Choke Collar


You deceive me
With your hand against
my bruised cheek
and the other excavating
my insides


I didn’t know
That the lining of my stomach
Could thread me through
to neck, to noose,
to bumper

Of snarling
Of what was once

Before snow snuffed
Up jolly noses
She traces back

sunny side up smiling
Burnt to the asphalt
Road rash face mask

She crams my resigned inners
What once was
A man I was proud of

Dirty laundry
Stinking mildew
And self pity

She picks up reanimated
And locks me in a glass room
Scratching at crystallized pane

When it breaks
And I make a run for it
The choke collar tightens
Knowing happiness
Is quick at the tips
Of your grasp
And never quite

Thumbs Up



Returning to the ghosts

of my worst years

my branding moments

the growing pains

that left me lanky and flaccid

and I come down the winding stairs

of the estate


cadavers in the clearing

orange flag markers in the mud

of my fat

To be the putty scraped on the door mat

before she steps inside

I let her into my mind

she told me I need


I laughed like

“Couldn’t you tell?”

I love like

wet stones in hell

I repent

all the years

slurping out of

malaria puddle

I dream of a different suburban wetland

a frigid lack of inspiration

and weathered skill

here I am,

some pitiful sponge

sliding race track straws

up my pucker fish

to find a spine

to graze her cheeks

hold her close

as she chews on the palm of my hand

hacking bread knives in the kitchen

four fingers down, a thumb left.

What else could I possibly give?

Bungee Bastard

They’re using my insides as bungee cord
To see how close they can get to hitting the ground
The intestines unravel
Bondage before they throw me overboard
And I sink to my death

Title me Poem

Nibbling on the cheese
At the great reveal
Call me man, call me monster
I am RAT
In my labyrinth
To move at all
Is to speed towards
A wall of corroded bricks
Or the sinister latex gloves
Don’t you dare brand me
Your murderer
Shock the protruding bolts
From the walls of my craw
Title me creation
Title me poem

Sharpen the damn blade

The thick skin
that dog determined
won’t detatch

watching the guillotine
dropping, dropping
drip by drip
with each passing

If it would just sever
the anti climactic finish
sweat seeping
from frustrated pores

I’ve been residing in the basket
since the new year’s eve party
dropping again, again
but at best
a nic

but it’s been so long
they keep my cranium
in their filing cabinet
rusted shut

Another one to “Freedom”

Honey, baby, sweetie pie
Cherry, apple, key lime,
Do you know just why
I’m born to die?

Honey, baby, sweetie pie
Darling, rodent in the pigsty
I’ll sit in my cell
And wait to fry

Honey, baby, sweetie pie
I ‘ll help with the child
I’ll keep up the lie
Locked in the bathroom
Daddy’s getting high

Father, Daddy, love of mine
You know I’ve done my best
You know I’ve tried
But it’s time to close the door
To pave over the graves
And build the floor
To say no to the abuse
To forget the pointed muse
You left us before age two
Reproving you
Beating me
I’m glad you’re through
And I can be free

Defeating Bukowski

Sometimes I kiss her
The one sitting alone at the bar
Looking over her shoulder as the men pass
Desperate for attention
Desperate for a fuck
I give it to her
And she asks for my love
I’d give that to her too
If I wasn’t so sure
That the human strains from my voice
From the shared moments
Wouldn’t later be weaved
Into a noose.

Insanity Meditations

Helping the masses understand insanity
Just a little bit better
My words
Aiding contemplative suicides
And real men that don’t bother to use a mask

Only 18
And already my heart aches
Like a swelling, slowly inflating
Far beneath my ribs, and decalcified bones.
Where I forgot
That I too am human
Pump me full of another drug
And I’ll soon forget again
Hopefully I won’t remember
How it hurts
To be real

Masturbate, music, migrate, massacre, mediate
All of the things
At the disposal of 18 years
Of rot.
These are the tasks of a writer
Changing the world with words of wonder
While asleep on the girlfriends couch.
Fighting hate and fuckery
From the armchair, blue pabst in hand.

The Last Pump at the Gas Station

Pump me up full of adderall
Heroine, cocaine, tea, cigarettes
Ungodly amounts of caffeine
Until it’s all that I can do

Sit and push out shit
Shaking anxious wrecks
Blowing down walls

While I sit on this shitter
Still ready to die
Still typing away
Like if I stop
The trigger will
Pull me
And I’ll snap