It’s finally time to finish this…

So… now will you talk?

“Do not try to understand…

This cannot be understood.

 I do not want to be understood.

The harder you try, the more you endear yourself to me;

The more you compel me to trust you.



I do not want to trust anyone anymore.

I do not want to expend the energy required of me to appreciate you;

To love you.

I don’t want to love anyone.

I am void beyond repair.

Beyond hope.

Do not follow me.

Just leave me alone…”

I wish so much that I’d been wrong;
that I hadn’t predicted this…

Understand, this comes from behind my eyes; not yours.

Stand firmly outside of your own perception,

or else you won’t understand,

 and I won’t bother feigning surprise at that for your sake.

This is not about you.

Don’t search for mirrors.

Rest your vanity and realize:

This is pure beauty and bitterness.

This is vitriolic disdain and honest honor.

This is my verbal cenotaph.

This is my sole and final purgation of this immense weight.

of this story.

Believe what you want.

The story is true whether you can deal with it or not.

Don’t bother hating me.

I’m not sorry,

and neither is she…


If this doesn’t make any sense to you, don’t worry;

it doesn’t make any fucking sense to me either.


For the blank, unspoken record: petty human eclipses were never even considered.

Neither in manhood nor mind.

I was content in any space, in any measure.

Behavioral congruity would’ve been fantastic,

but if she was happy, it was (read as “had to be”) enough.


Understand, the dream we dreamed never could’ve come true happily ever after,

but we stole it and pretended we could fly for a little while.

The saddest parts of dreams are the boundaries of our minds.

Still, we transcended every quantum particle to meet beneath the delta waves.

To hold each other, to dance, to attempt belief in a life beyond our existences; our survivals.

To share endless moments.

To kiss far beyond physicality.

or, at least, we tried.

So many possibilities with far too few actualities.


Pardon me, dear.

Pardon me while I attempt to believe.

While I explore this adorable delusion a little more.

Pardon me while I hold my breath and pray that fairytales come true someday. Maybe.


Pardon me while I fucking asphyxiate.

21 grams lighter, windows closed, and still smiling.  😀

Just like you always wanted.

The cherubic cartoon on the Band-Aid covering the oozing, infected bullet wound.


Understand, I feel no desire to blame you.

I’m damn near impossible.

Different assuagements for different estrangements, I suppose.


Apparently, faith isn’t enough.

Even more apparently, it never was.

I leave them to reconcile their dogma with their sincerest wishes.

Far too barbaric to imagine a charred, gnarled tree in the middle ring of the 7th…

Bark and blood; flesh and phloem.

It all burns to nothing

Speaking of nothing, maybe neither one ever actually was.

*gasp* Maybe, bay-be.


If my gray, jade eyes weren’t strained bleeding red from your riddled truths, perhaps I’d wish, too.;but my other hand is already full…

But it’s all far, far too fragile a subject for myindelicate mind.

Let the sweet dreamers keep sweetly dreaming allthe way to their special little Dreams.

Sometimes I wish I could remember how to dream…or dream how to remember.

Wish in one hand, .?!. in the other.

Just never let them taste the fecal, pussy, bilious bitterness.

Callow marshmallow meatcakes take astoundingly great pride in their asinine elephantshit.

Tender, pruning thumbs and memories nursing new realities.

So slowly.  Like a throbbing cock penetrating a teenage virgin cunt; a cold blade into fresh flesh.


Another tragically inexplicable event occurs and there we are again, pounding on g_D’s door.

Demanding answers from the silent sky and discrediting our own minds if any are discovered.

No answers will ever be found except those that we, ourselves, construct.

Cozy little delusion blankets.

Nothing can be gained by chasing the truth like the pink dragon through the needle.

Like a true Heroin Heroine.

No one can have absolute closure.

Especially not those of us who tried to help you over,

and over,

and over,

and over,

and over,

and over,

and over again.


Sincerely though, believe whatever brings you some semblance of peace.

She did and so do I.

That is, if you dare to have beliefs in the first place.

I think(I don’t believe)we don’t take solace in ourselves and each other nearly as often as we should.


Now, I just solemnly shake my head at the piles of memories:

The increasingly salted explanations and tearful apologies. (You know, they say crocodiles cry as they tear their prey to shreds.

I wonder if spiders cry once they’ve sucked them dry.

Far beyond rot, now just silently disintegrating into the endless flow of time.

In pure silence.



Rules are made to be bro    ken, right?

Systems made to col a  e?

Bridges built to bulrnp?

Life lived only to die?s


As in the beginning, so in the end:

all information was, is and will be in the clouds.

Becoming the clouds themselves.

Watch them burn as we all fly perpetual spirals into infinite obsolescence.

We’ve forgotten that we’re falling.

Sweet Death seems to have forgotten us.

and we silly humans don’t even bother to cast a skyward glance.


All ideas are born bitches of our sophomoric consciousnesses.

We’re left to dejectedly compensate the stars their wonder,

as if they circumstantially reclaimed their property.

Of course, nothing is wondrous save that which

is viewed through Washington’s vacant eyes,

but no use beating a dead nation.


You should know,(but you won’t)beauty abuses its freedom again.

I know.  You’d spin if you even had a grave in which to do so…

Just like so many people who so vehemently scream for it,

yet persistently confuse it with convenience.

Live conveniently or die.

Just like virtually everyone and everything.

No sense of responsibility without the constant threat of death; as if dying was ever more painful than living.

Without regularly pissing its cherubic, little self beneath your magnificent, bestial dominance.

Clutching her teddy tighter as you rape vowels from her throat, gagging

and vomiting on your cocked, cold metal prick.

Unsafe or not at all.

Slit her little throat and make her ecstasy complete.


Freedom(haha)is a petrified little girl, strapped to a toilet for 12 years and violently forced mute.

 Forgotten over time, leprously festering away in its little magic lamp

(or torch, as the American case would be).

Small fucking wonder the universal, perpetual and reciprocal fear.


Now, beauty is lazy and plasticine.

The wordifying meatcake kings and queens mutate beauty in their own rigid image(s).

Not the other way around.

No one wants to a hammer-mangled angel’s face.

Not even an astonishingly pathetic excuse for a mother.

Just what you always wanted…

Thank Fuck you’re pretty, right?


Beauty’s not black anymore. 

Just gray.

Ceaselessly vacillating through stultifyingly mediocre shades of itself.

Beauty’s _____.

Faux, pseudo-imitation ersatz Xeroxes…

…and seriously fucking redundant.

No more blood to cry since Gemini was mercilessly evicted.

…but that was just silly little Juliet.


I’d attempt to write some stupid poetry bullshit about her smile,

her “pearly whites,” but you know that already.

The last thing left in Her Space before everyone abandoned it.

Don’t bother waking up; you weren’t there.

She wouldn’t have wanted you there anyway.

And now, her teeth are mere ashes and dust…



Connection was just another addiction…

Another lead primate in the fucking barrel on your back.

Did you seriously not even stop to consider the potential repercussions?

Or was it just another illusion of varying perceptions?


I do worry that you cheated yourself from The Dream.

The Dream.

You know, the one that bestows absolute insight after which insight no longer matters.

Such a fucking joke.

How can anyone not be laughing at it all?


Should we ever believe again that love is all you need?

Should we ever again trust the mind-numbingly ridiculous pseudo-profundity

that ceaselessly escapes our gaping face chasms?

Should we fingerfuck romanticism until it pisses itself,

bleeds black cunt chunks and finally tearfully submits?

Where should we point our aching digits?

We desperately need a scapegoat, because reality is just… too real.

At least, if we blame ourselves, we know all we need to do is swallow our best friend.

One beloved little lead pill and no one will punish us ever again.

Not even ourselves.

The greatest toothless blowjob we’ll ever give.

No more horrible freedom to fear.

No more wretched responsibility.

Nothing required of us.

No more monstrously selfish acts for which we must answer.

Finally alone to blow our own minds into the ether.

At long last, we’ll be at peace… but far beyond consciousness of it.

…Oh well, right?


“A lifetime of fucking things up fixed in one determined flash…”


Now that you’re gasping and bleeding to death, wishing you hadn’t done that, sit down for a second.

Let me remind you.


I saw you beyond your self-imposed boundaries and invited you to drift through the cosmos of our mutual imagination.

As we all should.  As we ALL should. 

Life is far too short not to do so.

You own the air.
Can’t you see?
It’s not fucking fair.
Holding beauty hostage.
Kissing away its sanguine, mercurial tears.
Your eyes are false idols.
Making all stars lose their wonder.
Are you disconnected?
Do not worry.
All states of connectivity are illusions of varying perceptions.
Resign yourself to the halcyon maelstrom called the true world.
But now the clouds smell of gasoline and taste like cocaine.
The bitter bleach dripping through Merlot streams.
Step by evolutionary step, you invalidate existences with plush crimson lips.
All odd eyes praise you for showing them something worth remembering.
As if anything could ever be.
You’re a black hole, Sunny.
Won’t you come and wash away the rain?

And, much to my incredulity, you emphatically reciprocated…

Romanticism is suicide.
I drown in the words,
of a faceless writer.
Suddenly, this noose feels a bit tighter.
Do you know who I am?
Have you seen my dull face?
A simple crippled play-thing,
Half-past erased.
Dislocated limbs from under your bed,
“We haven’t played in years… I assumed you were dead.”
In a chloroform haze,
I’m dismembered by rage.
Yet I’m silent and still.
A limp rag-doll in a cage.
Cracked porcelain face, cadaverous lips, broken heart.
Waiting in patience, alone in the dark.
Were these words written for me?
You know not what you say.
Still, I am shaken,
As my incandescent rainbows fade to the palest of grey.
Now that you’ve found me,
I feel so complete.
Worlds collide, and I died,
When eyes like ours meet.
My eyes glaze over.
Losing all trace of green.
Losing all sense of wonder.
[vacant] until you surrender.
A meticulous melody bleeds,
Through the lips of a crooked smile.
I suppose you want to keep me guessing a while?
Place my eyes in the sockets.
Please… allow me to see.
Who is this surreptitious poet,
Whom has set my reclusive mind free?
You leave me here, dysphoric, without purpose?!?
Or would you rather not mention?
Give me a name, before you lose my attention…

I knew then what I said, and still know it today.

an onyx star denigrating a shameless cocaine sky.
Your eclipse is the all-consuming, universal collapse.
Exquisite, defiled stellar corpses still bleeding in the dust of your wake.
The sun is hopelessly drowning in the cradle of your horizon.
We grin and dance as it all, as it all falls down.
Such magnificent spectacles fit solely for nicotine drag queens and celebrity suicide kings.
Shrieking through the stars to obliterate the Earth means never having to say you’re sorry.
Filthy digits flowing through murder locks like electric rain guitar distortion.
Painting vastly elaborate masturbationpieces,
composing bluest velvet nymphonies with white-hot needle nails on plush skeleton shells.
Igniting tremulous souls, buzzing like enraged rebel sex toys.
Feel me.
Free me.
Close my white eyes and dream high beside me.
Violent, violet, beautiful beasts cocooned in silk sheets.
Death’s head gracing waxen angel dust wings.
Satin lips soul kissing fluorescent fists.
Blanketing toxic cities in negative flame; in war and peace in pieces.
Ceaseless and pregnant with fallen imagined nations.
Illustrating googolplexes of variations.
Unimaginably slight differences sparking riots through multi-verses of infinity’s prisons.
Single-winged seraphim soaring in viral helices; in tandem or never.
Greeting behemoths with severed, shaking hands and blasphemous smiles.
Caressing all the omitted questions; the popcorn, the tapestry matrices, the worms in the rotten apple planet.
Nursing confusion with candy cane crowbars.
fra gm
and distantly euphoric.
I play pretend very seriously in your absinthe labyrinths.
Call your house.
I’m here and waiting for you in 302,
…and I’m going to start breaking fingers if they don’t stop fucking pointing at me!
Whining wrists tied and senses folded senseless,
I’m sinking g_Dspeed through crystalline emerald seas.
Pacing stoic & ecstatic beyond all tyrant clocks and pallid galaxies.
False, idle seasons watching us fall away, all in and out all.
Just. one. (pre)fix.
This is understanding.
All else is overstated.
All words brand new when spoken of you.
Sentiments expunging all their history.
All the odd eyes immortalize you proudly.
For showing them something worth remembering.
As if anything ever was or could ever be.
All the boiling blood is for you…
Come tie my tongue in a digital bubble bath and I’ll sing you sweetly through sour dreams.
Teardrop on the fire; fearless on my breath.

The fucking g_Ddamn impossibility was attempting to convince you of it.

Even after you proclaimed yourself my wife, and I your husband.

A commitment I took just as seriously as you seemed to in your words.

Words that I’ve frozen in time, so I can rewind them over,

and over,

and over

until I’m through torturing myself.

Stoically pouring lime into the umpteenth lacerated flesh.

No doubt everyone else scoffed or were worried for our sanity.

Maybe it’s the rest of the world that’s fucking insane.

I gave you my name.

…yet I still lost your attention.


C’est la fucking vie… or some sophomoric batshit platitude like that.

So sadly typical, no doubt.

No need to add another name, another face, another life to the many you were already living.

So many selves lined up, blindfolded, trembling and chain smoking.

Desperately hungering for The Dream.

The poor little desiccated, cannibalistic vampires.  Gasping for their own blood.

they seemed to have nothing left upon my desert desertion.

I never wanted to make you different.

Why did you try so hard to be?

Why did you allow yourself to fail at it so consistently?

They were all too precious to reconcile (read as “kill.”)

So began life upon life upon life until you hit the bottom of the top,

and realized you stood alone with the animals.

as an empty soul.  Or so you supposedly said.

As long as I live, I can n.e! forgive you for resigning such piercingly euphoric beauty to such frivolous waste.

As if it was all just another elaborate fucking joke in the biggest book of them all.

A lead weight that must and will be cast off.


But there was something in our microcosm…

Something did exist, and whether you believed in it or not, it was overwhelmingly magnificent to me.

It was real to me.

At least, it seemed real enough to satisfy my adorable little senses, limited as I’m well aware they are.

Far more transient than our memories, and even then still finite…

But we dared each other to believe, and we did.

and I can hear my head laughing at me for it now.


Sometimes I try to find some capacity to grant you a modicum of absolution.

Most times I just don’t even think about it.

Not because I try not to.

Because I just.don’t.bother.


This story,

my story,

your story,

our story will be forgotten like last week’s breakfast.


And I wonder why…

but I’ve been told I was different.

Your kin told me that you truly did want my name.

But friends and ex-lovers have also told me some of your supposed secrets.

I salt these words, but the acrid bitterness overwhelms to this day.

You wanted my father to sing for our union.

You wanted to leave your life for one we’d call ours.


 Words of truest, purest lovers.

Acts of schizophrenic, lascivious capitali$ts.

The cold spoon felt good on my tongue, but the lies tasted quite familiar.

The scale of your vastly elaborate web was truly astounding.

The web into which you’d lured so many pathetic insects

The memories of your words are frozen at gunpoint with the deception.

Clips full of theoretical bullet miracles.

 (No, Leo. I’m not waiting anymore…)


Yet, once again, you put me in awe.

Let the show go on, and on, and on…

And keep smiling.



Luddites might foolishly claim this is when the story began.

For us, this is where the story climaxed (again, and again, and

holy shit-sucking christ


and then silently, unapologetically fadedblack beyond our foresight.


Once upon a dreadful time, I offered for the bajillionth time.

and you finally accepted.

I immediately began preparing for your polite and moderately plausible declination.

I guess any conceivable excuses must’ve been aborted like unloved little miracles.

So, I prepared for your arrival.


I promise you: I was alive then.

I knew it more than ever.

Upon your encouragement, I followed my heart far.

I prepared to the nth degree.

I bought crayons and used them to welcome you to a better world.

I cherished every year of your life.

I shampooed the fucking rug.

Sara Deever would’ve turned green.

and then you arrived.


Understand, my imagination unconsciously scripted a thousand variable fantasies of our first glance,

our first touch…

our first kiss.

For once in far, far too fucking long, reality proved vastly more fulfilling.


As long as I live, I’ll never forget the profound joy of actually seeing you for the first time.

Watching you move, all breath escaped my lungs like they were on fire.

It was never mine to begin with, right?  Right.

Ecstatically, I watched you from afar as you looked for me.

The short, skinny girl with the long black hair; looking like she’s lost.

I called you and told you to stand still.

To stare at the big neon green “B.”

I walked up behind you and softly placed my hands on your shoulders.

I whispered in your right ear, “Are you ready?”

Hearts racing, hands trembling, you whispered back affirmation, and I turned you around.


…I’ll never forget how the red so marvelously complimented your glowing green.

Flooding supernova windows absorbed that most astonishing moment,

into which lifetimes were infinitely compressed.

We silently begged time to leave us be.

Just for then.

And it did…


That tight embrace…

That smile…

At long last, all was aflame.

All was at peace.


We took each other further into the other’s reality.

Staring in awe,

 caressing each other’s face,

and finally… finally kissing.

Nothing else mattered.

I promise you.



When time was permitted to resume, we proceeded through the surreality.

Through onyx star Teardrops, we remembered who we once were.

Who we still were.

Who we still wanted to be.

No one physical prayer would suffice beyond the first.

Inebriation and delirium grew in unison.

Complete gardens birthed from words.

And she finally opened the door…


I stood transfixed admiring unadulterated, adulterous spectacle as she restored her adornments.

A piercing marriage of cold steel and warm flesh.

She just smirked.

We confiscated and discarded every senseless inhibition.

Surrendering in black light and exquisite sidereal envy.

Soaking in the reanimated immersion.

Becoming one, or some silly hippie shit like that.

Forging and erasing for hours once back on solid ground.

Making covetous reflections proud.

Phenomenal sights seeming perfunctory.

at long last, capitulating to somnolence.


Playing show’n’tell like childhood sweethearts.

“I’ll show you my world if you show me yours.”

Such magnificent complements are far too few;

far too far between.

Leonine manias blindingly potent.

Elementarily (and necessarily) altering X to Y.

Insatiably circumnavigating all in purest licentia.

Galloping through toxic exhilaration into the pseudo-metropolis.

Enthralled by melancholy alien percussionists.

Perhaps Universality is only a slightly pathetic farce.

Dining on nostalgia alone while sweet meatcakes gaped.

Don’t look back; just run far, far away with me.

Away from mediocrity, ornamentalism and demoralizing destitution.

You agreed and promised, and promised, and promised…

And through our last night, as Transeau’s digital infinity surrounded us,

enveloped by the divine onyx eve,

she wished us a gift like his.

A gift named Meadow.

And we wept.


I’ll politely forgo all other minutia.

Suffice to say, she effortlessly broke down every wall.

Once upon a moment, we cried and laughed simultaneously.

Pitifully weak and extraordinarily empowered in the utter euphoria of each other’s presence.

Of each other’s vulnerability.

Of each other’s undeniably genuine adoration.

An unprecedentedly profound joy I’d never even imagined possible.


I hope everybody who deserves love can experience that someday.

A complete abandon of all pain.

A complete ecstasy.

A love great enough to detonate both beings to pure energy.

Absolute absorption into a moment you wish above all else

would never, ever end.


I wish I could have done as that stranger suggested.

To just get on the plane with you.

The money just wasn’t there.

And who knows if you would’ve even wanted that.

You swore you’d come back, but I beat you to it

(albeit in altered circumstances).


I moved to start my own life, not one for us.

Even after our visit, even after we rescued your best friend,

It breaks my heart when I think how you left him.

Especially after trying so tirelessly to get him back… and actually succeeding.

I wonder if he misses you…

you had once again allowed nearly all hope to die.

And I’d retreated to my binary playground.

Though I received more than I expected upon my arrival.

A little more than absolutely nothing.

Then, absolutely nothing…


As I waited for the bang or the whimper,

I counted all the 24-hour-long seconds of cacophonous tranquility.

Towering monoliths of dreams collapsing in slow motion beyond my adorably limited perspective.

Eventually leaving only dying embers of perfunctory courtesy.

At that moment, hope was thrice starved and well acquainted with the rot of your ennui.

At that point, I’d developed a sense of mercy, thus the euthanasia.


Seeing your vibrant enthusiasm fade to such opaque apathy was thoroughly disheartening…(and I said as much in places you’ll never see…

I wish we could’ve had a real chance to make our dream come true.

Maybe we did in a closely parallel universe.


After you’d refused my help for the last time,

I had to leave.

Once again, money was the issue.

When I went to say goodbye,

I prepared to hate you,

yet I ended up sustaining you.

 And the last time I saw you, when you finally came out,

you came out smiling.




but then I got the call…



If I ever permitted myself to do so, I’d like to think you’d be happy for me.

Where my life is, what I’m doing, where I still want to go.

And though this will be the final piece I write for you,

I will never forget you.


So, with these last words, I watch the Sun finally set.

I tried over and over again to describe you, to poeticize you,

but you were beautiful beyond words.

I love you, Sunny Rae.