Arm Yourself

The sunset is held captive over the horizon,

By effervescent ignorance,

Of the masses;

Who stare at the universe with eyes,

Like broken records.

There are archers in the stars,

Who fill their bows with the world's,

Shoestring nonsense.

Aim with one shot,

Of genuine bullshit.

People have been gathering apprehension,

Cosmic weapons.

Splitting spines in two.

Living with the claim,

Misunderstood.

Back where the ghosts stalked,

I lost a thought.

"They don't matter,

None of them matter."

It roams unsound.

The night is collapsing,

In levels of esteem.

This dawn binds itself to,

Lethal expressions and fighting words.

I lace up my sutures,

With scars from yesterday.

My Friends (1)

My friends can't build fires,

Except with their tounges,

Flicking fire between their teeth.

They have set the whole town ablaze,

In theory.

(My friends can't build fires,

To save their fucking lives.)

My friends spread quilts to sleep under,

Like a technicolor night-sky.

They dream tucked into each others necks,

And stir heat to wake,

Knowing that they needn't worry,

Alone.

My friends call one another baby,

Sweetheart, sugar.

They swing together, a common effort,

One breath at a time,

Nurturing an inkling of harmony,

A final peace.

(My friends fear the future,

They waste money on broken crystal balls.)

My friends lie to themselves,

With wide-eyes and a petulant lip.

They're half-convinced that they,

Are the greatest con-men alive.

The other half knows better,

But refuses to assert itself.

My friends play in abandoned buildings, play

Make-shift doctor when their ribcages,

Jump.

They know how to open doors,

And use their hearts as a stopper.

So, if need be,

They can always get out.

My friends once wrote me a letter,

Gave me a goodnight kiss,

Said; "I love you."

I could never tell you,

How the world will turn tomorrow,

Or if it will be okay.

If we will be okay.

I swear,

I will do everything in my power,

To make sure I do see tomorrow,

With you.

What I'd Rather Be Thinking Of...

Acid puddles and burnt gasoline smears.

Spirits cradling corpses with infected ammunition.

Churning molten earth and expensive organs.

She Is.

She bites her lip as if weary of composing tangled scripture.

She sews desire new skin every time it falls apart.

Reason was a lovechild she pushed out to sea,

In a chest, with locks like all the scars on her lover's backs.

Unforgiving.

She smears her heart on the wall like a statement,

She asks you to clean up the mess.

She wants to say;

"We are speaking different languages."

She argues linguistics with herself and she doesn't understand,

You.

She leaves in the middle of the night to decompress.

She sits in dark gardens trying to lose touch with the inevitable.

With a snake pit mind, she searches for balance.

She tries to startle time and make it jump forward.

She doesn't remember her own bed.

She won't look you in the eye when she says,

There isn't a second she regrets.

The direction she chose is the right one.

She says she's certain.

She tells you her life feels like arson.

She seems angry.

She paces and weaves in mysterious patterns and,

Bids you goodnight too early.

She never caught your love as she walked out.

She said she's almost ready to let go.

A Final Word

A letter sleeps on my desk,

It speaks only scandals,

I haven't opened it in weeks.

This letter is dusty,

Dry.

A pain-staken shot,

Right between the eyes.

It is the bleak,

Misinformed fountain of youth,

Laughing at me.

As it aged it became,

The flesh eating lies.

The make-believe nirvana,

Of two twisted souls.

This letter fucked over,

Self-worth.

It snapped love's knees.

It is the crooked posture that taught me;

To hold my head,

Above my heart.

(Duplicity is a sour,

Half-Baked,

Bitch.)