laughing through walls

the walls
were skinnier
than i thought.

on the other side,
all i could hear
was your laughter.

you were with
the neighbors,

i was laid
on my side,
with my black hoodie
protecting my head,
in our apartment,
listening
to your happiness
eating through
the cinder block
wall.

i wasn't wondering
how
you could be laughing.

i was just trying
to remember
what we were fighting
about.

how explosives are made

you craddle
this grenade
within the heat
of your hands
like it's some jesus.

you guard
this grenade
with every ounce
of
fight you have
in you,
like it's your only
religion

but every once in awhile
you meet someone,
and the conversation
is good.
you are distracted
by their shine,
and all you want to do
is hover
in their shimmer.

nothing else exists.

but it's then,
when you forget
about that grenade
resting in your hand.

and you notice the pin,
dangling,
on the other person's
finger.

monolith

i think
if we close our eyes
really, really tight,
tight enough
not to let any light
in,

we can pretend
that we were
never there.

maybe
we could imagine
that there was never
any bed
where we played with dreams
until we molded them
into ours.

maybe those cities
and towns
that we captured
had no flag, and
and we were left
with the make believe.

but it's then,
at that moment
where
my eyelids
begin choking my eyes,
and everything inside
my brain
hurts.

it's then,
when i open my eyes,
and all that i can see
is everything i remember.

metamorphosis

it's that inbetween
stage, where
the amount of cigarettes
consumed,
just seems absurd.

where
the time wasted
on the internet,
on those three sites,
the ones where you just
click
back and forth
like ping pong,
and nothing happens.

when you realize you've thrown away
another night
down
life's neck.

the thoughts
are still there,
plotting to eat
what little sanity
you have left,
though they have just
a little less hunger
these days.

and
you notice
the fog
begin to lift
its heavy breath,

enough so, that
right in front of you,
is a real live mountain,
presented
for you to climb.

and your ready,
little by little,
inbetween the nightmares
and vodka,

you resume charting
a map up that mountain.

and all that your going to leave
behind
is the shell
of your ghost.

we are the targets

we are all murderers,
assassins,
afraid of getting caught.

we kill people everyday,
with words,
with actions,
with excuses,
with nothing but an emotion
wrapped
in a thought.

we are breed to react
to what's right there
in front of our faces,
squishing hearts and
dripping toxins on minds
in the process.

we are consistant like this,
and it never matters how much
we love
this person or that person

we put on our clothes
in the morning,
one head and
one limb at a time,
just like any assassin.

and we never think
about how many stitches
our targets will need
as we walk away.

the deepest cracks

the night
is the worst.

that's when all the shadows
come out of hiding.

and your alone,
states away
from everyone.

you might as well be
in the remotest cabin
in siberia.

you don't even remember
being this alone,

and with the nearest bar
being ten miles away,
well,
with this state's drinking
laws,
it's just easier
to drink alone.

i have a smoke outside,
and all i can hear are
the deafening sounds
of crickets
and traffic
that is too far away
to see.

i miss the sounds
of a 9 year old laughing,
of nothing but clutter
and chaos
and burnt food
on the stove,
in a tiny two bedroom
apartment.

i miss my family.

and there is nothing but
pictures inside
this camera of all of this,
and i just don't know how
to erase any of it.

on nights like these,
this is when
you notice how
the cracking begins
in your chest,
and swims up
to the highest point
on your brain,
better than any shark.

and then
you realize
where your own hell
lies.

the funny thing about ghosts

these ghosts
always reminding you
of scabs,
always,
and you know they're
ghosts.

they married you,
either
when you were passed
out
drunk,
on that one park
bench,
somewhere
in chicago. that,
or they placed
a silly little ring
on your finger,
as you were distracted,
as your nose
was being rubbed
in shit, by either
your mother
or your father.

there is no chance
for divorce
or seperation.

this wring
is actually an appendage,
around your neck,
cutting off
life to your brain.

they will follow you, even
when you run away
towards a safety.

it might take one month.
it might take 2 years.

they will find you.

and once they find
you,
the only thing you
can do
is set
an extra plate
for dinner.