August Post Mortem

was the name.

the year, 2012.

“if they fuck
that stab hole
I’m gonna lose it,”

he breathed out
redundantly with
strained pants.

2017

another
mutual friend
run-in.

she sits down
at the four-seater
table with
tonights bunch.

naturally,
he sits in
the chair
next to her.

she sips
her whiskey,
balancing
herself.

“have you all
seen that new
occult crime
show on netflix?”

she opens to
the group,
knowing he
likely has.

“they had this
one episode
about this
group of
sick fucks
called the
‘chicago rippers’..”

glancing at him
to judge his
expression
she went on,

“..they had
this fascination,
if you could
call it that,
with breasts.

they’d kidnap
women of the night,

stab holes
in the side of
their breasts
and fuck the
fresh stabwound..”

she took
another sip
of her drink,

“..there’s
a bunch of
sick fucks in
this world,
wouldn’t
you agree?”

he said nothing.

View story at Medium.com

Freight’d It’s Over

I saw you
and felt
nothing.

if I was
a tunnel,

you used
to be the
train.

whenever
I’d hear
you coming

I’d brace
myself for
impending
arrival.

you’d roll
through me;
unstoppable
force.

i’d feel
every inch
of me

shake and
shudder

as you
ran through
my bones.

but you
left

long ago,
now.

and though
you used
to take
My route

regularly
[for quite
some time]

now all
that’s left
is the
distant
whistle

of your
brisk
presence.

blanket beats fire

I was taught
love
was the
wrong details
of an oil painting.

 
the image:
a blanket
wrapped around
a stranger
in a desert night,
desperately trying
to keep warm
by a fire.

 
I was taught
the only way

for anyone
to love me

was for them
to light me
ablaze

stack of
kindling
Destroyed
by lover’s
presence.

 
I longed for that
feeling.

my heart
prickling
with shards of flame,

smoldering myself
to death
as I fell asleep.

 
i fantasised
about
the next
oxygen starved
donkey punch
to the chest.

 
i’ve been
romanticizing
wrong
painted details
so long,

 
When he
tried to whisper,
 

“darling,
you are much more
than broken branches,”

 i could not
hear him.

 
I was
deathly high,
flying,
dust in the wind,

reminiscing
my own
tortured ashes.

 
When all
you’ve known

is the burn
of a
direct flame,

you become
numb
to
warm kindness
of a fleece blanket.

 
You forget
you are subject,

meant to survive
the arid desert
with a loving touch.

 
But everyday
your nerves
come
one step closer
to healing themselves
in this love
you’ve found.

 
Let it
snuggle in
through your veins,

repair
altitude busted
ear drums,

to ensure
survival
another night.

tightly woven

he’s got
these women
he weaves
in and out
like
shift work.

never
touching,
always
brushing forces
Uncommunicably;

filling
the gaps
his
miserable
lonliness
awake
he can’t
bare
to face.

son of god,
trapped
on that
fabricated
temple
of entertainment,

never wanting
to be
bothered
on
your time.

says
it’s easier
to
fall asleep
with a
body
nearby,

be it
special
or
unimpressive.

spits out
promises
never
fulfilled

More than
A distributor
does product.

doesn’t ever
fold up
pages
or
face
a mess,

except
the bottles

someone
else

must’ve left
strewn

on
every
surface.

he’s
in control
afterall,

natural born
cult leader,
with pride.

no need for
the
big
picture

with his
knackful
perception,

despite a
blindness

to his own
presentation.

“subconscious
leaking
out
their nose,”

somebody get this man a medal!

full of
compazine
and lexapro

would you
please?

keep talking
with a
tactfully forged
confidence
and you’re
always right,

 
otherwise
anyone else
could get a
second
opinion.

flares

been at this fork for so long
ive been setting off flares
for my own entertainment

any emergency vehicle
nice enough to respond

i wave on

“the infection in this
little ol’ cut
simply
is not
serious enough
for your concern

please,
let me sit with it
a little
while
longer

it’s all i know
anymore”

i don’t know, man

i am
a big man
and i say,

“you can’t,”

“i cared
about you,”

and,

no one
else
will.”

“i am a
messy
man”

and
“i’d like to
fix you.”

“i’d like you
to sit
with me,”

and
id like you
to,

“pretend
for me.”

i am a
needy
man;

I will
use you.

i will
convince
you,

and
i will
abuse
you.

ventriloquism
emotion,

watch me
feed on
the empathy.

i am
a snake
of a man,

i’ll
exhaust you.

release
my skin
of you;

unhinging
this jaw
for
new prey.

shell of
a man,

i preoccupy.

hollow man
plastered over,

screaming treason
at those closest.

“i am an
angry man,”

i will
destroy
You;

shattering
self-meaning.

“i am a
scared man.”

i
will
need you.

“you
will not
be
there,

and
i cannot
blame you.”