— Yield

Born into what you wanted
Shut my eyes and count to ten
Open them up again
And you’re all gone
Because you’ve all sinned
I can feel it all
Beneath my skin
Like I said its all a sin
You can feel your ribs
So you can feel your faith
Beautiful in the eyes of god
Primitive and hideous
I take it all and digest the bullet
Messages sent off to distant planets
I shut my eyes and my lips peek open
Into the shape of a lily I spit out heaven
And inhale it all, I am a young hellion
I’m the final thorn in your crown.

She looked at me and simply put
Belittled all I love
So simple were the words she spoke
I could not put them down, I stroked them over and over again
In my mind like a mad broken machine
Repeating the ghosts of yesterday like tomorrow would not come
Or who knows the truth that has not doubts
Who would change their mind anymore?
When the succulent exceptions to morality
Are gloriously rewarded
Let your razor cut my skin
Let your razor cut my skin
And mar not the perfect sand of your plains of body
you have enough scars on your heart, she said
Let me take your place, be your Jesus
That may be her difficult conclusion
her selfless mistake that hardened her path
Trampled down the second life, the underbrush
Of a path that was only padded by wise old lunatics
And martyrs of better days and stronger wills

Let my skin be the skin that bleeds
Let my skin heal your heart, the membranes stretch thin
And translucent over the bleeding vortex of your “experience”
Your wonderful “Experience”
This is your life, wish you were here
Inventing guidelines to make excuses
And hating yourself
Reinventing what you are to be loved by something inwardly ugly
Learn to hate the darkness
The darkness so much easier to embrace than the light
She looked at me and simply put
Belittled all I love
So simply surely, but I didn’t care
I took my burdens and took to the winds
Over “home” and family
past friends and “enemies”
Free as I can be for now, still breathing
Free as I can be here, I’m leaving.

Hairy legs, leather pants,
I step toward swinging doors.
I look back, seeing Cupid in the corner.
He’s shorter than I thought.
His legs dangle over the bar stool like logs.
Smoke pours out of nostrils—
a nonchalant approach,
a sudden reach for arrows.
He nails them into this dusty heart of mine.
They’re just breaking skin.
I drop my shot glass, shattering on the floor.
I clutch my heart,
pull back my hair,
equipped with man hands.

You may just have a little bit
But the outcome is always different.
Maybe just a little sip
But after each sip, you keep wanting more and more.
When someone in your family is hooked
It changes the lives of everyone in your family.
First your family hears that your relative is in jail.
It puts an image in your head
That can’t be erased.
If you’re the son or daughter of this relative,
It hits you the hardest.
It feels as if that relative has swung a bat at you
And knocked out all of the trust
That you had in that relative.
You feel as if the whole world is against you.
You feel as if you can’t talk to anyone.
You hide all of your feelings inside.
You walk around in the shadows
Carrying a burden that is too heavy.
It’s like a soda that someone shook up,
And it’s going to explode right in your face.
It can change you life.
Believe me,
I would know.
My mom’s an alcoholic.
For the past four years,
She’s been getting in and out of the slammer.
I tried to walk away from it,
But it kept coming back and haunting my dreams.
I felt ashamed and angry.
All of my friends would ask where my mom was,
And I would just say, “I don’t know.”
I could never tell where my mom was with her life.
She’s been screwing up her life, along with mine.
I’ve lost contact with my mom, for the most part,
And I could never be happier
Because she’s put me on a roller coaster of life
That I’m sick of.
No matter how many times she says that she’ll become sober, I can’t
believe her.
Believe me,
Alcohol
Can screw up your life.

Anger
bubbling up inside me
like an overflowing volcano
Oh how I want revenge
how could he do such a thing?
the evil filthy slime ball.

Poor Mr. Brown, never did anybody
any harm at all
just picked up his newspaper
every morning before school
wile my sister and I
waited for the bus.

The morning wave
and the five-minute walk
up and down the short driveway
It wasn’t long, but to him;
it must have seemed ages

How could the filthy slime ball
Robertson, Eric Robertson,
commit such a crime.
He wanted money; “needed” drugs
didn’t get it, took a
bench-press bar
to Mr. Brown’s tattered body.

OVER.
and
OVER.
and
OVER.

Mr. Brown’s panicked daughter
asking with her mouth
and pleading with her eyes
to call 911.

Cop cars, detective vehicles,
the lone ambulance
crawl the street like ants.
What happened?

Police asking questions,
verifying stories
trying to piece together the puzzle.
They’re on the case
the puzzle’s just about complete

Seventeen months later,
an innocent Thursday night.
Three hours of quality CBS
television just concluded.
Local 12 news on now.

Casual reference to a
newly-sentenced lifer.
He beat an 85-year-old to death.
Eric Robinson.
The name hits like a brick.
My stomach tightens
the old feelings rush back
in a flood.
Revenge.
Anger.

Blood, suffering
struggling for breath
collapsing every other step.
Just For Me.

A brutal beating,
glass shards tied into
leather straps.
Ripping skin, exposing bones.
Just For Me.

A battered body
barely dragging a
splintered, burdening cross.
Across mile, on open
wounds, blood everywhere.
Just For Me.

Thorns shoved in
rupture the skin
puncture the skull
a cry let out
Just For Me.

Demonic torturing
forever taunting
evil faces
resisting temptations
Just For Me.

Thrown onto the cross
arm stretched,
hand pierced
another wail of pain
Just For Me.

Bloody Feet stacked on
a rough wooden block
another nail
in the innocent skin
Just For Me.

Raising the cross, it
drops into place
the body shakes
Just For Me.

The lungs collapse
gasping for breath,
He continues to
bless and pray
Just For Me.

Muttering His final
breaths, he is
received into Heaven.
Just For Me.

He Died For Me.

It comes down to this precipice
I seek a vendetta on myself
What is life if what we said yesterday doesn’t really matter?
Does this moment only matter for this instant?
If it does are repercussions lost in the wind?
The porcelain tub is slowly filled with the cold, passionless, frigid
water
I brace my trembling body and slip into its unforgiving concentration
It overpowers my body and my legs go numb
The razor blades
Its sharp, defiant, powerful edges
They pierce the skin and stain the water
O my Soul how satisfied you must be!
It digs harder and deeper until it carves my bone
The friends in my head fade into the gray
Fade into the past millennium
And it doesn’t matter
Not to me
Not to you
Not to her
Not to them
MY SPINE!
The wounds are vast and emotionally fulfilling
I cast a horrific shriek to God
I feel everything become paralyzed
My mind, my heart, my strength
And the bitter water only grows higher
To my chest, my bloody arms and neck, to my torn face
So cold and dispiriting
It consumes me tirelessly
The poisonous water enters my lungs and blackens them
It’s all fading away
Only thing I know is my searing pains of soul and spirit
My consciousness dims to blackness and indetermination
The rouge water overflows to the white now pink carpets
Couldn’t somebody help me!
Can’t someone save me!
I’m so scared
My life breaks into its final shards of broken promises
And the curtain closes

I sit in the front of the room,
Unnoticed ’til I’m needed.
I am lifted from my spot
To embrace the cold, hard board.
Everyone watches me.
I try to do my best,
But I break under pressure,
Left to be stepped upon,
Lying on the floor.

I fall to the floor,
Unable to retrieve
the conscious state of mind.
Watching my sense pour into the toilet,
I lay glued to the icy-hot tile,
My head like an elephant,
Keeping my own bad company.