collecting regrets like the empty bottles filling up my room

so heres a bunch of unfinished ramblings from my journal, this was all i could decipher from my sloppy intoxicated handwriting, i dont like any of them, i'm never going to finish any of them, and dont really know why im posting them, i guess its for andrew, the only one who reads this bullshit


dear god
hey there, old friend, just checkin in, wanted to tell you some things,
i dunno,
i just wish you were there to hold back my hair when i puke in the bathroom sink,
and i wish that you were there when i put needles in my skin, or poison in my nose.
you know, sometimes, i think i do it just for you,
maybe just to see if you'll come around.

god, you know i need you, dont you?
for when i do good deeds,
so you can help me feel like i'm a saint,
because everyone knows theres no fun in giving charity when nobodies lookin,

but, oh, old friend, please tell me,
if you're there for me, and im one of your beautiful creatures,
then why do i feel so ugly?
if we're supposed to be such perfect little creations,
then why do we find so much to hate about ourselves?
did you let us have mirrors just to screw with us,
did you give us makeup just to make up for it?

you really really meant it didnt you,
when you said
"in sorrow shalt thou eat of it all the days of thy life"
well i am

god, i really hope you know i need you
honestly, i wanna be your pillar of salt,
i wanna be your mary magdellion,
i want to wash your feet and give all of my herd to you,
because everyone knows theres no fun without sacrafice

but, oh, old friend, please wont you tell me,
does it make you hard, when everyone gets on their knees for you,
to worship and pray,
even after youve taken their babies away?

old friend, please tell me, i'd really like to know
how could you take such a young boy,
he was only sixteen.
and why let me keep being, tell me why,
why didnt you take me?
did you do it just to make me miserable?

Well I'll never question your word again,
like when you said
"Happy shall he be, that taketh and dasheth thy little ones against the stones."
I swear to you, i am no longer a victim to the lust of doubt,
for
"THE VOICE OF THY BROTHERS BLOOD CRIETH UNTO ME FROM THE GROUND"
and i hear him cry

god, you must know, i need you,
i need you when i need someone to blame, when i need someone to praise, someone to cry to, someone to yell at,
because theres no fun in being alone,

dear god,
take me
take me away from here
take me away from me
wash us all away, like you have before, i'm ready for your flood

oh, old friend, i wanted to tell you some things,
i dunno,
i wish that you were there when i put these bruises and scars onto me,
and i wish that you were there when i buried my friends,
you know, sometimes i think i did it all, just for you,
maybe just to see if you'll come around.

god, you've got to know,
i need you,
i need you for when i do bad deeds,
so you can help me feel like i'm a sinner
because self pity is no fun when no one cares,

old friend, please tell me, i'd really like to know
when you made this lovely garden,
why'd you have to make snakes?
and i cant help but wonder
did it get you off, when you tricked her,
or did it make you laugh?
it was only just a nibble.
well, i hope your laughing,
at all the boys with bible names,
who curse you again, and again, your little comedians,

oh, tell me, old friend
do i make you laugh?

god, i really hope you know i need you,
i really need you

monsters
id read some r.l. stein here and there and laughed it off as fiction,
been told familiar fables and all the basic playground raps,
eventually, i gave up on looking under my bed for that monster waiting for his snack,
but i was told a lie, monsters do exist, and there is proof in mirrors
theres enough inside of me to put kids faces on the back of milk cartons
and for you, my tramp, i want to bring out all of them and push them up against your bones,
stick myself against your skeletons and embrace you and your throne,
the logic in it is parrallel to the insanity of
how we go out of our way to swat flies but
get bashful about ladybugs,
i submit and give up for im sick death of trying to interpret the "why?"

witch trial
its easy to cast a sleight of hand blame on our fingers for,
finding their way through the forest to our center,
but it cant be as easy as your skin and its smooth terrain
or
maybe instead, we could vote to have lust hung,
and make it out to be a crime of chemical imbalance,
have it all boil down to the taste of,
the drink of passion we press to our lips, so eager to take every last sip,
but
for now we'll leave it up to fate, because theres only so much air to fall through before you hit the bricks,
i dont want to bother to get choked up on defining how,
but its done and you're got your talons sunk into my neck,
i fear so much of what will happen when you tear them out,
but
for now i shut up as you told me and we kiss on the mouth,

john mayer go suck a dick
oh your carnival tricks, how you swallow that sword,
and those eyes you give me, you make me curl
with satin sheets, we set up tent and i think i'll start your fire
i begin my journey at the top,
grasing through the weaves of brown, grabbing those leaves,
taking my time, down to the branches, above your eyes,
slide my way east, take a nibble at your ear,
and work my way down, to that swallower of sin, stick my tongue in and dance it across yours,
and im off down south,
passed the waves of your ribs to the desert,
and i make hills of sand into solid mountains, with selected kisses,
working my way to the top, with the tip of my lips,
and its onward, as i map my way down to my destination
across the barren wasteland of smooth skin,
down to the mystical garden where i find myself at home, to set up camp again,
and i once was given advice
by a preschool teacher
to practice my abcs,
and so i do,
could you tell what i spelt for you?
keep me here darling, inbetween the two worlds, that i call your legs.

you are so disgusting and dirty, that i want to eat you up and shit you out
i like that you never asked me why i drink,
and never told me how blatantly i wear my demons on my sleeve.
ive been finding more in common with your blood and puke,
than every female that was ever daring enough to have bellowed in my musk.
i cant help but kiss your cuts and hold you tight,
you're the queen of making me feel empty.
and so i open the doors to my asylum,
and let you scale the walls,
for today i give up fear of failure.
i want to swallow your disgustingness, take it as my own.
i want to seperate you from your dope sickness with little supple sucks.
i will swallow all your luggage,
and bury it in my stomaches chambers,
if it means you get to sleep soundly,
and i get to catch the hidden whispers of your breath against my chest,

opera operator operation

dial the digits that beep to the tune that gets me through,
to my ever so expensive, cell phone service provider,
those bastards that keep me confined to being nothing more than a minute man
hello operator, i heard you're here to service me,
and please do,
could you direct me to,
your supervisor, the one whose in charge,
listen to me, when i speak, i must apologize in advance,
for the anger in my tone and the alcohol in my annouciation,
but ive got some bones to break
give me back the part of me you stole from me, you bitch!
all i am is in this spit and i'll drown this phone receiver if i must,
four years old or not, its not up to you,
i'd saved those messages for a reason
and i'll kill you if it means that i'll never get them back
how can you take from me that
which is all i have left
for the taking, that wasnt taken,
by her

kill it at the source

oh dont you dare
make me out to be a monument
i aint no god
im hardly a man

IM DOING GREAT, HOW BOUT YOURSELF? WOW, THE WEATHER SURE IS NICE. truth is i wanna see the secretary naked and i think about jumping off the roof

collared shirt buttoned up to the top, fashioned to perfection with a skinny tie of the opposite color,
enter the hallway, catch eyes, give a smile and a nod,
hold the door open for someone, the soft spoken thanks
wait in the punch card line, get lost in the meaningless robotics of
hey hows it going, its going good, how bout yourself, doing good thanks, good to hear it
office space, secretary smiles and little non abrasive compliments,
phone calls, hello there operator this is daniel copeland calling from so and so, how are you doing this morning, oh, great, thats good to hear,
timed breaks, smokers circle, how bout this weather eh? sure is nice aint it!
he was a good employee, kept to himself, seemed real nice,
put in his input in meetings but otherwise quite quiet,
they'd never think
that when i put out that cigarette butt and step back into the office,
i fantasize about bullet holes and buckets of blood,
phones off the hook and suits and dresses laying limp on bodies on the floor,
chain smoke on breaks, clock out,

unfinished buisness with ex's from many years passed

my heroine
i want to squeeze yr brittle bones until you leak black tar
and toss up our calloused tongues in a wicked waltz
my slender sleek seductress, black eyed ice queen,
you're the weary storm my heart needs,
leave me empty, once again,
only to crawl back in, four years later
and so it seems even the broken lips of a beat man can enjoy giddy teenage giggles at all hours of the night