Shaking in my Boots

the cruelty of my being born
is very real and underpronounced
in a bleak postcard
filled with blood, sweat, placenta and filth.
and love.

So, why are we all so unafraid?

Waiting in the Wings, Motherfucker.

in the wings i wait for you
to step this way
and then i move in closer
to find you alone in your
vulnerability
i strike with a verse
and you go down
you argue that there is no "down"

...then we both wake up

Bad Breakups Gone Great

just like that old bootleg
we wrecklessly taped on some
cracked and rainy Seattle street
way back in '01
and just like the words i can never take back
we don't matter to each other anymore

Somethings Never Change

she sits and waits on the edge of my plans
we laugh it off and wait for some mountain town
but we both know what it is
it's sadness that we don't understand
i've never had it together

Jokes

with a click of the wrist
i am whole again
cue the joke

The Fool With the Sick Heart

you will be destroyed
underneath this weight
because you have opened your mouth
only this time, it's not poison
that comes out
but the vomit spills
from your heart
onto the grown
only this time
you will not return
to eat that filth
and puke it up
all over again

when He died
your filth died
and on the third day
when He rose
you rose with Him
now you look down
onto that voided corpse
where your vomit lies
with your lies,
deception,
theft,
and greed

oh, you fool
with the sick heart
that beats
destruction
and malice
and death
you will be destroyed
underneath this weight

Malice(d)

i hate you
not in a superficial way
but in my bones
i feel nothing but malice
when i hear your voice
and the defecation
that forms your words

your phony wisdom
your unapologetic hypocrisy
your fucking crippling arrogance
i cannot stomach the sight
of your ugly face

this malice has been years in the making
as i watched you choke my brother
for slapping me in the face
every time you imagined my disrespect

Let Loose (From Things)

free from this shit
the gambling of ideas
and feelings
that the rest of you
believe
really shouldn't exist
or be spoken of
it should all be in secret
or behind turned backs
not that we're malicious
but we're worried
for their welfare

but
if i truly spoke honestly
i would call every last one of you
a liar, a thief and a hypocrite
just like me

i am no longer bound
by your blood that is
inextricably tied to mine
or this town
or these mountains
or your neighbors
or this green lawn
or this house
or myself

Things We Want. Things We Need. Things We'll Never Have.

everybody wants a king
but nobody wants a throne
to live underneath

Late Nights

we stay up late nights
sometimes

underestimating the sadness that would come
as street lights flicker
we wander from city to city

we have traveled on dark highways
running from somewhere
anxious to arrive somewhere else

then we sold our cars
and the highways feel
a bit more still

we see the lights speeding by
on the 405
crossing bridges
as we look down dead ends

it's not easy being lonely
but we're trying as hard as we can

The Death of All Wisdom

i remember wise men
it sat alone with old facially-overgrown men
in cafes and on street corners
in cold, dark houses surrounded by books
and no mirrors

you see the footprint of time on their faces
you see the memories branded into their bones
and the sounds they make are few and far between
they'll grunt or they'll speak up on matters of grave importance

but every wise man i've ever known has died
not necessarily in a literal sense
but in the sense that all wise men
hold onto a loose sense of wisdom
that fades with shits, and bills to pay, erectile dysfunction

they get lonely, needy and desperate for affection
they have abandoned friends, wives and children
they succumb to the same lusts of comfort that we all do
they think shallow thoughts in the darkness

but me
i sit on the corner of my bed most nights
wondering what wisdom is like
what it feels like to lose, love and ache
i wonder what happens when the lens of innocence fades

but then i turn and look into the mirror
and i see the reflection of empty bookshelves
dirty clothes strewn all across the floor
i see the evidence of foolishness that is found
deep in the heart of everyman.

i close my eyes and sigh
an exhale of sweet relief
that there was one wise man
and none of us are Him.

Everything You Say is Made Up of Words You Can't Take Back

i read what you write
with contempt
and a maddening fear
of what you are
to me

Some Desert City

it feels like a flashback
to my worst nightmare
back when i was in
some desert city

she played electro-pop records
on repeat
and she was getting rid of me

i remember when i left that town
i didn't even say a word to her
i barely remember those days
it seems as if i awoke one morning
and she was gone
i had completely erased her

the next girl i met i married
i switched coasts
then back again

they should have warned her
that she couldn't be saved
from the world i would crush
with my loud mouth

now i just wish we could go back
to late night phone calls
and road trips across the country
because where we are new
feels like another desert city

only there are no somber nights
no religious heritage
just sad eyes and slavery
from which we're trying to break free

Understandings

my childhood melted away
in the sun
in the dramatic heat
and fire
of shouting matches
in living rooms
and hallways
and slammed doors
and burned journals
where the cursed thoughts
of a 15 year old boy
were far too wretched to be noticed

someone forgot to mention
that the people we love the most
don't understand
and are completely
devastated by our pain

how could they understand?
they are buried in their own skin
awaiting their own days and nights
where the people they love
will fully understand their pain

now
that i've dodged the flame
i am here
for freedom's sake
to humbly bow
before the only one
who understands
pain

There Are No More Guns

then the sunlight wasted away my life
like a gunshy cowboy
without a second thought of blood
without a nurturing wound to display
he walked all over the midnight ground

but a whisper that clasped to my cheek
stung me deeply
with an undeserving melody of
slightly over thought moments

i wanted him to stop singing, though
i wanted him to stop wasting my time
with his unwanting of my words
hewn onto a paper cross
that bled to death on a book shelf

there was no propitiation
there was no imitated sadness
but the melancholy weapons
hung on my neck like a gun
waiting to be praised
for its useless bullets
of charm
and wit
and fucking pompous arrogance

Ella Drinks Wine and Leaves Portland

Ella
threw herself on the car
as man after man drove away
with her cartons of cigarettes
and her empty bottles of wine
and her car keys
and her world
that dismantled
with every
ugly word

Ella
in love with a prettier star
tore through the walls
of a palace that buried
her 1990s blood
that spilled all over the road
and separated us
from one another

Ella
didn't stay for long
she drove through downtown
alleyways, and avenues
crowded and silent
the speedometer read 70+
she looked out for cops
they didn't care
she drove down the coast
and fell asleep beside the ocean
with a bottle of wine in her right hand
and an empty carton of cigarettes in her left

she never felt so alone in her entire life