Goose Egg

Tell me I’m not real
And I’ll believe it
I believe it.
Less than invisible
Next to non-existent.

Tell me why I am
I am a soldier
A beholder
that’s all we ever are, yet
arrogant, irreverent prayers spat out like hair
demand, command, and inherit ill will
Toward all the other ghosts of children
who died in high school.

If I can find the vein
I’ll kill it so
don’t put me near the needle
It’s a key to free the demons
I can be.

And they encourage us to

grow the fuck up

Although, I’ll try to not resign myself to hell.
All my wishes are wasted on daydreams
My nightmares inspire me to keep them that way.
Tell me I’m not real–

I’m as real as demons.

Responsible For Bread Crumbs

I think I came to watch her sleep.
Since lights turn on so quietly,
I flipped the switch to sneak her dreams
outside with me.

Some of my thoughts are subtle enough
to slip the filters and
stretch like dead fingers
Because in the deep is where trouble sleeps
and rears its filthy head.

Somebody once told me to stop hiding, and until recently I didn’t believe that I could be anything other than ordinary. She was no better than I, and I pitied her, and I kissed her anyways, and I told her she was all I ever needed and she believed me for at least one night because I felt that trust and slept alright beside her.
When things started slipping so did I, echoing myself as if expired words worked like glue on broken organs. But the keys stuck together until I could no longer make out the song I tried to play. We were dissonant before she even left and I thank whoever is responsible for all of it, because I get a sick kind of happiness from watching things die slowly.
I’m a lowly type of holy