Imagine wanting to canon ball into a
swimming pool, but it’s as cold as the Artic
and the fear of freezing takes over.
People, faces, places, crowded rooms,
silent behind a cigarette, I’ve built
my fourth wall and I’m avoiding calls.
Introductions, handshakes, smiles,
assuming the worst always comes first.
And everything is a trap.
Limitations, an imitation, skin on skin,
I’m still not letting them in. Is this purgatory,
or eternal damnation?
Often times I feel like a ghost who goes
on vacation, yet the haunted house still
follows me everywhere I travel.
They ask, “How are you?” And for the
love of God somewhere else, all I can do
is ask the same.
Because there is always a loaded gun
hovering above me, pointing down,
and every word could trip the trigger.
Pencils, pens, razor blades, I’ve picked
my cuticles away and ripped apart
my nails with chattering teeth.
A force moves me like a tsunami
of drum sticks, barrels, the quaking and
qwuaking of mouths.
The undercurrent in my stomach swirls
a nightmarish whirlpool. They seem to
scream, “Stupid, idiot, weirdo!”
But in reality, they either care a little,
or don’t give a fuck. So I tuck myself
inside and prepare to dive.


Published by


I have currently been busy with life and I will be re-publishing older poems. New poems will come. I'm always under construction.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s