i'll choke every bit of
false life out of
i hate that you
tears upon gripped
trachea - i hate
these ends, i love
i'm broken in every
i'm just a guy i write sometimes.
gaming sn: gliitchlord (on pretty much every platform)
instagram: gliitchlord_poetry (decently inactive)
snapchat: cmcmpfs (i think? probably?)
tumblr: yeah i'm on there somewhere
others: are there others i cant think of them?
are to blameshivers dance across your skin;
whispers curl over your lips like smoke from a poisoned cigarette.
you fill your lungs with tar & regret, & you're forgetting how to breathe:
how'd you forget that air is what you need?
the chill outside is icier than the glares of the broken,
so unaware & disconnected from each other.
we've got hate as our best friend & ignorance as our lover.
we have lungs blacker than our souls,
& sleepless nights are taking their tolls
arising as shadowed eyes & sparkling wine.
nothing is as it seems; it's all hidden in our shattered self esteem.
high heels snapped in half lie in the hall;
hearts drowning in wrath ignore the call,
& tears run like a river down your face.
we're the kings & queens of one-night stands,
trying to erase our feelings.
constantly craving the touch of another,
love is something we discovered
& then threw out.
some of us are forgetting how to feel, but it's fine:
nothing's ever real.
Desirehe cradles wishing wells
now among his palms.
he knows best
water is no counterfeit deity.
the arrogance of bone and clay--
no muses now can remind them
how beaches were once
just teacups in the rain.
like a young goddesperation clings to me.
i am forever in search of
a legacy that will never
come to me unless,
somehow, i set myself
but what is 'free' when
all you've known are
the shackles of the past,
connecting you to events and
memories you no longer wish
to be tethered to,
no longer want to
bring you down into this
if there were a god,
She would've made this world
a little nice,
a little kinder for the
outcasts, for those
tossed aside like an
annoying crumb clinging
stubbornly to you.
what is the point in
turning oneself into marble?
what's the point of
creating yourself into
myth when we don't even
remember the names,
much less the tales, of
the old gods?
marble cracks after all.
just like all art, all lies,
it is quick to turn to
dust on your fingers;
leaving this world as we
entered, the ashes of the
extraordinary turned extra ordinary.
red binding sparka murder in
devotion. a red binding
spark. i wonder if your blood
will pour out in waves and seep under
my fingernails. i wonder how it feels to
tug your hair, palming it, smashing your head
hard against the doorframe. i sharpen my blade alone.
there are no decibels low enough, no frequencies high enough
to truly hear the ratter in my chest, my ribcage breaking free from its
confines inside as i free you from your own. the sun glistens, the blade shines,
and still, i am not sure if i am coated, truly, in your blood or mine
Anthology: is it enough to say 'I love you'sky father
cloudy eyes sweeping over
a past that only halfway happened,
shining with all
the tender violence
of a lightning strike-
you are unwilling to let go.
give. me. more. I want all your
love and looks undeceiving, soft beneath fingers
tearing you up from earth; with eyes
full. of. desire. I will find you
out, first flower peeking at the sun
in dewy demure, I will. I. must.
have you-grow and give. me. more.
tell her, I'm sick of living
I hang my self-worth on the crook of your beckoning finger and beg you to stay.
rock bottom, for the egomaniac
I wish you'd nourish me as well as your ego
but you leave me drowning in roughhouse lack
and, I, I, I - I overcompensate in pursuit of
a smoother surface to break for new breath
and fill my lungs with gulps of poisoned need.
5.29.18you've got me head over heels in love with life & you,
& if living means collapsing every moment
& bringing you to stand here with me at the center of it,
i'm okay with that.
every time i'm hurting, i just want to run to you.
i know you can't solve all my problems,
but you can solve at least a handful of them,
& that's enough for me.
you're a safe place,
a head haze,
somewhere to go when i just need space
& no one else will give it to me.
i lose myself in you in the best possible way
& always walk away more whole than when i started.
hang the moonhe hung the moon.
you can see that now,
watching your cuticles healing dark
under its steel-cut glow
seeping through your eyelids like
rainwater slithering atop desert soil
your eyes fly to every twitch and flutter
of moths' wings.
they blur their own silhouettes
or they fall still inside your
shadow; you hear their fading hum
drowned under his
saltwater bringing you crashed messages,
lulling you into unshakeable rhythms
you drone as your fingernails
dig identical moons
into the linear limited skies of your forearm,
freckles washed away, banished
vanished by the mechanical glow
you can no longer see stories
in the night sky. his light pollution
tastes like metal and looks like nothing
he hanged the moon;
you know that now.
i hold blue sky in my hands & blow away the clouds like dandelion seeds,
crossing my fingers & wishing for a summer greener & greater than any before it.
sweet summer citrus, sing me your song, & spill all your secrets into the soil.
teach me how to turn lemon smiles into lemonade;
feed me sugar from a spoon & drop the sour punchlines.
i'll sell orange juice on every city corner,
& limeade where the concrete fades away
into dirt roads & rotting buildings.
speak with a tangerine tongue, & learn to love with a fierceness
only the sun can rival,
soaking up rays on good days & rain on bad ones.
climb trees & scrape your knees & revere the scar on your ankle.
you're a four-season kid in a fair-weather world,
& living is what you're here for.
populist bullshit (of bullshit populus)faux-jesus swing exploding
arsenic bomb; preening nationalist
beard full of bees, hopped and boxed and praying
to magic mirror of capitalist branding
these are the alien walls, these are the aliens among us
the hateful spew of a having few
pretending to be everyone
i've been right
for so long, am i
left out by this
can i be seen
in the aftermath,
a weeping queen
more times than this
i've been right
here for so many
than hate's grotesque cries.
cannot see through
it, can't hack it
out of these devised lungs;
one hanged man
in an iron seize.
what is left
of the humanity
we swore to see
we, the null,