Cricket Dream Land

In the beginning I was shy and bashful,

Not knowing what I wanted or what you knew.

We were quiet and in love,

The  symphonic sounds of crickets and frogs at night in the hayloft,

I had my first drink with you.

I kissed you and it felt amazing,

Your neck kisses made me so warm.



Now I hate sleeping alone and being alone,

and thinking alone.

Who will I tell when I cant breathe,

I cant breathe now.

I am repressing thoughts of you but they scatter the city.

We have spent years together,

I’m drinking again.


I really don’t know why I did it so fast.


I feel sick and I cannot eat,

I toss in my sleep only waking to think of a moment we shared and cry.

I wear the bracelet you gave me and I cannot take it off.

I feel your touch on my skin and I want to hold your hand,

I know the memories of your touch will fade and I will have nothing left.

I know your body better than you do,


Is this really best for any of us,

We were fine,

We got in some fights but we still loved,

We have different personalities but we still loved.

And yet we both long for the hypothetical love of another,

What, are we suppose to meet another and everything will change ?

We will have all this perspective and knowledge,

Perhaps that won’t happen,

But if it does I want you to know you own my heart,

As stubborn as we both are we have to admit that we learned a lot from each other.


I hate to write as if it is over,

I don’t want to type it,

It would make it real.

I want to live in the cricket fantasy land,

Live a thousand years in your loft.

Surrounded by movie posters, sleeping bags, and your body.

I want to live in a daze.

A fever dream,

But that can’t happen and we have to come to reality.


I love you,

I love you,

And thats why it hurts.

In the end I’m cold and vain,

Not knowing what I want,

Quiet and out of love.


Manic picsy gal 

Feasting on the wind
Only to preserve a pile

Picturing what it would be like

to be preserved


We are choking


picture that


thick spit cascading from my chin

trying to swallow

they won’t take that


I hate myself,

and you hate yourself.


marbled and cool to the touch



I burn a deep rich green

Peeling into 21

I wear black

I want to feel it all

I bloom pink and soft

Later flowers are the most driven and solid

Thick hearty petals and stacked plant flesh

Afraid to be sexual?

“I think I’ve faked more orgasms than I have had”

I burn a dark luxurious red

Let the flowers open

Ask Or demand

Burn the colours you need to be

Burrito Boy

he smells like he’s homeless but he lives in Beaches

he’s eating a sushi burrito.

he’s all about pretend panic attacks and shiny excuses.

daddy’s money, daddy’s boy.


living on the 56 floor and doesn’t know how too cook

city living metro man

If you get what you are given,

Do you ever really get what you are given?

If you take what is there,

you take it for granted.



Pink Noise

I stare at you and light a cigarette,

Beginning our repetitive toxic duet.

Fully knowing I will never move on,

Rightfully hoping we could just get along.


Hot and wet are my streaming tears,

Paranoid and irrational are my fears.

We get past our problems with looming doubt,

We carve out our future with promised drought.


But who could I possibly destroy next,

Who could I torment to death?

This is negative and greyscale thinking.

Smoking, fighting, and sinking.






And my neigbours are old but they are up later than me.

My spelling is bad, yet I still write poetry.

Personality, personality, writing needs depth,

No rhyme scheme no syllable counts no breath.

My bare calloused hands killing flies,

With sheets of polyester, pizza boxes and zip ties.

That line was hard to swallow,

Like cum and medicine and pills and sorrow.


Maybe I need eternal sleep,

Or, maybe I am just too weak.


I like to be alone.

Decomposing their bones.



Steel toed boots in November sun,

Fist fights, pity sex, and dad’s gun.

Hold your last breath,

Distracted death.


Staving and sick?

Take your pick.

I’m having a blast,

I’m too cool at last.




I cut your manicured lawn,

And fuck your mom.

I’m a suburban serial killer,

Empty and looking for filler.


I am perpetual depression,

And major in constant aggression.

I am obsessed,

At best.


I clean your shiny pool,

And play you like a fool.

A glimmer in my eye,

Watching your family die.


I make minimum wage,

Get high off rage.

Trophy wives,

Wasted lives.


I vacuum the pastel rug,

And sell your son drugs.

He can be just like me,

Trapped in suburbia eternity.

Bottle Nosed and Face Down

I wish I had giant eyes

The kind of eyes that are so glassy

And so glossy

that they cannot be real

I wish they would take over my sight

Allowing for hyper sight

Seeing through

Seeing over

Seeing who I am


I wish my eyelashes went further than my brow

Catching tears before they descend

Cupping the salty liquid

Returning it

Carving raw designs into my forehead

Telling me who I am


I wish the crook of my neck

Was large enough to consume my family

Store them with me

Even when they are long dead


Their bones would become mine



Showing me who I am


I wish I had a buzz cut

So short

You can see every mark

Every scrape

On my scalp

The kind of hair that makes you question gender

They can decide who I am