suicide

peter pan

poetry

you’re not even the shadow
of peter pan
said the old man
as time stood still
in the place where you
wake up and are not sure
if you’re still asleep
and he lifts you
a bloated codfish, you
off the ground with just
the one hand, that
of an old pirate
and the other a hook
while you look around
frantically and feeling helpless and lost because no one
knows you here, anymore

are you
peter pan?
or are you
peter panning?

last night you remember
leaning on the balcony
drunk on whisky
or nostalgia
your childhood dreams crushing
under the weight of you
a bloated codfish, you
so maybe you jumped
or maybe you fell
or maybe you flew
off the balcony
t’ward
the second star to the right
until morning
maybe you woke up a changed
man whom saved his children and
the whole neverland from
the scourge of the adults
the pirates
the hook

are you
peter pan?
or are you
peter panning?

but you fell
and didn’t get up
another apparent suicide
round christmas time

unnoticed

poetry

drowning is the loneliest as
even sound can’t get to you

water floods your body

thoughts flood your mind

thoughts of your friend’s faces
rapt in moments of sheer ecstasy

but not saving you
like the particles moving
a r o u n d your outstretched arms

and when you first go down
you know
and your heart
it knows

and it matches the bpm of
all of the saddest songs

a slow shuffle for the
last dance

you’re a wallflower at
this slow dance
but the song never resolves
and you’re last thoughts
are cliche

like that song candle in
the wind, or whatever

you feel like one of those
candles, and you feel the
flicker and understand it
like you couldn’t before

when the understanding comes…
well
you know what happens then,
even now you do

like when you had nothing to
do so you just fell asleep.

snakes with certificates, snakes with names

poetry

everywhere i look i see snakes
and i just
can’t
stop
talking
about it

how could one, when all one
has to see is snakes? snakes
by the dozens, hissing and
slithering in all different
colors and sizes.

i try and kill them, these

horrid

snakes

but

there are just too many,
and they wont even kill me,
they just hiss

and slither

and i sit in a big wide green
beautiful field with all of
the beauty of space covered
in fucking snakes and cry.

hang in there good buddy

poetry

the sky was turned a slightly darker
shade of gray as you jumped from
your bike to the railing overlooking
the pond and dance back and forth
yelling fond cries of joy though i

for the first time

feared for your life that you yourself
might take it right before my eyes
that night

a fear i’ve never felt with anyone and i looked
you in the eye and told you i was scared for you
but now you’ve gone and left the only friends
you possessed and now i fear again
your cry

“DO WE HAVE A PROBLEM”

will fall on deaf ears and people will think

maybe you dont.