I know this isn't getting through to you. I know it was pointless to write any of this.

i don't know i don't know i don't know i don't know i don't know i don't know i don't know i don't know i don't know i don't know i don't know i don't know i don't know i don't know i don't know i don't know tell me how to make it right i don't know i don't know i don't know i don't know i don't know i don't know i don't know i don't know i don't know i don't know i don't know i don't know i don't know i don't know i don't know i don't know i don't know i don't know i don't know i never should have been born

Existential Despair/Existence is Despair
recurring recurrent themes
of course this is repetition
of course,
suicide is a crime
and is thinking

?Girl with agenda #1 said or, rather, marked on lined paper:

These were the things that were in the room:
Two water bottles
Banana
Calculator
Lighter
Pen
Hair gel
Electrical tape
Deodorant
Blood
Scissors
Post-it notes
Contact fluid
Mechanical pencil
Wallet
Hair

It was like she had seen on crime shows. She hoped she did a good job. Her name was Samantha. She got good grades and believed in good. She got fucked on the weekend.

Love Poems

1.
2.

there were two things

there were two things...

there were two things that... caused...

me...

to...

lose love in all its wonderful shapes and forms, all

its wonderful

manifestations of

warmth.

---

don't be sad, silly
nobody's life's all fun
you'll get through it
home's not far
cheer up, kid
don't be sad

delusion #2

despair
it's fair to assume tomorrow you'll be dead

--

you never were much more than used rags
and crooked half smiles on autumn days.

you skipped all your classes,
abandoned your friends,
and slept away months in grief,
your entire existence composed of
shut eyes and empty dreams,
gray places without time or reason,
and nobody to tell you "do this."

maybe if somebody heard your words,
maybe if somebody looked at your face and saw your eyes,
you would have survived,
you would have survived.
but nobody did,
and i can't say sorry somehow.

delusion #1

you spent a thousand years in sand, sculpting monuments with broken fingers

i could not know the names of the places that were made,
but with each moment passing, i felt such change
in the people,
in the landscape
that buried all faces

changeable

forever

changeable

in the end, buildings would crumble
and empires would fall
but never could i remember your eyes

funeral writing

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this you think as you leave her apartment in the pouring rain and drive to the department store 30 miles an hour where you buy a cheap set of kitchen knives and drive back 30 miles an hour and she’s waiting for you, she’s waiting for you like it’s just rehearsal in the rain in the street in tears in her eyes in apologies in her teeth and you get out of the car and you take the knives and you drop them at her feet I'm sorry. I'm sorry I wasn’t good enough for you and I'm sorry you could never see that---but so much for a clean getaway.


when I got here I didn't believe it could be as bad as this. The liars told me things look up with time, but time passes so slowso fucking slow looking at screens for hours looking for something like words or pictures or i don't know sounds but just finding yourself at 3 in the morning not looking at clocks because if you look at them, if you really really look at them... maybe you'd want to commit suicide. and blood is so fucking messy.

dripping down your armslope. forget you even had a test last week.

significance/false significance

1

anything everything
i’ll take everything
from you i’ll never have known you
you’ll never have been near
me when i died there everyyear
forever and ever i wish i wish there was nothing
then everything would mean nothing

2

everybody’s fighting
the night sky
it’s winning the battle
everything is lost
don't pretend anymore

still

i'm sitting here and i'm thinking really
hard but i can't seem to remember
anything that happened yesterday
i must have slept for an hour
i must have slept for three days
i think there were girls with
painted faces at that party
and so many endless rooms where
i found you again and again
always wearing that same dress
the dress i spilled red wine on
and the fabric never stopped bleeding

24-hour video of a new girl

all day they shoot me full of heroin and all night they scream at my face and touch my body

nobody notices the holes in my arms or the red spots in my eyes

nobody anymore needs to care about anybody other than themselves

i used to live in a television commercial

"What's the matter," Carter would ask when he saw her sitting in the dark at two or three in the morning staring out at the dry wash. "What do you want. I can't help you if you don't tell me what you want."
"I don't want anything."
"Tell me."
"I just told you."
"Fuck it then. Fuck it and fuck you. I'm up to here with you. I've had it. I've had it with the circles under your eyes and the veins showing on your arms and the lines starting on your face and your fucking menopausal depression-"
"Don't say that word to me."
"Menopause. Old. You're going to get old."
"You talk crazy any more and I'll leave."
"Leave. For Christ's sake leave."
She would not take her eyes from the dry wash. "All right."
"Don't," he would say then. "Don't."
"Why do you say those things. Why do you fight."
He would sit on the bed and put his head in his hands. "To find out if you're alive."
In the heat some mornings she would wake with her eyes swollen and heavy and she would wonder if she had been crying.

borrowed auto/fuckface

driving on 74 i almost stopped sleeping it was hard to see through the fog where bright lights shone nothing and trucks lined up at road side red light drivers long since lost and drifted into half conscious aware and unaware half of how the mind stills at night and people and places become interchangeable things inter tangible dreams that don't help or cohere life's endless disappointments miles just miles and miles of white air white faced ghosts restless headed home

tell me get a job i'll smash your face to the ground fingers eyesockets get fucked your pretty boy looks it's over and gone

corpses rot in cellars

goodbye everybody
it's time for me to leave here
there's no place for me here
but i'm not scared
things will be good where i'm going
where i'm going, no one judges no one
and people are nice and people smile white teeth smiles
in the sunlight
in the moonlight
of the last place anybody will come looking for you
free at last
i'll miss you when i'm gone

we took some drugs

i fell on the bed. my feet were running, but i stayed in one place.
your eyes turned to pieces,
and i wished i'd never been born,
because life can't go on in slow motion,
nothing changing, nobody ever leaving your mind.
and with the years of seconds that passed,
you couldn't possibly understand how
my head felt soft, and i wanted to cry.
if only you would hit my face, make it bleed, and feel nothing but the skin
contacting your fingers. i would be so real. i would be
so
real.

I had the weirdest dream last night. I dreamt we were going somewhere, like… the movies, or the mall. I don’t remember. But you call and say you’re going to pick me up and I’m like cool and go online for a bit. Some time passes and you instant message me and say you’re leaving. I’m like cool again, right, and I turn off the computer and wait. But… like, you never come, and I’m just sitting there looking like a dumb ass waiting for someone who isn’t coming. Isn’t that hilarious?

Then… then I look out the window and I see these two cars pulling up… like a red sports car and a black government-issue type deal. A female FBI agent like from The X-Files or something gets out of the red one. Then at the same exact time, the same exact moment, you get out of the black one, and you both start walking towards the front door. I run downstairs and the doorbell rings and I open the door and there you are. You’re… you’re fucking pissed. You’re going on about how I shouldn’t have gotten another ride – which makes no sense, by the way – but I don’t think I’m listening, because I don’t respond. Then I… you’re not going to believe this… it’s just so weird… then I yell “Then who’s this!” and for some reason I have a dirty sock in my hand. So I leap out the side of the door and see this lady standing with her backed turned to me in the grass. She’s not the same lady that came from the car. She’s wearing this creepy red dress and has like puffed up red hair, hoop earrings, kind of plump. And I fling the sock at her head. I don’t know what I’m thinking. Then she turns around… and I see her face. It’s the scariest face I’ve ever seen. And I can’t… I can’t fucking describe it because it’s just so…

look at me, and tell me if you've known me before

you keep having dreams where something humiliating or terrible happens to you. every time you have a dream like this, you are aware that it is a dream, so you try really hard to wake up. one night, you have this dream and you try to wake up, and you do. but it turns out that your waking up is just another dream, and something humiliating/terrible happens there, and you try to wake up for real, and you think you have. but it just turns out to be another dream and so on, so you’re never sure when you’ve really woken up.