The milk goes first.
I'm tired of being ostracized by the cereal-firsters.

I've watched these freaks literally fill an entire
bowl up to the top with cereal, then try to fit
milk in. They get one solid layer of crunchy goodness
then have half a bowl left of mushy, soggy garbage.

And yes,
it's a soup.

*******.

All the loudest folk lie endlessly,
while the honest and the truthful
never speak a single word.

A gnarled guardrail
is what remains.

One day they'll fix it,
I'll never think of you again.

Life proceeds.
It speeds
along these
worn streets.

I eye
the guardrails
with fervor, fervently.
I sometimes
yearn
to gnarl one up.

Eyes on the lines, now.
They'll lead me
home.

rather be honest
and alone
than live
together
under false pretenses.

Sometimes
people
end up
alone.

Sometimes
It's by
choice.

Other times
it's because
they're fat,
or ugly.

There's a sinking ship
beneath our feet.

We don't notice it though,
we can't see.

Busy playing in the metaphysical dirt,
busy tumbling gravel and stones from our shoes.
Busy. Too busy.

What do you notice
first thing
on a Sunday morning?

That's all that
ever really matters.

So when tomorrow comes
I'll try to remind myself
that this is what I chose.

This is the life
I deserve to live.

Wet boots,
menial tasks.

Remember Justin,
this is what
you wanted.

I'm ingenuine.
Disingenuous.
...whatever.

Diner.
Dinerettes.
Grace me,
I'm your
favorite.

Serve me, I tip well.
Now show me your *****,
I won't tell.

God I want
To taste it,
to dip
into you.

**** man.
I literally can't stop drinking.

I took a day off,
yesterday.
But it don't matter.

I was bitter and angry
all day today.

So I grabbed a bottle
on my way home.

I'm an alcoholic.

But I'm a poet too?

There is something
inherently unattractive
about a woman
with a high number
of ****** partners.

I will judge you
by your body count.

Tonight I filled
I filled up
a bottle of Beam,
A coke
and a 16 ounce glass.

I filled it all up
with ****.

Because yes,

I'm that ******* lazy.

I blatantly hate myself.

Today I went and drove myself
up against a wall.
I get angry at nothing.
I bottle it all.

Glory, I can hardly wait
for that bottle to break.
Then maybe I'll justify
all this self hate.

I want to burn a church,
I want to ****.

I want to leave this plane.
I want to cross this gate.

Ain't been a man of my word lately,

feels fine.

Just fine.

Touch tongues with me,
taste the bitter taste of acid.

Shocking how
the tide turns us now,
alight with solemn flame.
Left burning again.

Baneful meditation comes
swathed in twisting blue twine.

Peer out at life for a moment,
let life peer within you.

Don't pry, it will come unforced.
It will find you, it will come
bearing mirth and sorrow.
It will carry with it a bounty,
A wicked trove of all that is good and evil.
It will come for you
brandishing a justly balanced scale,
on which everything in life is weighed.

Turn a burning match up,
light the way and just
wait.

I don't like to write.
I write for the likes.
That being said, I don't hate to write either.

So ******* and the horse you rode in on.

Change.

I feel a slight breeze
as I stand upon
the precipitous edge
of indecision.

The earth tilts,
I teeter and waver
and then regain
my false sense of balance.

I can't stay here forever,
I know that much.
Looking down at my options,
I ponder whether it's better
to make a decision and jump,
or wait for fate
to push me one way or another.

The breeze picks up.
Time is babbling by.

I can wait
just a bit
longer.

What is it?
What am I supposed to,
to...

To want?

I'll crawl over the shattered glass
left from the window I broke
when I was trying to desperately escape your love,
I'll crawl over it all
just to get you back.

No, not you, ****.
The previous one.

I'll lacerate. It'll all be in vain.

Because I know I don't want you,
I know what I don't want.

I've nothing
to say.

So I've gone and said it.

She used three
prescription placebo pills
to sweeten her coffee.

Were mirrors to melt,
I'd set them ablaze.

I'd laugh
at my molten gaze.
I'd smile
at the puddle.

Twenty thousand years
I'd watch,
as the glass
slowly forgot.

Give me
pride,

I'll love
again.

Bled it out, one,
one day at a time.

I shouted at you.

You didn't cry.

I don't find none,
none is what I find.

I tried for you.

You didn't try.

Bled it out one day,
one day without time.

Maybe not a house,
but I'll buy us a trailer.

Three whites walk into a bar.

With a gaze like this,
***** is never too far.

Met this broad on tinder,
she told me that she was hesitant about dating
due to the fact that she just got out of
an abusive relationship.

Sounds like just my type of gal,
I wonder how her relationship with her father is.
I'm salivating now.

I sympathized with her, and said that I too
had just gotten out of an abusive relationship.
I recounted the story about how, after two years
of daily emotional and physical abuse,
my ex had at last found the courage and support
that she needed to finally leave my ***. That ****.

Something about a struggle,
relatable and common.
Some profound comparison,
or some kind of simile.

Something very human,
something about overcoming or
about accepting and embracing.
Something about relishing
in negativity,
something about addiction or loss.

Something indictive of heartbreak,
something reminiscent of love.

Something outlandish,
to stand out from the sea of adequacy.
Something something.
Words and
meanings.
Something self-loathing.

Something abstract,
something concrete.

Poetry.

Don't ever let distance trick you
into thinking that things would all
be so much better otherwise.

The things I hated about you
from all those miles away,
are still the things I hate about you
standing face to face.

Confucius say,
the deeper the tread on workboot,
the harder it is to remove dog ****.

I love seeing suicide survivors.

Like ****,
you **** at that too, huh?

I should be going to bed at 8:00,
so I start drinking as soon as I get home.
But the issue is
that I don't get drunk anymore
until about 10:00.

Maybe I'll start leaving work a few hours early.

Maybe I just gotta focus on getting it down faster.

Ahh, that sweet familiarity.
Effervescent glugs of flowing amber,
laminarity long forgotten
with this well-practiced wrist.

Some still spills,
occasionally.

Sop it up with a sleeve,
or one of the *** laden socks
on the ground.

Don't come here,
the door is locked and
the person within
is no longer
the person you remember.

Though he's always been here,
waiting to swim.

He floats atop the gallons of flowing amber
that I've been trying to drown him in.

Smiling his bitter smile,
bearing his knowing grin.

Nothing dries out a ***** faster
than having three monitors
and a light up keyboard.

Your edges are dithering,
contaminated with snow.

I can see through
you.

I'm losing something here,
as the days slink by.

I don't even feel
like myself,

not anymore.
Not now,
not here
in this paltry persistence.

Your edges are gaussian,
furred and blurred.

I can see through you.

It's just what
I've been looking for.
It's just what's right.

You'll fade and
I'll hate, all
over again. All
over again. All
over and
over again.

My eyes ain't
what they once were, sure, but
I can't see you
at all anymore.

Not because I'm blind,
you just happen to
tinct.
I'm not blind, you just
happen to
translucere,
one day you're just
gone.

I swear yesterday
You were right here.

You've darkled, and turned gossamer.
You pretty, pretty veil.
These days I guess that
I just don't see too well.

Hands behind your back.
Alternatively, I may allow
self-pleasure.

But no,
I mean,
I love hands in general.

You can learn so much
about someone
from their hands.
How their fingers move,
scars,
and self care.

I like to touch them
with my hands,
hands are the best
for touching.
They're so
innately sensual.

Grabbing, caressing,
pulling, holding,
slapping, knotting up in hair.
Beckoning.
Warding off.

Tickling.

I enjoy
tickling.

Guess what?
People ******* change.

Horse girls.

I think that horse girls
secretly play with,
and caress,
their stallions' *****.

They need that steed seed,
if you catch my drift.

Furthermore I believe
that their shameful fetishization
is intentionally kept hidden behind
a facade of general love and care for animals.

Especially when they say things like
"I care about animals more than people."

Like, *****
no you don't.
You just get wet thinking about big animal ****.
Which is completely fine, just be honest about it.
And, uhh...
Can I watch?

Been carrying a gun for a little over a year now, and I just gotta say that it has been such an immense relief. The knowledge that, no matter where I am and no matter what may happen that I have an easy and convenient way to blow my head off at a moments notice. That knowledge was well worth the inconvenience of getting my concealed carry license, worth it ten times over. It's like being blessed with beautiful power, power beyond my previous comprehension of what it means to truly not give a **** about anything. To really be impervious to anything, any little slight, any angry person flipping me off in traffic, any loss of love or heartbreak. I walk with a white grace that has never existed in my mind before, I carry peace on my hip, I carry sacred silence from the repetitive thoughts that tend to haunt my consciousness. I'm invincible. It's like a fun little secret that I walk around with, it's like my head is full of confetti and I'm just waiting for the perfect surprise party!

Like a pocket full of balloons.

Fat people are so gross.

Dear reader,
beloved consumer of my words.
I want you to hate me.

Comparing my driver's licenses,
my eyes stay the same
but, God,
my face sure has grown.

A hushed "ouch,"
reddened cheeks.
Blindfolds, safe words,
and bound wrists.
I like my love on a leash.
I love watching you breathe.
I adore the way you beg "please."
I covet this visage,
I could keep you like this
for weeks.
I slip inside,
I dip my pride
into your calm waters
and relish in your warm creek.
I love the way you weep.

I love the way

you weep.

Rivulets of salt
and I don't hear a peep.
No struggle,
no fight left indeed.
Have I gone too far,
my clasp
overpowering
your gasps?

Whatever,
still feels good

to me.

Girl, you're never more beautiful
than when you're crying.

Your hands look good for touching,
I'll feel them with mine.

I sometimes need a bite.
I sometimes bite back,
but rarely.

Speckled crescents cover my arms,
they even creep up my shoulders
and my neck.

I'm black and blue
for you,
as I have been
for time unkept.
Time and time again.

Pour me.
Poor me.

My mother wept.