ground zero (grey man)

I crawl through windows like doors, I'm a creature, odd-kid, freak at my core. I eat misery, drinking tears like water, thirsty, my own or someone else's. I will fucking feast on your corpse. Only sleep when daylight is knocking, burn like fire, I'm getting tired. Take showers drenched in red, tearing through the curtain to see poor pale Luna, curled up crescent. Glass jar ajar, sweet sauce pouring out; I can feel my face changing shape, I guess hunger looks different. Dinner's served, etiquette's shredded, guests all dead. A stranger appears! Sorry, Detective, I couldn't help myself. If you tried to resist the heart of a lamb, you'd get the view of the wolf, get a view of the death grip hold it has on me. I can tell by your eyes you're more like me, crawling on ceilings and 3 am spring cleaning. Flowers haven't bloomed yet, so sorry but wait a few (More for me and none for you). Until I'm converted to ashes scattering blood spatterings, I can't stop. If you want, I'll go quietly into the maw, jaws closing, last thing I saw. Invite me to be tattered, skin and gums ripped open to show my white wolf teeth. Sorry to deceive, but I think you're worse than me, a grey ghost, ghoul of the unassuming. Stalker incapable of remorse, at least I could regret. How will you ever ask if your mouth is locked shut, a weapon with no restrictions if ever used? If I saw your teeth I think I'd lose count, sharp like razorblades with no space for your tongue. I may feed on misery but it's misery given freely. You take and steal, no requiem. You corrupt and dismantle, the integrity of my dreams. What recess were you born from, depths of a brain or different dimensional plane forming? Grey Man blends in with horrors both real and lies. How long in a dream does it take to realize. He's there. Check your ceilings.

wasting time in limbo

 I'm the one time can't catch. I'm in the past and the future, but I'm not present for either. My body is soft and numb, not like static but more like blurred vision and smudged ink. I was born a different breed.

We could be the messengers of a message that'll never be delivered. Postcards that never get sent, full of hope and dreams dipped in all the things wrong with the world. My bones will only know each other when I'm dead, but they know you like you're home. Wasting time in limbo where I only see in shades of grey. Never crossed out so many words that just didn't work. Sometimes I make myself sad on purpose, because sometimes feeling bad is better than feeling numb.

there's space on the floor

Digging graves for possible me's, it's an epidemic and my epipen won't fix this. Breathe in, breathe out, no shout, keep your voice low, and channel your rage with the sadness in tow. Always in second place, frustration wins every time it's-- frustrating. Then you cry because it's what you do well.

I want to find someone who will be both my complete opposite and perfect match. Different but yet the same. Inverse melodies in complimenting keys and hearts that rock to the same beat. I want to be made of the same stuff as you, just in a different package. I want someone who understands me so completely because I am them and they are me, even if we look nothing alike.

Don't fit on the couch, but there's space on the floor. I could lay with the dust bunnies while the edges of the rug cradle my skull. Maybe if I'm lucky I could lean my head against someone's knees, or brush up against a hand or arm. Always held by the dirt and the ground, like my bones know where they belong and their destiny. I am meant to breathe, live, and die, over and over. Waking up every day like being born again. One day when I gently lay my head down to rest for the final time, I hope something other than the floor holds me.

tag is killin' all the kids

I could never be what you really wanted from me, nice try kid. It's the sound of the empty, full of all that you have been. Sound the alarm in the hallway (all afraid of a new day). Under the covers I'll hide from monsters, a monster, of my own making, you can't stop me, I'm always taking and stealing, you know I can't be bought. Now I'm wrought with the rot, wish God would take the shot. Seasons never change like I do, some want hell freezing over, some like it hot. Big man with a shotgun, fire a blank at the sun. I am animal, now tell me how to just dance. Now do a two-step, I'm two steps from the ledge. Strike me like a sparkler near a matchbox, twenty years later I'm still seeing red. Show us incredible, you mystery we'll know. Misremembering man is miserable, bleed the memory dry so it can finally die, a dying breed of memory, don't like change don't like temporary. Stars are forever, make us all miracles, but nothing lasts for ever-y one to be last one out, tag is killin' all the kids from runnin', sprintin', straight into the forest or the lake. Can't see the trees for all the blood, dripping from his knees, flood warning, pray for us please. Success is secondary, don't give the KILLER what he wants. All he wants is to feast. On my flesh, over my grave, I'm dying again. Now I'm haunting hallways, falling down wells, falling forever, 'till ground makes impact with my head. Collecting change in a wishing well, I wish you well. No dollars in my pocket for fishing, you know damn well I'm some poster boy for who not to be. No one asks "poster boy, are you free" instead of "poster boy, are you diseased". Branches made of danger, little kid you better run, but be sure to watch your back, there's a million animals with bullets and they all wanna fight back. Don't you wanna make it to see the sun? I can't speak for the ones who made me but I wish I had never been made. Test tube guinea pig sacrifice under blade to see how he bleeds all the same. 

rewrite for clarity

I hate wasting thoughts. Every bit needs to be used up, like a cloth dabbing at spilled paint water. The products of offhand notes and differing ideas that don't get used in something will live in my mind until I put them to rest. God rest ye weary artist, who thinks too much for his own good. Let him sleep, he who, when thinking, doesn't know where to draw the line, and when making, doesn't know where to stop. My greatest disadvantage is the terms and conditions of my existence. There could be a cup half full, if I could only see past the glass. Being blinded so slowly you can't see it. I wonder if anyone will think of me when my only marks made are just echoes fading out. Musical cacophony, growing soft as no one listens. My worst fear and best dream is that everybody knows my name. My body is a mystery we may never figure out. And my eyes, they stare long past my expiration date; always thinking of the future and missing the moment. I don't know how else to function. Monotony has never been so overwhelming. I barely made it out of high school. I barely made it out of second grade. I'm still waiting to miss the bus, catch a ride home on my escaping imagination. Out of the pan and into the trash. You can't win unless someone else is losing. I guess I'm making some people feel really good, then. I hate wasting thoughts more than I hate the feeling of imaginary spiders on my legs. I hate having to be the one to kill bugs in the house, but I don't get called a son for doing the son's job. "Rewrite for clarity" If I could, I'd try. Thanks for the input but I think I'd rather just let this one be unfinished.

I can't stop lying to save my soul

Live fast, die young? A review on the trajectory of my life spinning out of control. If I feel too much, put the pen to the paper, read up. What does my face look like in the mirror. Who’s staring back at me, melancholy, no emotion that’s for posers. Try to feel too much, let the sensations bleed from your fingertips like ink from a pen. Re-learn how to live again. You’re so much more than the shape they made you. I hate being seen, being more than just a form in your mind alone, touch skin telepathy. No words needed, we are our own language. I’m high on caffeine and sinking feelings, bleeding hearts. I can’t stop lying to save my soul. I gave myself two stick and poke tattoos in the shape of schemas, I can’t do anything complicated when the stakes are high. I hope my parents never find out. An eye for how I’m always being watched, how no one can trust me to be myself on my own. A heart, on my inner arm for how I wear my heart on my sleeve, and how this heart will always be covered by a sleeve. There’s comfort in being alone because you become friends with yourself. I’m still getting there, frenemies.