i do not have sunken eyes

nor do kitchen knives at midnight

sink deep into skin only to rise

sometimes my limbs shake without any breeze

but never with the accompanying screams

of a man who sees only ghosts in his sleep

my frame is slight

but my fingers have yet to meet my throat

in a mcdonald's bathroom late at night

and they never will

no signs on the outside

in the sunlight or otherwise plain sight

plague me

show the world how i am ill

it's all here


though you can see it in the way i run my mouth

and say things i don't mean

in the way i switch like a light

from social butterfly

my wings buzzing at light speed

scattering dust in the eyes of

those who surround me

choking, suffocating

on pleas for attention

and validation of life's complications

to a worm

low, recluse

when they turn away to shake

the debris of my words

so i curl, like an invertebrate

back into the soil


on the other end

sometimes i just cannot be made to bend

you can see it

in the embers of my eyes

untamed and unrestrained

like a brakeless freight train

seeing the broken bridge

at the edge of everything

and i still keep going

it's always one thing that gets me sailing

one thing to set me off

this was a cough

or as i heard it, a scoff

coming from the direction of my loving mother

we were arguing in the kitchen

our words smothering each others

something about me being a failure

and never seeming to care

and my defense mechanisms

began to turn their gears

as the barrage hits my ears

so i spray back

lips and teeth like a machine gun in my hand

waiting for surrender

or just "i understand"

(if that doesn't make you take me for a fool

i don't know what can)

but i got a scoff

or as it was, a cough

and then i hear gears turn and ears burn

and then her voice grows

like a bear on its hindlegs

charges and growls

and meanwhile the wind howls

in the cavity of my chest

there is thunder and lightning

and a tightening

in my fists

and then


steel doesn't embed in you quite like broken glass


the cuts in my hands healed in a week

but the scar we share remains fresh

my friends always return in the end

but i can't forget their faces of ash




part of me just wants to give it a name

and put the rest of the world to blame

for not understanding me

for not redirecting the flow of rivers

and shifting the mountains

to create my perfect world

but i can't be the little curly-haired, blank-eyed kid

that hit my head against the wall

when i felt small


i am not rain man

i am more than just my brain, man

i'm horrible at geometry

but im working on my empathy

i'm failing at history

but i'm there when my girl needs me

enough with bullets!

my new weapon is love and i hold it high above me

and i will tear the label off every can

because why be a word

when you can be a man



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