visuals
ive got high winds to look forward to
in another life i looked forward to houses

high winds carrying an aggressive stink
a rot, a fetid moldy smell in the air
i see leaves blowing with it

i see skies empty but for the insects
feeding and multiplying, hunting and dying
i hear the birds that hunt them and die, too

im not much more than a sound wave,
im not much more than a safe haven
im not much for much longer anyways

in another life i woke up now,
i looked forward to a day and didnt think of the wind
i didnt taste death or piss and i didnt ache so much

i'll someday be bones that once came in a small trashcan
there will eventually be dust that shat on the side of a road

ill fertilize grass and trees and flowers that will never know
how many people i fucked and how many people hated me

i cant think about bodies without thinking about death now
i dont remember anymore what it felt like to think i was alive

almost everything sounds like clicking and breathing to me
ive been thinking in a static crackle that hasnt let up in weeks

you cant tell me im not fading. you cant say im not a headstone
toys and books and thoughts and people always get lost in time

am i a placeholder?
what do my words sound like?

i wake up feeling like warped wood
my skins been falling off like paint chips,
is it lead poisoning? ive been so tired

ive lost the instinct to love or to cum
i stink like sweat and shit and mold
im doubting reality and i feel like god?

i know this is probably what falling apart is,
im trying to keep an open mind but im dying
and i dont think living ever meant anything anyways
so im not sure if pretending to be concerned would help

theres an ongoing electric crinkle in the background
things that shouldnt be breathing have been,
this is familiar but it shouldnt still be happening

it comes and goes like tides or like headaches
sometimes i fade out but im learning to keep up
veins and fingernails and knuckles ground me

am i lost now?
where do i go from here?

i dont know when i started missing anonymity
the idea of being an idea? the thought of it
i was nobody and i was loud and i was good at it

people grow like a thick fog
crowds always bring a hard loneliness
slowly sliding sand? inchworms, etc

rebirth as a concept, moral discomfort,
slipping into tatters and falling thru water
a living landfill, non-proprietary? a pause

im getting lost in words and scattered thoughts
im losing myself in sunlight, im lost in mornings
im washed up/not worth saving/a lost cause

im withered and dry now
theres rain in the wind but im locked inside
i crack and peel and stretch like old binding

am i unsatisfying?
im unsatisfied for sure but am i enough?
im walking in circles
do you like the dark ones tracing my eyelids?

im easily disappointed
theres pink in the sky but i dont like pink do i
im colorless or bloodshot, and uninviting regardless.

i guess im conceited.
do you like to hear me talk about myself?
do you like complaints?
would you like to complain about me?

everybodys nobody?
im wanted but i dont want to be wanted anymore
i want to be nobody to everybody, i dont know why.

six years of sighing and not a solid thought in my head.
ive got half a dozen reasons not to believe ill ever be right.

she thought the eyes around me might be enough, but ive got none.
im older and im less loud than i used to think that i wanted to be,
but with lungs, with teeth, and with a tongue all cracked and whispering to no one,
im just dry. im a husk and ive thought of nothing but what it means to be one.

twenty years of dying and not a solid thought in my head.
ive got a score of reasons not to believe ill ever be alright.

empty buildings are abandoned and i'm dead?
when i've got no lights on and no water flowing, dead?
without people to walk thru me or clean the cobwebs from my eyes, dead.

i'm empty and im scum-ridden, a moss-covered, cracked wooden frame.
built of nails and full of asbestos and thumbtacks, ive got splinters in my eyes.
don't think of me. dont draw up blueprints of who i might be.

i could wrap myself up, ive got curtains and bedsheets to spare.
there aren't fabrics without holes or knees in pants that dont rip open.
posters and stickers and buttons and photos line walls and fall off of them.

ive got bugs and trash in my head and im dying.
with mold grown over my eyelids and cracked glass in my toes, dying.
my fluorescent sockets faded and the rivers to my heart dried out and im dying.

im full of the smallest insects
and im exhaling the flapping of their wings
like i had a tornado crawling in my lungs

i feel tiny legs inching up my throat.
ive got hordes of exoskeletons keeping me warm
and why? why do i need so many shells?

where are clean winds when i need them?
theres swarming in the air and the thought of locusts
is stripping me. im violently quiet and im frightened

id offer my firstborn if i thought id ever have one
id abandon a dream if i could stop having them
but i always come back to the insects.

if i had honeycombs for eyes you might live inside me
if i could offer a home or a bed or a meal you might,
i dont know, you might think something of me.

im not shelter or peace of mind or ease though
and ive got eyes for eyes. ive got bones on the inside
and i cant offer you a child, im very vacant.

im spiderwebs in the winter and im frosted-over,
youll never live tangled up in me for all i might call you
and ill go hungry and cold and quiet again.

some day we'll be in our 50s
and our parents will be dying
and itll feel like the future but
itll still just be the same earth

ill be old and i might have kids
i might have grandchildren too
they might know the things i do
they might feel how i feel about
whats good and whats terrible
and some day theyll forget me

some day i might be a dying father
i might have children in their 50s
and itll feel like the future to them
but itll still just be the same earth

ill fill a small hole in the ground
and the kids i might have will too
and so will the wife i might have
the entire life i might some day know
itll be buried and itll be unknown,
and having been known wont matter

ive let go of my own self so often
ive unknown my being annually
i might be known more by others
than by myself but im not them
and i wont know me as they do
and theyll forget me as i have

some day the earth will be gone
and the stars will be dying and
every living thing will be unknown
and it wont feel like the future

i could fuck a stranger
i could waste my cum and my afternoon on you
but hours will go by and you will go home,
and i wont sleep tonight

i could love a stranger
i could give my words and my affection to you
but emoticons are not flesh and blood,
and i wont sleep tonight

i could be alone
i could spend what years and what sense i have
silent and locked up, but my skull is aching and,
and, and? i need someone to help me

i have my options
i have choices to pick from and to dismiss
but time is passing and i will too,
and i can't wait.