Swimming Lessons

Being depressed is like drowning. 

You keep trying to float to the surface,

But after a while you get tired

And you just want to give up.

I say you, but I mean me. 

Some days, the only reason I keep paddling and gasping for some fucking air

Is because I could never force a bloated, water-logged corpse 

Into the lives of the people that I care about.

Some days, they’re the only thing 

Keeping me from finding out

If I can spontaneously sprout gills.

Some days even they don’t help,

Because you can be supportive all you want but 

It doesn’t go a long way if 

You don’t really understand

Mental illness.

If you take it for granted.

If you think it’s just a temporary feeling,

Like it will pass.

Try feeling like you’re drowning 

For over half your life, 

For years, 

For what feels like

Eons 

And 

Leagues. 

I don’t know many life forms

That can survive that kind of

Suffocation,

But humans are 

One of them.

Neil Hilborn said

The genes for creativity and mental illness

Are not related, 

But one and the same

And he is right.

Only creating something 

To get through it all,

To maybe buoy yourself 

for a brief moment

Can give you enough oxygen 

To keep it up.

You might not keep it up

For long,

But hey.

It’s a few more minutes on this

Godforesaken rock,

And that’s something

I suppose. 

AAE 

29 NOV 17 

Scratched

I’m sure I’ll regret this

i think, ripping a sliver from my

Souvenir book mark 

And i wonder

If it’s even any good but

I’m high and drunk besides

Anyway.

Already wavy from bath water,

Coming apart and

Paper thin fragile

The book or the person holding it,

Who knows which

Or both

Or neither 

and i trumpet a mad parade 

But get lost at the ending

I’ve always avoided endings 

No, that was the place to end

i know because i can’t read anything else

Just the same line over

And over and over

Like a record skipped

On repeat, blaring at me

At me

At me 

And no one will ever read this again anyway

And no one will ever read this again

And no one will ever read

Again anyway 

A Siren's Lament

Grasping at the smoke

that clouds my addled mind

Drifting away

Like lovers 

and opportunities

Foaming at the mouth,

Aimless forever,

Ageless with time,

No way out 

A labyrinth 

of my own construction

And I am the Minotaur

Grotesque twisted patchwork  

Understood by none 

and liked by less

Wailing with regret 

Yet half the squandered moments

were never mine to waste 

But the sting sings the same

tired tune every day

Regardless of my good intentions 

the noose ever waits

Hanging on bated breath

and hanging from every word

Breathed from your straight-laced mouth

Surprised a gasp ever gets out

Patience ever plagues us

And a Roman candle 

Doesn't mix well with

the picture of temperance 

Yet I am a brushfire

Cannot contain with words

Nor good sense,

And you couldn't 

tame me if you tried,

But you know you would never

want any less. 

Zero Hero

i suffer just to breathe
and only pull in my own razor blades
down my throat
and through my teeth

we bomb the shit out of
our enemies
holy airstrikes, batman!
just like them,
we slaughter the "bad guys"
and with them the fear,
allegedly

we kill the "bad guys"
and lots of good
guys, and gals
who could have been friends.
we're bad guys to them.

another epidemic turns pandemic,
the wars will kill us first
faster than the virus
and dehumanize us
and an immune system shut down
to beat out a government shutdown
is still prettier.

the american dream
is an expensive suicide
go broke for your diploma
a receipt
then papercut yourself with it
til you bleed

and suddenly my wallet rules me
I am not what I love nor what I create
Suddenly I am defined only
by the numbers in my bank account
(zero, nada, nothing, zilch)
and by the grades I make
(failure, incomplete, below average)
Zippo Zero

When will society realize
that happiness is not quantified
that freedom is being free from the material
(not this illusion of freedom)
and all our imagined problems.
We occupy our minds with useless
Bullshit, most of our "problems"
aren't real, and
the more leisure time we have,
the more we don't have time for anything
or so we say
or so we think
can someone please explain that
to me?

Dear Sam

Mischief finds those that fly
from place to place and time to time,
Echoing through the chambers of our heart, we
beat on, against the current, racing minds and the
Organized chaos of us whirls round
and round and round
To stop,
Who knows where, why, and how
This discord will bind us or destroy
Yet either way, we anticipate
the outcome, despite
the drawbacks, we
stay.

But you're still lighting fires and I,
armed with lefty scissors,
still go
berserk
from time
to time.

Memento Mori

Dead men tell the finest tales
they echo in our hearts
and burn our lungs from the inside
like the smoke from the cigarette you light

A dead man walking is the finest thing indeed
When you read my words you watch me bleed
A curse held by those who leave a legacy
Drowning in sorrow and swimming in tragedy

Profundity comes with a price
Your soul flees early if you roll the dice
to make it big, to win the game
To gain your glory, fortune, or fame

Dead men rot before they ever hit the ground,
Misery by the mile and headaches by the pound.
No matter what their hearts desire and eyes seek,
Madness for the brilliant and boredom for the weak.

But even dead men who seek no success,
Locked in a room - o'er page, under duress
May find their disposition has sealed their fate
A minute too soon is a second too late

In the world of the living, the dead men wait
Break down the door and open the gate
to find freedom from their earthly bounds
Rebirthed from our sighs falling flat on the ground

Desperate to find another way,
All that we gain is what the dead men pay.

River Rats

Shine and Smile
Smile and Shine
take out your trash with the night before and
carry your baggage with you
since no one wants to keep it
what are we but a series of mistakes
all a mess so 
what's one more?
The accidents, a promise
The potential, possibility
Tired of being told no 
being told what to do
being told anything other than
you are loved 
and you love
happiness is just a mistake away
and with these weak words 
I set the stage

To hold interest for long is not 
my habit, get bored and abandon
or jump ship before I see sails fly
into the horizon yet
I'd let the gangrene set in before I'd say no
to you
before I'd get bored
of you
before I melt in
to you
A strange addiction yet
what isn't
and why wouldn't 
strange be the case with you
when all else is spastic stories
and oddities,
another lost soul flying into the night, looking
for a reason 
Yet falling short time and time 
again, never finding
Another gypsy heart
as free and so as lost 

Until 
Now?