Dejection, Etc. (Meltdown #8)

(among other things, "a condition
marked by hopelessness, self-doubt,
lethargy, a hollow or low place")

on the dresser, your ring.
in your drawers, nothing.

Walk-ins Welcome, Or, How I Lost Myself (Meltdown #7)

she swayed above the abyss, my control,
one foot pressed to the board, the
other twisting circles, teasing.

pale hands of wanting claw up from below
promising the path of least resistance.
...please, I said, reaching out to her

"If you wanted something stable you've
come to the wrong place," she said,
brushing me away. with a slight step

off the edge she plunged, a permanent
guest to the madness

A Tale of Dichotomy (Meltdown #6)

beating knuckles raw against closet
walls, skin smearing over dents--

from across the room I crawl towards
understanding, smoothing his hair back.

slumped on a box containing a par of
size three shoes, unopened, he weeps.

split between reason and aversion, a
rift of the mind, the lesser part of me

lies on the floor, watching as a new being
forms. she leaves, another self entirely.

Letter to Our Daughter (Meltdown #5)

smoke embedded in my fingerprints,
each groove contains a fragment of fire.

I tried to burn more than twigs and paper
dousing each pen soaked sheet with a
dose of fire, placing each page on an ember

flame to ash, there is no resolve--
matter cannot be created or destroyed.

Retribution (Meltdown #4)

It struck forcefully in the
middle of December,
my madness

a glitch in the seatbelt sparked
The Inevitable Meltdown,
crawling through glass
that never cut, only stuck

all my teeth fall out like
coins from a vending machine.
I do not blame you.

digging into our child's mouth,
I tear away plastic tubing.
there is no sigh of relief.

I file my fingers in her ribcage--
"unfinished"

The First Lapse (Meltdown #3)

footsteps invisible through layers of rain
coating the sidewalk, no patterns carve
out their distinction to mark whether

I am the sole traveler to wander this
way or if thousands have passed, leaving
me in their wake. and it's lonely.

standing on the pavement with my coat and
shoes waiting for you to appear, fog sets in.

Our New Windows (Meltdown #2)

On the third story a silhouette

moves in the next building over

blinds shoot up, a woman dancing,

she thinks no one can see

leftover lights falling off line the

window, everything minus purple

Look— sun drips down your

bare shoulder onto the bed through

a sparkling dove trapped in its

glass frame, watching with us

When We Were Young (Apartment 236-B) (Meltdown #1)

we broke those bottles

late on a Saturday night

sliding into morning

leaning half out the

window shouting

we own this place—

this town, this house,

this window— and we

will break whatever we

goddammed feel like

and we don’t give a shit

that you’ve got to get up

for church tomorrow,

lady. this is our town.

at dawn we drove out, broken

glass rent to our fading youth

well then

I don't like looking at stuff from 2009-2010 on here because most of it is pure shit, but I feel it would be wrong to delete/otherwise destroy it since that would mean losing years of writing. I know these creations are a part of the evolution of a writer.

although they are mostly awful, at least I was writing fairly regularly. unfortunately, english classes have ruined this habit since I can't "pour out" on the page without pre-analyzing everything. I suppose these years are a sort of Dark Age in that they are terrible, though I don't have a name for the horrifying middle school/early high school age the preceded it...

in conclusion, most of the things on here are shit. I know. I'm keeping them for the historical value.

our new windows

On the third story a silhouette

moves in the next building over

blinds shoot up, a woman dancing,

she thinks no one can see

leftover lights falling off line the

window, everything minus purple

Look— sun drips down your

bare shoulder onto the bed through

a sparkling dove trapped in its

glass frame, watching with us

Walk-Ins Welcome (Or, Stop Fighting It, We’ll Win Sincerely, Your Broken Neurotransmitters)

she swayed in the air above the abyss

one foot pressed to the trembling board

the other twisting circles, teasing.

pale hands of wanting clawed from below,

promising the path of least resistance.

…please, I said reaching out to her

“If you wanted something stable, you’ve

come to the wrong place,” she laughed,

brushing me away. with a slight step

off the edge she fell into the mess

then split into pieces smiling,

a permanent guest of the madness