pounding and pounding and pounding and

spiraling

down down down down down

so deep

so deep

so godsdamn deep you'll never find me

never see the light of day

of day

of day

of night

this is night

night

eternal night

darkness swallows me up

swallows

swallow the pills

swallows soaring in the sky

sky high

high as i can go

i can go far away

go far away

leave me alone

alone with my thoughts

my thoughts tear me apart

torn apart by your words

your words carve into my skin

carve cuts into my skin

the cuts sting

my head pounds

pou ndin g and pou ndin g and pou nding and

spirali ng

d own d own d own d own d own

so de ep

so d eep

so gods damn dee p yo u'll nev er fin d m e

nev er s ee th e lig ht of d ay

o f da y

o f d ay

of ni ght

th is is nig ht

nig ht

ete rnal n ight

darkn ess swal lows m e up

swallo ws

swallo w th e pi lls

swall ows soar ing i n the s ky

sk y hi gh

hi gh as i ca n go

i ca n go fa r a way

go f ar aw ay

lea ve me alo ne

alo ne w ith my tho ughts

my th oughts tea r m e ap art

tor n apa rt by yo ur wo rds

yo ur word s car ve in to my s kin

carv e c uts in to m y ski n

the cut s sti ng

m y he ad pou nds

po u ndi n g and po u nd in g and pou n ding and

spir ali ng

d o w n d own d o wn d o w n d ow n

s o d e ep

s o d ee p

so go ds dam n dee p yo u' ll ne v e r fin d m e

nev e r s ee th e l i ght of d ay

o f da y

o f d a y

of ni ght

th is is n ig ht

nig h t

e te rnal n ight

da r kn es s sw al low s m e u p

sw a llo ws

s w al lo w th e pi lls

sw a ll ows so a r ing i n the s ky

sk y hi gh

hi g h as i ca n go

i ca n g o fa r a way

go f ar a w ay

lea ve me alo ne

al o ne w it h my th o ugh ts

m y th ou g ht s tea r m e ap art

tor n ap a rt by yo ur wo r ds

yo u r w or d s ca r ve in to my s k i n

ca r v e c u ts i n to m y sk i n

t h e cu t s s ti ng

m y he ad po u n ds

po u nd4i n g and po u nd in g and pou n ding and 46 4 ay

yo u r w4 or d s ca r ve in to my s k i ng and 46

spir 68

d o w n d own d o wn d o w n d ow n

s o d ee p8p6

s o d ee 3p89

23so go 3 ds dam53 n dee p 5yo u' ll ne v e r f74in d m e

5o f 4da 26t of d ay5

2so go 3 ds dam3 n 35ee p 5yo u' ll ne v e r f74in d m e

6nig h t6ht44356882f d a46 s ee th 4868 l i ght of d ay

nig h t

4

da r kn es996 s sw al low s m e u p

s o6 d ee p898of d468 ay s ee th 468 l i ght of d ay

s w al lo 834w th4686e 4pi lls

da r kn es8 s sw4 al low s m e u p p the s ky

7sk y hi g23h

6hi g h as i55235 ca n go

i ca6 n 8 o fa r a way

tor n a4p a6ca r 4v e c u ts8 i n to m y sk i ne

sw a 8ll9 ows so a r ing i n the s kyart

m y th ou g ht s tea r m e ap art

tor n a48p a6ca r 4v e c u ts8 i n to m y sk i n

6yo u r w or 8d s ca r ve i6n t4o my s k i n

ca r 4v e c u ts8 i n to m y sk i n

8t h e cu t s s t6i ng

m y he ad4 325p58o u n ds4

m y he ad4 2p58o u n ds4s4

pounding

and pounding

and pounding

and pounding

GAH OKAY SO I AM SO FLIPPETY

WHIPPETY

GIPPETY

PLEASED

BECAUSE LIFE

CAN

DO

THAT THING TO

YOU

SOMETIMES,

IT CAN HIT YOU LIKE THE SUN ON A HIGH SPEED MOTORWAY, CAN FILL YOU UP LIKE A MELTING ICE CUBE FULL OF COCA COLA OR IT CAN SHINE BRIGHT LIKE A SLIMEY PIECE OF SNOT. IT CAN BE AS VIVID AND AS COLOURFUL AS THE BLOOD RED OF A PERIOD. MESSY SMELLY LIFE, LIFE CAN BE SO GOOD TO YOU WHEN YOU'RE GOOD AND YOU'RE LOOKING FOR SOME GOOD AND WHEN THE BAD PARTS COME YOU STAY PATIENT AND KNOW THAT NOTHING EVER LASTS

NOT PAIN NOT SUFFERING NOT LIFE NOT PLEASURE

NONE OF IT WILL LAST

SO

AT TIMES.

IT CAN BE SO FLIPPETY WHIPPETY GOOD.

RADIOS BLARING OUT TOOOOONS GOOD SOUUUUUNDS AND LOVELY MOMENTS

FRENDS TELLING YOU THEY LOVE YOU AND THAT [AND I FLIPPERTY WHIPPERTY QUOTE: [7:19 pm, 09/09/2020] GH: i saw marilyn yesterday

[7:19 pm, 09/09/2020] GH: and i was saying how you are genuinely one of the sweetest, kindest, loveliest people ]

AND SOMEONE ELSE SAYS [10:14 am, 11/09/2020] CD : Woke up to Loyle Carner on the radio

[10:15 am, 11/09/2020] CD : Thought of you ]

I AM TIRED OF ANYTHING ELSE

JUST WANNA FEEL GUD

GOOD GOOD GOOD.

AND I FEEL GOOD. so. while it lasts. that's what I'll feel. messily ugly good, who wakes up with oil in her hair and bags under her eyes and talking to her flatmate who is the loveliest shiniest soul on earth and who cooks and drinks wine with her

focus on the good today. as ugly as it gets. I'm off to have a good day. I HOPE YOU DO TOO.

WoRDs JUst SpilLIng OuT OF mY MInD

SayINg WhATEveR

YoU kNOw HOw iT iS

LiKE aN oVErfLOWiNG ToILet

rANdoM StUFF

HEliCOPTers

SWamP GReEn NaiL POlisH

picKLEd eGGs

LukEWarM aNGer

tEARS oF LAugHTeR

TWisTEd FAIry taLES

STiCKers On mY BEsT FriEND's LAptOp

mY hEAD iS A mEsS

LikE A bAR oF cHOcoLATe i

LeFt iN tHE cAr

mY StREam Of ThINKinG

AnD sTUFf

iS SpINing

IT's WEird

CrAZy

sUpErCalIfrAGiLIsticEXpiALiDOCioUS

DoesN'T FiT buT i WAntEd To SAy iT

oN tHIs PApeR

wAit nO ScrEeN

i SCreAM

uNApolOgEticALlY

deripsni eb ot deen ouy

ecap fo egnahc eht

si ylgu gnitirw semitemos

yako staht dna

i wont judge

B. L. O. O. M.

like a fart cloud as it rips through your pants.

S. I. N. G.

like that kid who took one vocals class and thinks he is now John Legend.

D. A. N. C. E.

like you do to hold in your pee when the bathroom stalls are filled.

L. O. V. E.

like dirt and your white sneakers.

L. A. U. G. H.

or just snort.

-V.S.

Disgorge the phlegm,

Gagging in disgust.

Blergh.

Pick at the scab,

Left behind by a bloodsucking leech.

Skin peels.

Knead the bunion,

Smearing the ointment.

Regurgitate the worm,

I ate for breakfast.

Chunks fall.

Plop.

Shrill screaming.

Cataclysm.

Crash.

Grotesque tongues.

Visceral fat.

@wabisabi

She had that weird look all the time.

It was like her nose was squished to her face

My god she looked like a pig

But I didn't care

I loved her

She always had the most disturbing laugh

As if she was having a half seizure

It was more...choking than laughing

But I didn't care

I loved her

Something else about her...

She ran so awkwardly

Like some kind of duck

Except...the duck is disfigured

It always creeps me out

But I didn't care

I loved her

I'm not different then her

Ugly love

I only see her Beauty

Forget her looks

Forget her personality

Forget her past

I love her

And I don't care what she is like

eat a few cheese puffs

snap crackers in half before devouring-

handfuls of last nights dinner

nuts and trail mix

a scoop of granola and

a bite of luna bar-

frantic scoops of ice cream

apples with tabasco sauce

spoons of nutella

half a pan of coffee cake

dried mangos

veggie straws

repeat until

your throat burns

your stomach hurts

and the guilt makes the world spin.

There’s that part of me - the same part that’s in you, I’m sure - that resides in the mind’s basement, hidden from most, but always there. It’s the part that soils my good intentions like a drop of ink in a glass of water. It swirls and dances for a moment, separate from the water, distinguishable in its intrusion. But gradually the water is muddied with the ink’s hue and soon enough I can’t remember when the two were asunder.

Was the water ever clear?

Were my intentions ever really good?

“Good intentions?” The basement dweller, that shadowy part of me, would scoff. “Everything you’ve ever done was for you.” Drop. “You are not a good person, Gnu, you just want people to think so.” Drop. Drop. “You’re ugly, my dear friend. We all are. You’re just better at disguising it than most of these monsters.” And so his case would often go.

That’s all it takes to obscure the clarity.

No matter what I do, no matter how saintly or selfless, the voice whispers a similar mantra:

I volunteered for Red Cross. “So you can tell others how kind you are.” I fought the wildfires out West. “So you could post photos of you being a hero.” I worked with disabled children. “Well, isn’t that a great line to drop when you’re chatting up those women you discard so quickly. You’re pathetic, Gnu.”

As I’ve aged, I’ve listened more to the basement monster.

As children, we fear the scary thing beneath the house. We pull the covers up high, run without looking back, place our hands over our eyes, anything to remain ignorant from the fact that the monster is right there with us.

But after a while, we grow tired of running and hiding.

At least I did.

And so I stopped.

I listened.

The more I listened, the more I began to consider that maybe that voice isn’t some foreign evil; some drop of ink added to the clear water of my being.

Maybe I had it wrong this whole time.

Maybe the basement voice is the water.

Maybe I am the monster.

The more I dwell on this the more tenable it seems. Society has taught me - as it did you and as it will our children - that such ugliness must be smothered.

Is that what I have done? A house of cards built over a shallow grave of myself? My true self?

Recently, I find myself siding with this summary over and over. I feel the house wobble, clawed hands reaching up out of the grave.

These days, the voice I’ve often thought of as the real me seems to speak with a hand over its mouth, desperation laid on thick with every muffled objection.

I just can’t decide whether they’re my objections or those of a time that came before me. The protests of society.

There’s a part of me - the same part that’s in you - that holds my hand and tells me I’m good. We meet less and less these days, my trust waned, and the warmth this part once brought has been replaced with a store bought warmth that burns as it goes down and leaves me wretched in the morning.

Still, the time that passes between that initial burn and the spinning moment I wake seems to hold the only splinters of happiness I get.

Sober, I’m lost.

Intoxicated...Well, this doesn’t change. But for a moment, I forget. Forget that I might be ugly.

Forget that I might be forged by others.

Forget that the person I’ve come to know might not be who I am at all.

And the more I forget, the more I feel myself slipping between the shadows and the spotlight. Slipping between the cracks. Slipping away.

This is the baddest poem of them all

I write this for the

the mother skunk that farts on her skunkling children in public and embarrasses them in front of their crusheshow it must burn in their eyeslike lava, and how the mother must hate farting on her children because they stink afterward 

ode to that mother skunk who loves her children and but accidently lets on rip on top of them, and watches them almost suffocatelike little animals that are running out of little animal breath. Ode to that mother skunk.

*if you laughed then it deserves a liike