crashing upon me once again
i remember sitting at
the top of my stairs
listening to some
sad fucking songs
i’m sure the end
of the world was
crashing upon me
once again
it was the last
good cry i ever
had
almost thirty
fucking years
ago
they beat it out
of me when i
was young
you would think
the adult years
would have been
better than this
____________
as long as we celebrate our ignorance
it’s easier to hate than love
harmony is some mystical
thought only meant for
songs
it’s easier to teach a child
to be racist than have them
learn long division
and as long as we celebrate
our ignorance
we will never mind the
chains around our necks
or the electronics around
our ankles
attack ad after attack ad
and don’t worry
the cycle for the next
election starts in just
a few weeks
and we wonder why elected
officials never get anything
done
and i’m supposed to give
my last few pennies to
someone who doesn’t
need them
i forget what book of
the bible told me i’m
required
an evening of
stilettos and
falsettos
demons laughing
in the pale moon
light
love dancing naked
while angels cry
the sweet loss of
any sense of reality
visions of an
old muse
laughing at what
misery you brought
into the world
her soft brown skin
in that hot summer
sun
there’s a lost beach
on the other side
of the world that
remembers that
evening
they are closing
down the hospital
i was born in
that’s certainly
a way to make
me feel old
just four days
before another
birthday
they say it’s
to save money
instead of
saying the
truth
only the poor
use this hospital
and we’re not
in the business
of helping those
people
i think of
the world
the children
of today are
going to take
over
i sleep
comfortable
knowing
i didn’t bring
any future
disappointed
souls into
this world
a homeless
guy once told
me the easiest
way to cure
heartbreak
was to never
fall in love in
the first place
sound logic
from a man
married to a
new brown
paper bag
each and
every day
i told him
that wasn’t
practical
for myself
a relentless
romantic
doomed
from the
start
he laughed
and muttered
something about
a useless martyr
we all have
our battles
kid
choose the best
lover with the
weakest right
cross
Rusty Truck 