I miss you.
When no one is around, I just scream for fear of forgetting what sound is like.
There’s monsters deep inside my belly and I’m always hungry.
The thing is I have a hard time remembering if I’m attractive.
If I could, I’d relive that night a hundred times over.
Don’t ask me what I’d change about myself: we’ll be here all night.
I’m so aware of this anger boiling inside me; some dormant volcano that has stood silently like mannequins until one day it’s tired of posing.
Never is there a moment when I’m not scared.
The nighttime is the worst for me. It always has been. It always will be.
Too much reminds me of you. Everything seems like a trigger. I’m spinning through full chambers and slipping past overfilled clips. I’m always caught in the crosshairs.
More often than not, I feel alone.
If I’m able to not scroll through the past and flip through the pages of days gone by, it’s a good day. I know you can relate.
Wishing only has lead me to broken efforts.
I never signed up for this mess. But I will always see the scrawl of my sloppy signature signed into that moment.
I’m sorry.
Nighttime brings out the worst in me. 
The morning brings a renewal.
So I guess throughout the day
I just keep falling apart, piece
by piece.
It must be why I always imagine someone
holding me before I go to bed:
So they can rebuild me for tomorrow.

Dumb late night rant

Read More

Feelings are stupid; love is dumb
Fuck it, I’m just gonna become a lamp!

You make me want to find
synonyms for the word,
“beautiful,”

but I keep finding new
ways to say,
“broken,”

since everything you are
reminds me of the things
I am not.

It’s weird how I keep
finding difficulty in
breathing normally.

Between the orbits of Jupiter and Mars is where the asteroid belt is. This region is occupied mostly by irregular shaped celestial bodies. An entire array of almost somethings, it is home to fragments and shards of bigger and better things, sometimes called minor planets, trojans or centaurs. Contrary to popular belief, the belt is mostly empty space and yet there are approximately 1.7 million asteroids within it that have a diameter of over 1km. 

You
are an asteroid belt:
bits and pieces of things
that cannot be called a planet.

You
are tattered memories so torn away
from their original source, it’s no wonder
that the moments collide into each other
leaving behind dust on the polaroids

You
are a series of bad days, bad weeks, and
at this point, even a bad year, floating broken
between a giant and potential for life

You
are science fiction at best, where the scars
of your body are marks of colonization:
reminders that voyagers have harvested
you for the precious elements they sought

You
are scattered chunks of almost, almost, almost;
A home of junkyard scrap feelings drifting
aimlessly; erratic and unstable orbits that cannot
classify you into any singular thing, so they
call you centaur. And you call yourself trojans:
Men who are wary of horses and deceptive soliders

You
are the aftermath of Troy:
ruined, ransacked, destroyed. 
Burnt into ash and left with wreckage,
you are mostly empty space.

You
are spread so thinly that you’re amazed
you still take up room.
But you learn that
the collective mass of the asteroids is 4% 
that of the moon and yet it takes up 
111 million miles of the solar system.
And you realize that bad luck streaks are
weightless and the aching emptiness that
ebb and flow between you do not define
who you are and is not what you are made
of. So instead you take a lesson from
the cosmos and tighten the notch and
you remember that the millions of asteroids
are held together by gravity
like you are held together
by hope.

“For this ongoing project, Shells created official-looking street signs quoting famous rap lyrics that shout out specific street corners and locations. He then installed them at those specific street corners and locations.

Shells went all city and posted over 30 signs quoting the likes of Jeru tha Damaja, Mos Def, Nas, Kanye West, CL Smooth, GZA, and RA the Rugged Man. “

This is so fucking dope.

Most days, I just want to
break one of my rib bones
for the fuck of it.

Vandalize the insides of my
temple with broken thoughts,
jagged feelings and drums of oil.

Pump the chamber with
metric tons of poisonous
gas and watch the entire thing
become foggy enough to turn
the lights on, so now,

All the dark things have no where left
to hide.
Throw stones through the windows
and let the shards fall as they may,

Some times, you have to keep
the property in check,
but tonight the landlord is busy
and we have a home that
looks far too clean.

Show up uninvited and let
this cathedral become an abandoned
hell house. Swing from the
chandeliers and tear down
the wall paper.

Past lovers will graffiti their
presence onto the guest book
and then etch their signature
into the moldings. Leave behind
pieces of run down furniture
that smells all too much like good memories
that trigger bad things

This is a party that will
leave my body ragged and
running on fumes
walking on vapors,
limping on your breath.

Do it yourself redecoration
that make the apocalypse
look shy, this has gone far past
“fixer-upper,”
this is crack shack on the corner of
fuck it and fuck you
We aren’t on the other side of the tracks:
This
IS
the tracks.

And we’re all holding hands
as we stand around the bonfire
of this building, singing, screaming,
and waiting for the train to smash through,
mercilessly destroying my only place to sleep,

Because,
most days, I just want to
break one of my rib bones
for the fuck of it:

but every night I hate going to bed alone