Grain Publishing An imprint of Grain Press

The Nameless and Other Humanities Copyright © By Chanse Gierbolini

Cover Design by Sarah AufieroCover Photograph by Chanse Gierbolini

First Edition: June 2016

Our books may be shared for promotional, educational and private use. Contact Grain Publishing at grainpressandpublishing@gmail.com

Chansegierbolini@yahoo.com Facebook.com/chansephotography

For those who fight, every day, knowing they will win, no matter the cost.

Preface:

Over the last decade, I have found that the only constant(and mostly)free outlet for any of my woes or needs for expression were in writing. Whether it was lyrics, poems, random scribbling or full stories, I was able to turn away from the turmoil of the human condition in text.

I never needed to follow a format, stress what or how I was doing it to even the smallest standards besides being legible(A problem you won't find here).

Passed that, to explain my reason for the following stories and writings would defeat the purpose of its existence. It is me, for certain and some of my most intimateand dark secrets lay within these pages. At the same time I want, and hope that you, thereader find something you never thought you would. Whatever you do with what you find is something I leave entirely up to you. No guidelines, no warnings, no explanations; A choose Your Own Adventure ofsorts.

Just a bit more...well...

enjoy.

Chanse Gierbolini June 2016

hu·man·i·ty/(h)yoo oˈmanədē/noun

1.the human race; human beings collectively.

2.humaneness; benevolence.

The Nameless

Last night, a thought just ran by my head like someone in a hurry, like someone stepping on a bus but wanting to tell me something before the bus drove off, as if they said "You need a change of environment.".I'm getting lost in being sick, in being alone, and sick of being sick.I can't take this anymoreI can take being alone, but not this sick.I can take nowhere to put my love butcreativity, but not this sick.I can't be this sick.I can't be this sick with these many mistakes to fight off in being sick.I am falling very very fast.Into more mistakes, into more regrets.

Is it the vein? Tunnels and traffic, liquid carrying life, siphoning off

into more tunnels, corridors, bridgesand banks,playing Telephone, sometimes wrong, sometimes right, always wrong. Is someone spilling their gourd?Are the workers spilling their gourds? Nothing feels natural, nothing feels forced, everything feels like a panic, a rushto get there, to arrive safely and sound, knowing, absolutely positivelyknowing you're going to arrive brokenand late.I can't tell them to stop, they're fucking neurons, GABA receptors, electrical impulses, manic little children withenough sanity to realize they don't have much left, but into the walls they run, to the loudest sound they listen,the funniestthing they laugh, the prettiest girl they want, the sweetest food they'll eat. What's that mean for me? Well, they are me.So you can see why I shake, why I laugh louder than you do, why I smileharder than and more than you possibly ever can,

why my heart is getting just as cumbersome as this gray mass in my head, because of a passion born from suffering,

because there has never been solace in the brain of a Nameless. We are Nameless because a name is for someone who can be forgotten.and trust me, after this, I wish you could forget me, I really do, but sorry, love; ya can't, You wont, and even if you knewmy name, you wouldn't forget that, either. A thousand pardons, truly.

There are no lines to follow, just a constant stream of storms, not like blankets, but like standing in an arena made into a makeshift battlefield,stray shots striking you simply because of their nature, they are stray. In a battle that big, you're bound to be hit at least once, standing their likea fucking idiot. But what if you can't move. what if the arena is actually a giant, multi-dimensional, hyper-kinetic death machine built just for this, and everytime you move, it moves with you? Hell, what if it moves for you? Then you get ripped to shreds by the bullets, then you turn in a brilliantly dark red messof abysmal holes and shattered organs, the air constantly dancing

with the spray of your blood, an aerosol-like mist where the air lookslike a child got a hold ofred spray paint and mistook it for perfume. Everywhere. It's everywhere like you. Or are you everywhere like it? Don't look for an answer, becauseyou either alreadyhave one or are never going to find one. Both are either equally compelling or potentially mind-shattering in their anxiety.

I need a mask. To hide my face or to help me breathe? They sell the same kind in the same store, isn't that odd? And ironically enough,the kind of folk that need to hide all of their face, or try to, or drink or snort or swallow enough to hide it from themselves, shop here.They use them. I'm done with that andI still need the mask. That fucking smokey little demon...left eggs in mycerebellum.I can feel them growing fat from sucking away at my orientation. As isin spatial, not otherwise. That sounded so insecure.Ain't that cute. No, that's not a question, fucker. Alright, I'll admitthey slipped in by my say so, let them come in, but

I sure as fuck didn't ask them to sitdown and stay the year. It was more like "Hey, you can stay here a few days if you need to."and they ended up becoming a roommate. Like those same neurons fell in love with their new room mate. Then were stabbed in thethroat by their new roommate. The mask makes breathing harder, but smoother. Smokes travels up. Doesn't matter what you sayor what scientific drive there is behind it; in this room, in this 15x12 three-floor space the smoke travels up, and the vicesof the Shidiots below me, and their laziness and lust, the things they use to kill distress, comes to me, and kills me. Itmakes these demons in the bottom of my brain dance like rave is going on.The worst kind of rave, where there'sbarely anygoers to dance, and just a bunch of people standing around trying to sell, fuck or steal something. That'sthe party going onright now. I wonder if those moments when I'm calm....er....if the DJ has left, the patrons asked to leave, thecops raidedand ended it, or if the DJ is settingup for another set, the patrons all

at the pisser, and if this place is awarehouse in themiddle of Shitsville. I don't want the answer, I just want the party to end.

She pulled the pin.In this swarm of Benzodiazepines, you'd fucking think that there'd be some advantage to forgetting everything, no?No. You stop them, you start them, you stop them, you start them, you seize, you start them and stop them slowly, butyou don't ever really stop. Hiatus from those Easter eggs, footballs, and sticks. Opaque colors, ya know? Irememberedthe name, I remembered the way she looked at it; the way it was drawn, like the words had everything she ever lostlocked away in them; a dumb, teenage heart that grew arms and reached intoher adulthood like some terribly drawn undeadwho's terribly drawn ways didn't do adamn thing to its strength and gripped her dumb ass like it did. Terrible. I foundcomfort in that night, she isn't a bad person, but that stupidity....it burns like a bitch. That stupidity is

it's ownSTD in the end, I know because the bitch gave it to me. I still came, though. And hard. This is why I lose,every time,because I don't know if there could be more than one monster, and if their can be, are we both? Don't giveme that "everyone has a monster in them" shit. Nope, one story, one monster. So, that must mean there are two stories if we bothare then monster. Fuck it, it's me. Surprise. No it isn't. Here we go, I lose. See now? I don't.

These monsters, these demons, the words in that book she showed me, that drawing, they're all the same color, they're alltalking to me. Like the most understanding, warming parent in the world...that you just met. Is that odd?

Oh, would ya look at that, another demon. Oh, LOOK AT THAT, IT'S THE SAME ONE! Me and it share the same, plain flesh. Itdoesn't just live in my brain anymore; it took a studio apartment and turned it into a Peruvian drug lord's complex.

I belong to it and it belongs to me. What kind of power will I find there?I know it must feel like some extra-terrestrialtyrant sent here from some uber=war bred race and easily eliminated the race it found. Fuck that, it doesn't think that.Someone who fought it this hard and this long would make it realize it was met with sheer, stunning, face smashing,titanium-alloy bricked wall, that putit right on its ass. That is, at least, before it got up and got a choke hold with onearm, leaving it's other arm free to stuff year's worth of doubts, trepidation, fault, distrust, shame, and...lets face it,the only thing I haven't gotten back from it is relationships. Fuck them, I'll say this with as much gusto and sanity as I can...I don't need 'em. Not of the "Luver's Kaaand" anyway. Fuck that. Hmm, you notice this demon is purple,too?

"Do you look at us and understand? Wequestion so we may comfort you, because you know you need a question to give an answer, and youare waiting to give one, to anything.

Perhaps it will mean an answer for you? Tell us, Do you understand?"

N; No, I don't understand. It's warm here. It's so dark and you all look so...grand standing that way, in those ro.."

"Do not. Do not mention the things you see here for if you remember themoutside of this place, you will fall into madness."

N:"So what has all of this been? Thisstuff outside of "Here." That isn't madness? Hahahaha....if that ain't..."

"You can't know madness. If you are mad, you do not know."

N:"So, am I?"

"You just said you were."

I was always a second thought, I think. At one point or another, we'reall second thoughts to someone. Not just thirds orfourth thoughts; those to, but a second. It's a girl, let's face it, it's a fucking girl we're talking about here. This can applyto more than just a relationship, but

to a girl, a guy, a guy, a girl, doesn't matter; you are more than likely goingto be someone's second thought at some point. How can I explain it? Youstill love someone else, they're in your head,all the time, and you catch yourself and realize how ridiculous it might be getting, or IS getting, that you're stillthinking about them.."Babe, pass me that, please.". Oh, you're dating a person other than this one, or at leastthey think you're dating them. Nope, you're keeping warm with a blanket. That's all, but oh, don't let them know this,keep them around, they're a great asset. You might need some genitals to accompany your own when your heartcruncher isn'taround ..you know...crunching your heart. Someone to cry to because it'ssomething that will absorb those shitty little tears, I said shitty, because you're fucking miserable to do something like that. This person thinks they'reworth something to you, and you think they are, too. They aren't. You're the same fucking color as that demon. I swear to God.

I fell for the first time today. I never thought it'd get that bad. I knew it'd be in the shower, if I everdid fall, but Inever thought I would. That was the one secure, sliver of "Nah man, nothing is that wrong." that I had. But now, I don't haveit. I fell, bruised my ass on the side of the tub, and just sat there in amazement. It finally happened, I finallylost the only thing that was keeping me from being eaten by the dark completely. Now, I wait. It hasn't arrived yet.I'm just in shock. I think it's a scavenger; when I'm dead, it'll come,but it's trying to speed up the process. Doesthat make sense?

"Something came in the mail for you today."

N:"Was it a yellow envelope or a package?" "What's the difference?" N:"Where is it?"

"Here." N:The fuck is this? Looks like some type of rat bones. The sender doesn't exist." "How do you know that?" N:"I don't know exactly, but something tells me when I check for this address, it won't be real. Or maybe it'll be a place that did exist, but doesn't anymore."

"You need to go the fuck to sleep or something, man. When was thelast time you ate?"

N:"When was the last time you cooked for the both of us?"

"You're fuckin' around, right?" N:"Yeah man, I'm just tired."

For about an hour, around 4am, everything is a shade of blue, if I skip on the benzos and have a bad dream, even if I don't remember the dream, I'll remember thecolor blue, and I when I wake up those times, the world is almost violet, like something was getting closer and closer to me or my existence. Everything is saturated with that color, like my

substance itself is being pigmented by a heavy oil-based paint churned from the human world and a world of dread and honestly...that same dark brought a feeling of, closure? But of course, the closure escapes. That would be too short of astory.

Now, it's as if they're trying to topple over a car during a riot. Whatis it with these little fuckers? Everything is inplace but it's as if they're all leaning on the lower back of my head,trying to tip me over into an abyss.

I was walking down the side of a dome-shaped cathedral. It lead off into a tunnel just as large. Everywhere were whatlooked like abortions. The walls themselves were small handsand legs, sticking out from here and there. A sea of red, pink and white;The small pieces of wall I could make out betweenthe abortions were ivory. Heads and faces in positions and expressions that were without purposeor intent. There was a faint light coming from somewhere behind me on the left,

enough to illuminate the purgatory sitting soundly in this place. There was no death or life here, justthe choices of another world setting into place. Was I being suspendedby some type of rappelling device, orwas I clinging on the wall like I wasdescending a slippery hill of rock? Or was I in the wall?There were no cries, no tears, barelyanything. I could hear a hymn being chanted or played on a very hollow device. It was grand and empty at the same time. It was as if the sound wasn't born with the room, but for it. It's as if it were writtenby the events of these abortions themselves, a melody so neutral that if your spirit had a spine, it would tingle that.I felt no sense of humanity or mind here. No thought. Just being. Is thiswhere they all go? That tunnel, I bet..I can'tthink. That hymn....I'm falling asleep.

I couldn't tell what time of day it was, because it was sometime during the daylight savings switch, and it was really cloudyoutside, so the day had this sickly bright, almost nauseating white glow

to it. I didn't check my phone or theclock for thetime because I knew it didn't matter.I wasn't going to work, I had no one to turn over and check for, I was just lockedin this state of non direction, and it's all I thought about when I woke up. If I didn't feel it when I woke up, my demonmade me feel it. MY demon, not the blue one. I swear if it weren't for that, I'm pretty sure, as I've read on websites andin articles meant for med students and doctors; medical journals that seemed like the prerequisite to reading themwas at least 20 years as a neurologist, that I'd be able to "learn" direction again. My brain would teach itself to orientback to the world. I always ran to the internet, like anyone ever does, for anything. You would, or wouldn't(dependingon who you are reading this) be surprised of how the internet serves as a lifeblood for many. I don't justmeansocialization, paying bills, or dating, but the ways of life. Entire lives are changed, profits made, stars born, and

death and destruction memorialized eternally, videos spreading abroad ofHell on Earth. It's when I live in those momentsthat I start to think about the Blue demon. Or is it demons? I can't speakof them, and I damn sure can't control thinkingof them. I wonder what they have in store for me, I want to visit that place again.

Here we are again, in the dark. Beautiful dark. I've felt enough anguish to appreciate nothingness by this point. This place of Null, nothing. It is comfortingand something tells me death is like this. The closest thing I can relate to it is the way one feels on an SSRI(an Anti-depressant, usually) that "actually works."You don't feel depressed anymore, butyou don't exactly feel anything. People use the term "Zombie", but it isn't that, either. This place actually has to it,for me at least. And that leads me toanother question, one of a trillion that have shown up inside and out of sleep for...who knows...four months, a year; am Ithe only person coming here? Why is

it so easy to ask myself questions here but once I have stepped outside of this realm, void, whatever term ismore comforting for you,that my mind doesn't even bother to fathom it?

"You're speaking to who?"

N:" No one."

"So why are you speaking?"

N:" I don't know, I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize, comfort comes from many places, that one was not bothering anyone."

N:"Did you know I wanted to...yes, ofcourse you did. You knew I wanted to be here again."

"Yes, we did. It is here that you feel "whole and "one", correct?"

N: "Yes, I do. Is it bad that I'm afraid this place will become like the outside world?

"You mean, where you're "fragmented"?

N: "yeah, like that."

N: This place is all that is NOT that. This place is the opposite of all things for which it's denizen is.You, are ina horrific state, for all that is human in your mind and being is in almost complete disarray. You are everywhere andsometimes, even nowhere. You are strewn about the landscape of realitylike a droplet of water in a storm. So here, you arecollected, almost entirely at peace, because outside, as I've said, you are nearly broken. Now, for a person who is at solacewith the world around them, their senses and being interacting with it naturally and flawlessly, would find this place toquickly become a Hell.

N:"So, that's why this place feels...almost home like?

Yes, you said it right, "almost."

N: "I'm only afraid of when this place feels completely like home."

I may not know who I am anymore, but after this, everyone else will.

It's getting warmer and the buzzing feeling of withdrawal is starting to sing. It is the worst.fucking.song.ever.

This weather usually reminds me of unbearable drunkenness where you're oblivious to the facts of the ethanol you're pounding into you and it's forms, and how there are multiple ones. A beer to you is booze and a shot of Jameson isbooze to you.You mix these and as the buzz comes on and the flair of blurriness arrives and more shots and more sips of beer and vodkaand cocktails and "hey dude do this shot with me!" "Nah man, come on, drink more, look look, I got you on this one." all becomesone lustful whirlpool of "Hey, it's free, someone cares about me enough to want me in their company, regardless of them beingfaceless" and then it hits you like ahundred bird carcasses were just banished to your gut. You stumble out, the world is aimeddownward in a single direction, angled or not, your tab is paid because you know for fuck sure that

the last thing you wantisn't to leave your debit card, but you don't want to be remembered, regardless of the frequency in which you...frequent this placeever want to be considered a piece ofshit who got off without paying. Darkis so dark that it's blind and light is so darkthat looking at it makes you feel like you just took more shots. That light, is the bathroom. The light flying by in the cab,nauseous, not nauseous, nauseous, cold breeze, catch it, less nauseous,pay your driver, tip him ten bucks for a 15 buckride, get inside. Oh yeah, that bathroom. No stairs, no hallway, no bathroom now, toilet and fluorescent light. Sweet release.

Fuck those birds, get them out of me, get all of this rancid poison out; why the FUCK would anyone drink this shit.Not questions, routine. You always forget, you always remember.

Gulp a glass of water with everydrink. It won't make you think you'reany less crazy, but you won't puke as

much.

Now I'm not sure if this is a hobby or not. Do I do this and just about everything I swallow is a placebo? Slowly, everythingis starting to get me to that same place. Where things were a blur before, it was only as if I was passing my way upwards,through the clouds of a nuclear winter, so I'm sure that everything tweaking my reality and mind just seemedas one big wave of dust and debris from the pills and drinks and self doubt and worry. I passed those clouds of NuclearWinter and things are certainly clearer; it's night. Shit is still bad and now, passedthe droll and warmth in my stomach all of my bottles provided, they justkeep me somewhat sane. No more highs,no more lows,

just a flat effect that's like being held down on a gurney made of velvet, giving you comfort before theinevitable, terrible,end or beginning; whichever you're more afraid of, and you're laying there watching this clear night sky.

It's bad,

the situations are clear, and then you fall back down, into the clouds of the winter again, and like magic, the gurney strapsloosen and you float softly, but quickly to the ground and you're a blurred mess again. Now do I take that night as hope,or as a sign to just give in and return to that place? Or was that night the place?

Am I supposed to see them again?

The End

Other Humanities

Bleeding to Death

Sacrifice seems to revolve around everything latelymore so than ever.

To give up your sword when you have no shield sounds like suicide, but then you get to fight with your hands.

They say that your sword should be an extension of your body, and I feel like I just lost my fucking arm and I'mbleeding to death.

Unconvinced

"If you're trying to send me light, it won't get to meYou can keep trying, though, I'm on my last leg, mentallyAnd I've come quite a long way, that thesky ended a while ago,Now there's nothing left to fight, I am my only foe."

Tilt

The grain of a cheap TV dinner table. Compressed wood. Certainly not as cold as the air around me but the matching cold, to my hands. I keep drooping down as if to pray to the near blinding 80's movie with headache inducing synth rock.

Having a headache already is only adding blood to the pile of leeches, sucking away at any sense ofa nervous system i have. Right now, it is completely dedicated to the 5 different prescription drugs keeping me centered and suffering. If I tilt over, I'll stay there. If I get up, I'll hurt someone. If I don't...well...I never haven't. Someone always gets hurt.

Sense “Judgment will pass, and I won't take notice

the anxiety lasts, the doctors they toldus

he will grow to hate all, and the solacethat humans find

his mind

a graveyard, filled with disaster that will only be relieved by pills

medication, without hesitation,the only way

I hate all that brings you calmin particular, that sickly sour plant you call funThe envy built from disease, it was given at birth

your last slice of your favorite

vice

urgently manic to judge you at last

ruthlessly I'll show you black and white

this world only makes sense if I'm sick”

Like A Dizzy Spell

“Those nights where we fell asleep together, so slowly as to cherish every second until we knew we'd have to wake up,gone, like a dizzy spellthe rides through the summer wind that brought us to the only place we felt right, the rumble of your front right tire,all a reminder that the doubts made sense, something had to stop us from being damn near perfectgone, like a dizzy spellall the laughs we had, the outlandishness and lack of moderation inour humor, everything we did to run fromour family wholoved us all dearly but knew we laughed too hard sometimesgone, like a dizzy spell the warmth of exploration and adoration of the city that seemed like a state that felt like a world outside of our world,

the sheer thrill of being alive that we didn't even realize was occurring,gone, like a dizzy spell,

without these things, I'm gone, like a dizzy spell.

The Terror

"Certain people test their own strength by seeing how long they can take on their biggest, most fear-inducing challenges alone.You see how far your anger, rage, stubbornness, will drive you.You take your family, friends, loved ones and cast them aside from view either to prove something to yourself, or someone in particular. You find new ways to mold the loneliness into a weapon,a shield, a

way of living;start to get used to it, start to like it. Then just like that, you come across it. The fight you can't win alone.

And that's when, as tenaciously you pulled yourself in to it, you try to claw your way out of the dark, blindedby confusion, drowning in panic and alone, as you have been, but this time, its with terror.

and that same weapon you built out ofloneliness, has turned on you. You'refucked.

The Sea Of Trees

'It is here, This realm of gray that has held my dreams

A ponder upon histrionic hopes, perhaps those trees will fix my seamscalls of phantom birds, along a road of empty leaves

For the forest bares solace in anguish, for the ones who plunge findhollow reprieve

for rope that binds, 'tis like silk to my flesh in this brightest dark bluff of release, end the teasing in my chest

nurse me forward

Darkland

'windows black, sky is null, I am my best company

tilted roads and crooked signs, roofs all iced, vein lines, the trees

jacket grabbed, this dimension of blight, head first into the night

alleys once calling slander, nowchanting my name

scatters from the darkest reaches of these streets

where facing shadows is simply looking up, revelation at your feet

no responses, my claim to fame, act on impulse, lack of shame

this armor keeps me together, noforesight, shitty weather

blind solitude guided, a hopeless trigger, through heavy rain

yet silent in it's lesson, I know my figure, this is my terraina land of truth where I'm no longer the rambler, these silhouettes are real, I'm the doppelgangerTools of defeat and disgust, nowbreaking through all the rustthe sloth and hog now burned as a torch, it lights the way

gnarling teeth were once a grin, presence ruffles in the leaveseyes like ire, pitch as the

bottom of the deepest seaI saw claws once slashing about,for my nerves, disheveledthose same creatures, with hearts of black, my in my path they revel”

Ulcers

An apartment smelled like deathhe wondered why he bledand why we both had troublegetting out of bed

skin disease was no mysterywhen you've just given upand I'm sorry that is thatthe same way I blame meds for being so fucking fat

just a, damn, excuse

behind on rent was basicwe still laughed through the coldramen and pernil, racist jokes never gotold

chicken spot and fake craft beerslate night random movies from a bottomless collectionI stumbled fucked on Valium through the selection

stepping on bottle caps, I realized I

was donegrowing out of being useless, to anyone but youfriends were here for Adderall, benzos and cheap brewsyou'd come in for a discount and I'd give you bad news”

Segmented

I don't know how I could explain toher what she means to me. I could start by saying she is a part ofme, this much she knows.But what does that carry? She's a part of my breath, my fears, my strength, my sickness

There is a bridge, segmented in ways that are in and out of dimensions, fragmented in a way that seems without purpose and with universalcalculated precision, all at once. That bridge is what is keepingme from her, and from anything else I love. I can cross it, for sure. I already have begun but this bridge,it has no direction. How many times can I travel between the linings of existence itself before I lose it all?My sanity, that is not what I mean; I have only been able to tread this far because I've learned to let some of it go.

I mean losing understanding. I mean losing me. and as I said, she is a part of me.

I'll start with a map.

Cold Frame

The breeze at any point of the year keeps me company, in the corner of this bed, hot face, buzzinghead The cold of the metal of the head frame Keeps me focused, do I over analyze, do i know this? I have kisses to give, little pecks of allure I have an arm to lay over you,but I'm never to sure Like water to hot oil i am singed, for breaking from my side of the mattress Its so unfamiliar but I've been blind to anxiety, so who knows if I've ever had this? To compare andcontrast is it you or I? Do I need tofeel your skin or do i need to fucking die? I'm at odds with what isnormal, what is right and what is true The only store with heat on a closed avenue Shut off or break in? Give up or call it a win? See you laugh as a content projection Or feelyour lashing as loving rejection? Am

I wrong for showing affection? Are you wrong for wanting to sleep? Theseare the answers i hear as breathe, sleeping within you, eternal you keep.

Blue Haired Girl

Absurdity, what a word to me, lady, just assume they birds to me,but word to B, a currency, I consider love and hate just destruction to be.Blue haired beauty, hate me so, all the drugs that separate us, keep them though

a departmentalized policy,

has lead me on an odyssey, you're far away, but I'll complete this, truth to seetwo hard meetings, nothing well, residential in my mind, body's like a fucking bellslightest noise, keep it blank, our shot at something, it just sankturned to sharply, you oblige, keep me at a distance, you're insidethinking tartly, of this guy, it ain't me, we have the same eyes

across the river, you still see, pulled apart, a piece of meatMy hair growing, abandoned grooming, with my cousin, I am rooming,on my own now, shit's too well, others uppers, keeps me well,money's stupid, laughter ain't, we could walk that fucking city, plastic as shit but we'll be quaintleave, you throne, being from Queens, splitting sideways, from the seams, scenes we manifestin our eyes, we hold no lies, but in our comparison we manifest

a crest to put on someone's head, but who the fuck is worth it it?

I have dreams, like a cell to save a world, I wish Blue Haired girl was the one to birth it.”

Hero Stark Murder

What comes first

vanity and all its remedies

anything to keep the lonely monster fromhugging theethe budding weed, subtly, opiates and other feesback in full swing like the gloom of the cherry treesthe level headiness is a niche disease,

an appease, seized, incredible, every relationship now certified edible, how commendable

Fake less, faithless,no false races, space less, just a caliber below what's racist,another qualm coming, a sign of truth, sends the first man running

and the last name basis is deadall above past that is seen with red,

soon, ignorance will bloom, vanity will coalesce,we'll really see you at your best, not a threatnot a single weapon in your arsenal,blood-toothed grin that fits in at a carnival

yet inhabitable , enough praise in your crew, here's the karma, kid, its you

solitude will do that type of shit, the world's upside down but yet you want to sitroughed up by stigma's expectation, shrouded by a shit storm of doubts and abatementthe psuedo art shit in trying to make a statement,its buying a new house, but late on car payments

try to find stance and a place to recon,the flavor of the year will get darker and re spawn

keep on and and read on, that thud at your door is the sound of love gone, foreons

alone and about, they're here or abroad,now a sinner is do friends, but a Joe isdo fraud

cast a lot of refuse, out to sea, just the flotsam for your fans and peasants to see

lost in my benzos, never higher, what exactly is it that you conspire

they're just guns for hire,Tired, fucking lit like the rest in thisfuneral pyre

as for the dying from no socializing, what's with the yelling?

we're all dead animals, of course it's compelling,

you just stand there and don't look pretty,

do what you want, the same way you hate pity

be so solemn when the hammer slams, the judgment that it brought was your hand, you scam you're irony in a cage, a glass safety latch

you're making a racket, game, set, match.

The Swell

Left behind, am I the dust, am I the future’s mystery

Is the time from oceans to land from oceans to air the same as stigma would decreeThis stone is a depression, am I an impression in the stoneI am bred of scales and dry land is my mortar home

since days of adolescence,your focus hasbaffled minea bridge you built from glass and frail twigs, built in mind for two but one ‘til it snapsthis fact buried deep in years of hope and obsession, cuddled with comfort and choked with familiaritywe’ve stretched so far, and you’ve ascended,burning hopes and motivation for fuel

that was me, and I’m wrong, for the painthat I’ve wrought, and I’ve been dead weight all along.A grail of light in your chest, held to all in the highest regard, but this citywill keep me, andthe ravens will feed me, for I can’t be the one to maraud, a path of benevolence, almost staggeringhow a jealously can be a hydra, a singlesin will wear thin anything that we’ve built

Now stare down the decade abyss, tell mewhat she says through her blackened eyesyou know, fair one, I will never find enough reason to fight, the power to vie

against the dread of distance, the tide will sweep us aboutand of course, I return again, to this sad fucking rhyme, and that same water less drought

I’ve been dead weight, heavy as Atlas' tears,dead fucking weight, a compliment to allyour fearsa jester for your free time, scaling to your attention spanbut you’re a celebrity in both our worlds, and I can no longer be a fan.

Your strength is immeasurable, you will never know it’s limitand I will not be the chains to bind

Be the sun for this world that my carnaldarkness always emphasizedsee the swell of warmth that you wouldn’t realizeshine the way the world did on it’s first dawnno inscription could bare this lucid spawn

you will bare all the light that this place needs. Be the light.

Do not feel pressure, do not breathe pressure, be the drive. Be the light.

You are,always will be,and always have been, the light.

Thanks to Ma, Jeslyn, Grandpa, Celia, Bonkster, my entire family, Sabrina, Rene, Amanda, April, Sarah, Rick and a hundred people who told me I should do this.