Regency

Faded

She hands me

The peers,

A dragon.

Bent time,

Feeling the pulse of the crowd.

The heat of the skid fire,

The cracks of the fire crackers,

Scared I hold him.

His sweater thick and warm

My tears hot and strong.

She sits,

The queen of the party.

In the trucks fog lights

Illuminated,

Her king not too far

Rolling joints for the townspeople.

A dragon.

Her grace is in the beanie slouching off her head,

Her beauty is in her combat boots,

Her rein will be long and prosperous

Over the smoke infested nation.

Empirical Inchworm 

    
Inching by I sit beside a nauseous narcissist 

Waving through the air 

Reaching for a branch that does not exist 

Hues of green 

I can see the sweat beading on his forehead

He vomited all down the trail 

As I held the measuring tape 

Empirical Inch worm 

 

Bus Rides

  
Everlasting 

I just want to be high 

I just want to bleed 

I just want to be intoxicated 

Gather myself up after 

Charming 

Fuck this tea drinking 

Cat petting 

Romantic seeking 

Bullshit 

As simple as it seems 

It’s painfully unreal 

Raw

Anxiety filled voices 

The need to impress 

I want to hurt 

Because it is simpler 

Hypocrite 

I feel as ironic as my moody poems 

If they are even that

They are more like selfish rants 

And I’m sorry  

But fuck 

What else am I suppose to do ?

Internal Thoughts as a Weirdo

  I want to be treated like an endangered animal

I like her butt (it’s nice)

I heard him say “Not my beautiful mock chicken” as he screamed he grabbed for plastic that wasn’t his 


I see there are more crows than trees in the cemetery 

I like people that smell like cigarettes 

I like to hug them 


I think ‘I never liked her’ as the pleather chair she sits on squeaks 

I don’t like to hug her 

Holes make me uncomfortable 





Lost 

In the spring, the fields and ditches 

flood beside the lake.

When the wind is calm,

the pools are still, 

And the sky is overcast.

The reflections create a monochrome world.

Driving by,

Eye darting from pool to pool 

You can get lost 

From the world that is your own.


The beauty found in these reflections 

is otherworldly yet simple.

Like the most elegant black and white 

photography.

And you long for a world similar


But as the summer gets hot, 

The pools will disappear,

And so will the beauty.

Pixel

 

Each time I drive I see pedestrians that are not there,

They seem so real,

But as soon as I approach they disappear.

Like the damp road has swallowed them whole.

When I focus on the road, the tops of the trees seem to swirl.

Like some sort of cursed entities,

Without the focus of my gaze their atoms may swirl and deform all they want. 

It’s as if I am the glue that holds this universe together.

That my consciousness creates sense from utter nonsense.

Some times I just watch the road form in front of my eyes;

If you look hard enough it almost seems to be unfolding from nothing.

Pixel by pixel,

The road seems to say all we are doing is floating in a dark abyss. 

It’s all just smoke and mirrors.

We are being deceived…

Well at least I am.

Trashed Tuesday 



Drinking can be a bore,

Vomiting in foreign toilets,

With strangers holding our hair.

Then thanking those strangers like they are the grandma you haven’t seen in years.


If we all just got stoned none of this would happen,

We’d just sail away from our problems,

Never looking back.

Putting condiments on an undercooked hot dog,

And then proceeding to eat the entire thing.

Even though you are vegetarian…

Oops…

Well maybe, let’s not get stoned.


How about we all just drink tea together in the woods?

We could all wear little hats,

It would be ever so cute,

No one would vomit.

No one would break their vegetarianism in a hungry rage. 

It would be polite and quaint,

Until you realize you have all been drugged…

Walking up face down in the grass,

With no memory of what happened.

Just an unintentional high blur.


Or we could just go to church,

Breathe Jesus right into our lungs.

Like a drag from a holy joint,

We could all sing Hozier and have a grand old time.

Until the minister kicks us out,

Claiming we are disruptive to the service,

“It says ‘all welcome’ on the sign sir, I mean father…”


Well maybe not church, and defiantly not tea parties in the abandon woods. 

What are we to do with ourselves then? 

Get into border line criminal shenanigans? 

Drink? 

Like every other teen does?

Short


Basted 

If my hands were udders 

And my fingers teats

Would you milk me every day ? 
Eastbound 

Instant microwave eggs 

Not what I wanted for my sweet sixteen

Category loaves 

Infinity scarf 

Doesn’t mean you’ll live forever 

Dollar store eyeshadow  
Small Town Effect 

Rolling hills and drug deals 

Mark my words 

The back of a stop sign is no longer innocent