The Madness of Matt
Slipping noiselessly down
To that peaceful place
Where no one can reach you.
Familiar names float towards you and become reality's base.
It is real because you are.
I want to pull you back through. Bring you back to us.
You're always slipping away. . .
Back to the tranquility of smiling sweet faces and
The warmth of familiar words.
So far from the ugly grey of what I can offer you.
I envy that you can get some rest.
I could easily wish for you to pull me in or
Show me the door or draw me a map to wonderland.
We can sing and dance and drink tea with a
Mouse or just wander and wonder.
At what price would I fall? What is left behind?
Is it so important that we shouldn't leave it here?

The Magic Fairy
She puts her head against
The cold black pane.
Her skin flushed, just damp.
And I watched from the corner
Curled up . . .
Unable to move, afraid.
While that hate at the
Unfairness and shame
Came up in her throat,
Burning.
The noise pounding in her ears.
Shaking the world.
She held in a scream and
It was just a squeak.

Make It Through
No, he didn't like that skinny guy with the funny eyes.
He just plain old shot his parents.
No, he wasn't a loner with delusions of grandeur,
He just didn't want to die alone.
Going out in a blaze of glory,
In another year we can watch the TV movie,
Which can influence more people, so
We can be sure the torch will
Not only be carried and passed,
But modified, streamlined and improved
By future generations, so long as
This one survives itself.
It's strange youth preys on itself when
There are pedophiles, rapists, apathetic parents
And all the other special gifts that
Thin out the population's innocence.
Would that the "war on drugs" did half as well as
The genocide of childhood in America.
You must grow up now and make your living
And make them proud and make them love you
And make it through.
Little girls who never have a chance to be virgins.
Little boys who never get to feel emotions.
Little soldiers who shoot themselves.
Little lives that wither and die dressed in
Bright, shiny, new electronic lives.
No, Jesus didn't save me, and my teachers didn't listen.
I just plain lived through it.
No I didn't blame everyone else and do what I wanted.
I just made me better than them.
I am my own light and glory.
But I grew up too fast and not quite enough,
Which is sometimes a problem.
So on my own I learn to cope with the world,
Carry my weight, make my own mistakes.
Pay my own late fees so I so I don't leave them
For future generations who will
Owe enough as it is.

Mike Hupman Taught Me . . .
Mike Hupman taught me how to punch.
He projected the "attitude"
And his eyes sparked under his
Stupid shaggy 80's hair.
When he looked at me
He knew I was scared,
Just fucking terrified . . .
He knew I had no clue why.
He didn't try to bring me out
Or share something deep.
He just dealt with it
As long as he could.
He taught me how to punch
On my dad's front lawn,
And never told me what it meant.

mother
she hides behind the chocolates
under the books back in the study
she sits and thinks of things to say
list of murmurs and poisoned hiss
thesaurus in hand she shines the blades
and lies in wait for the next sorry soul
she made the wrong choices
AND IT'S SIMPLY NOT HER FAULT
she tries to make it up
but she can't seem to care
i feared this monster all my life
i begged for her soft legacy
i missed the part the gave the rules
i mistook her rage for apathy
i ran and jumped all around and
finally lost my mind.

My Own Private Idahoan
Why don't you answer me?
Do you know I am an up and coming poet?
Are you even fucking alive you bitch?
I live two fucking hours away from you.
I love you.
I don't care who you think you are now.
I know you love me.
For fucking-out-loud, what is the problem?
I am not going to storm your home.
I am not going to fuck up your life.
I want your attention.
What is it going to take?
I'm not saying I'll do it but the least you owe me after all of the time I've spent worrying about you and all of the time you have spent trying to forget about me I think you owe me some fucking Karma back and if you bother to smile and sound sincere i'll even pay you the $50 that rat bastard stole from me instead of sending it to you eight years ago.

Help me out here,
I'm sick of keeping my distance.
Either you don't have the balls or
You don't feel the same and don't have more balls.
Get over it and tell me.
Don't be a sick bitch and just keep ignoring me.
I don't think I ever asked
Anything from you,
Was it too much?
I'm sick of fucking
Twenty year olds who
Are just trying me out,
They wear me out,
And the tits
Of the young ones
are just too small.
Did you at least laugh?

MY SERATONIN'S LOW
I YELLED AT MY BOSS BECAUSE HE HASN'T PAID ME AND IT'S
BEEN A ROUGH WEEK AND HE GOT ON MY LAST NERVE AND
now i'm employment impaired and i'm looking for a sharp-type knife.
MY SERATONIN'S LOW

I HAD TO KICK MY ROOMMATES OUT CUZ THEY WOULDN'T PAY THEIR RENT AND THEY THOUGHT I WOULDN'T DARE AND
then one came back and kicked in the window and the cops came to visit
MY SERATONIN'S LOW

AND THAT BRINGS ME TO THE RENT BEING DUE TODAY AND I'M COUNTING PENNIES FOR A PACK OF CIGARETTES.
i'm getting really sick of this shit as you can well imagine and a dirt nap sounds good.
MY SERATONIN'S LOW

my sex betrays me
my sex betrays me
with lies and accusations
my sex betrays me
with empty disillusionment
my sex betrays me
and leaves me completely alone
a touch that leads nowhere
a smile with no hidden meaning
a caress for the sake of itself
i just wanted to be held
i thought if i were pretty
and thin
i'd have better odds . . .
they just want to fuck me
before they know me
after they know me
i though if i explained, they'd listen
take the pussy and the tits
and leave me here to die
for the want of a touch
they've just gotten in the way . . .
they are just an excuse . . .
they press into people,
and it gives off those pheromones . . .
evidence that i 'need fucked' take them . . bronze them
fuck them on the table . . .
get them off of me . . .
how can my need for comfort be so easily disregarded in the face of your ejaculation?
how are my tears justification for your semen mess?
how is the salt of her pussy supposed to drive away the demons?
how will more of it make it go away?
why does being 'hot' mean i can't just get a fucking kiss without all the bullshit and spending the night with strangers and games and phone calls and drinks . . . i'm not a tease . . . i'm just drawn this way . . .
'did you see the tits on her?'
(they must make her impervious to emotions . . .)
'she must be easy, let's go . . '
'see, she's smiling, she wants me'

Myths Are Not Reasons
When did I ever think I’d have no regrets?
Did I ever consider that I’d be happy?
I can’t remember that time.
Not when my faith was complete.
It just never was.
Or never was to be.
Now it is.
Why was it I couldn’t run away?
Did I believe that ancient, fallacious myth?
‘You can’t escape your problems, Girl,
‘There is no running away.’
My faith is shaking.
No more myths today.
Now I’m free.
I could run away.
He couldn’t hold me back.
He lacked the strength or will.
I did run away.
He stayed right where he was,
He never thought I’d leave.
Now he waits for me to back up.

Myths At Sunrise
I step into the chill of the desert.
Feel warm sand on bare feet.
I dream your name is paradise,
And pray to your strength.
Not that you will ever answer.
You have no idea who you are.
But I know and that's
Enough to let me
Enjoy the sunrise.