deathmasks

She tracked down every one of his ex-lovers and cut off their faces and wore them around the house when she was alone, sometimes laughing, sometimes crying, usually feeling nothing.

He tracked down every one of her ex-lovers and cut off their faces and wore them around the house when he was alone, sometimes laughing, sometimes crying, usually feeling nothing.

Then one day they both thought they'd be alone and adorned themselves with the faces of the most recent ex-lovers and accidentally met each other in the kitchen.

Every heart stopped beating as they looked at each other, into each other's eyes, the familiar eyes framed by the skins that couldn't smile on their own anymore.

He removed his mask and picked up a knife from the counter and looked at her in a way that made her uncomfortable.

She removed her mask and picked up a knife from the counter and looked at him in a way that made him uncomfortable.

Keep The Christ In

You wake up
probably from a coma

The living room
(haha, "living")
is littered
with beautiful boxes

oh
the paper, all the paper
it cradles an image ("emblazoned")
of you at your worst
and you
oh
you just tear through it all

The dead and decorated tree
watches you open every box
It shudders, thinking of its roots
out there somewhere

"Where is my family?"
is a thought you don't  have

handfuls of priceless
and imaginary gems,
all for you,
all from some god,
you were so good
this year

as you admire your gifts,
Everything Your Heartless Chest Deserves
slithers down the chimney
with care
and sits in a circle around you

Happiest, Useless
Holidays

Horrible, Awful, Bad at Everything

Did you hear that?
Who's there?
There's someone

Turns the lights on
Grab a weapon


GHOSTS LIVE IN YOUR MIND
AND THEY WHISPER ALL THE TIME
GHOSTS DRIFT THROUGH YOUR BRAIN
THEY REFUSE TO LET YOU CHANGE

I am haunted
but I wanted
to let you know I care
I feel nothing
I see no one
but I know that something's there

 I see you've met The One In The Mirror
I'm sorry he's dying he's fucked up and wrong

Troll

Ambitious, lost in a pocket.

The Two Times I've Been "A Hero"

When I was a kid another kid was mean to my friend, made her cry, so I chased that fucker across a few yards and tackled him and smashed his face into the snow a couple of times, yelling.

When I was an adult, you and I fell in love.

Repetitive Birth

Fresh soil beneath dry fingernails, a thoughtful gift.
The bright hollow inside a lightbulb, the slick inside of lungs.

All we need is to not become what scares us.

Inexperienced mothers refusing to explode the young from the eggs.
A cockroach pondering anything at all.

The train we're on is begging us to get off before it reaches its destination.
An apple will start rotting when it stops caring what happens to it.

Celebrities are writing heartfelt letters to all their fans, taking great care to personalize the sentiments, but all the postal workers in this crippled galaxy are perpetually, unapologetically, blackout drunk.

Get well, get well.

All we need is to not become what scares us.

Dreams of serene lunacy dream of stabbing themselves in the dark.
Shooting stars propelled toward anything that won't complain upon impact.

The Church Of The Time You Noticed You Were Different.
The Cult Of The Time You Cried When Your Best Friend Moved Away.

Cotton candy crushed into a slightly sticky cube, stuffed into an abscessed wisdom tooth.
Connotations will warp over time but no one will notice until the mind starts replaying sacred moments in slow motion.

All we need is to not become each other.

Seeing Things You Don't Mean To See

Let's squeeze this rotting rat and see if anything lovely comes out.

Glittering rubies are played out.

Fixated on death! On the gradual decay of all Beauty!

This place is for lovers, this place is where I shudder.

I am the least important person in my life.

Treat a stinger like a wishing well.

Prison!

baby that's just my imagination
over there
cowering in the corner
claws spread
reluctant

it's infuriating, the number of the lives you can change
without knowing it
without meaning to

the clock runs backward
into a brick wall

Release Me, Fear.

Alien

The Pure find you repulsive.
The Innocent are afraid of you.

You've stopped looking in mirrors a long time ago because, really, what is there to see?

When you're alone you're empty, when you're with others you're emptier.

You cannot love what you cannot stand.
And you've never understood yourself

Transit

Hey, there's a bus coming.
Get on it.

You're on the bus now, paying the fare.

It's dark outside, very dark.
The driver doesn't have a face.

It's cold on the bus, very cold.
You don't have a jacket.

You're sitting in the back.
Hug yourself.
It's so cold.

The bus is stopping, picking people up.
A dozen people get on the bus.

The new passengers don't have faces.
They sit down up front.
They turn around and watch you hug yourself.
The bus driver drives on.

If they had faces, they'd be laughing at you.
Try to ignore them.
Keep hugging yourself.
It's so cold inside and so dark outside.

The bus stops again.
Two people get on.
They don't have ears or noses or mouths or hair.
Only eyes.

They sit down next to you, one on each side.
They stare at you.
They watch you hug yourself.
They cry.
So cold.

The bus driver drives on.

You look out the window and watch the dark go by.
Your stop is coming up.
You signal the driver.

The bus slows to a stop and you stand up.
The passengers watch you walk toward the door.
Their faceless heads are hissing at you.

You get off.
You're standing inches from a deep pit in the earth.
Jump in.

You're falling, falling, falling.
It's warm and bright inside your mind.
You have a face and it smiles.
You're where you need to be.

Let Them Watch Over us

You'll have time to get reacquainted with your ghost.
The one that haunts you day and night: You'll learn what it wants.

Maybe you'll learn not to shudder when it tries to hold you.

I'll hear it in your voice.
I'll hear your acceptance of the dark, your new comfort in being plagued.

And I won't cry, because I'll be too busy staring at my own ghost, reminding it and myself that it can't hurt me, and I can't hurt it.

Things that lead to fulfillment are things I try to avoid.

Socializing is uncomfortable and ridiculous.

I hate everyone I accidentally see.
Because I'd never look at someone on purpose.
A million years ago, maybe I would've.

But no, not now.

A List Of Animals I'm Jealous Of:

-Flying ones
-Pretty ones
-Dead ones

The People I've Lost In The Past Five Or Six Years

Put pen to paper and remind your friends that you don't need them.

It's very easy and good to make yourself numb, numb as hell.

Realize that you can't live up to your ideals.
Laugh about it.
Because you never believed you could.

I swirled down from a Place Of Life-Altering Delusions to tell you that I think you look nice with your hair up.

Personal Ad

Unremarkable Artist Seeks Millions Of People Willing To Think About His Art Every Once In A While Long After He's Dead And Buried

Note To Self

Here's an idea: Stop.

If you're pretty sure you can't do something, don't try.

You are a filthy mess of a life and you will always be a filthy mess of a life.

You're supposed to feel sick.
You're supposed to feel like shit.
You're supposed to leave a grimy smudge everywhere you go.

Just like everything else you thought mattered: you don't.

You shouldn't be proud of yourself for coming this far.
You've barely moved an inch.

Most People Don't Enjoy Being Sick

The important thing to remember about dying is that you're going to do it someday.
Really, that's the only thing to remember about dying.
Really, dying is all there is.
Really, we're all dead and lying about it.

Dental Hygiene Is A Cruel Joke

Kissing me probably tastes like kissing the idea of a graveyard after you've thought about the idea of a graveyard for too long.

It probably tastes the same as that uncomfortable feeling.

And I'm sorry.

I'm Actually Pretty Sure I'll Be Swallowed By A Massive Pink Ball Of Heat Very Soon

It's okay to know that you're not special.

It's okay to coerce people into liking you by making yourself pitiable.

It's okay to wear a trenchcoat and carry a dozen masks with you at all times.

It's okay to be a part of the amorphous blob that is Everyone Else.

It's okay to have an abyss where your face should be.

It's okay to drop your identity in a puddle of dirty water and  just walk away from it.

It's okay to never want to be yourself again.

If Souls Exist I Want To Stomp On Them All

Don't want to hear about happiness and failure and how things used to be.

I could probably fit my entire heart into a grain of old sand.
I'm going to try to.

My brain is a bog and it sucks.
Ha ha ha.

Volcano Skins

I take care of all the other imaginary creatures before taking care of myself.

You'll never realize what a fragile infant I am.
And if somehow you do, it'll be too late.

Shadows remind me of missed opportunities.

I'm not allowed to have blood.
I'm only allowed to spill it.

Having someone to relate to, to fully understand each other, to know how it is, to laugh and cry about the same stupid shit, to trust to the core, is nice.
But it isn't necessary.

Not by a long shot.

Impersonating Someone You Used To Be

 I am glad that you hope that I don’t get a horrifying disease.

There is always the hum, and it is always trying to bruise you.
Its warmth, its peaceful rumble, they don't matter.

You’re gonna hurt.
A lot, actually.

I’ll show that motherfucker who’s King of This Basement.
Yeah, I’ll show you, motherfucker.

We don’t have to be here, but we are.
We don’t have to love ourselves, and we don’t.

I’m essentially doing everything I can to keep from becoming essential.

There’s not a single story in my heart that I haven’t shit all over.

I Was A Beast For Years And Years

(I)

I wasn't like you, or me, now.
I wasn't like anything.
Not anything safe, at least.

(II)

Slept with my head resting in a pile of dirt every night.
Every morning when I reluctantly came back to life, the dirt pile was gone.
Sucked through my mouth, into my constantly withered stomach, into my nightmare.

My nails were always crusted, drool always thick, with the blood and slime of a smaller, more meaningless creature than myself.

Always.

Thorns and fangs and dangerous thoughts tore at my skin every time I moved, stripped me to the bone, to the guts and the softness.

Couldn't decide whether to pray to or scream at God, so I did neither.
Only prayed to myself, only screamed at the ghosts I knew were everywhere.

Had no desires, only instincts, only impulses, only a primal, magnificent drive.
The only thing I needed to do was to destroy and devour, everything around me, myself.

Friends with the buzzing things I snapped at.
Friends with the moldy puddles I drank from.
Friends with the vague notion of loneliness.

Terrified of the moon.
The stars.
Told them my secrets and then frantically searched for a place to hide.

On the rare occasion that I saw my reflection, I wept.
Howled.
Disintegrated.
Hollowed.

Had no idea I was sick.
Had no idea what health was.

The trees were the only ones who knew me, and they didn't even know what color my ragged eyes were.
I would've loved the trees if I'd had any feelings.

Wandering and trapped.
Fearless and snared.
Savage and imprisoned.

The sky was my cage and I was its master.

With my cracked lips.
With my grey teeth.
With my puke-and-pollen-stained tongue.

I smiled to prove to the sun that I was a threat.
That I was full of venom and intention.
That I was the one who'd hunt it down and tear it apart.
I would be blind but it would be dead.

When my prey was kind or stupid enough to ask about my family, I said I didn't remember them.
Nobody missed me because nobody had ever met me.

My former life never haunted me because I didn't have one.

Didn't suspect I was being sought.
Didn't suspect I was needed.
Didn't suspect I mattered.

(III)

It found me in a puddle of fading sunbeams.

Blinked at me, whimpered.
Looked just as bruised as I did, just as ripped up by nature's horns.
Just as pathetic.

If it valued its life, it would've fled.
It didn't flee.

Curled up next to me instead.
Trembled hard in the diseased warmth of my kill.
And with its unwarranted trust, it paralyzed me into caring.

Within a shivering heartbeat, if there was anything I knew better than destruction, it was protection.

Protecting what little I had created.
Protecting my way of barely-life.

A defenseless thing that loves you quickly can kill you even quicker.

Didn't make a sound when I pressed my calluses into its throat.
Didn't protest when I pressed harder.
Accepted it all when I silently explained why it had to die.

Might've been seconds before it stopped breathing.
Might've been years.

Neglected my hunger and buried it, shallow.
Its headstone, a loose pile of dirt.
A pile of dirt embracing my dirty skull and its mangled contents.

(IV)

Every night, starving myself.
Every night, coughing up decrepit soil.
Every night, dreaming of the life I didn't swallow.

Hundreds, millions of nights.
Ages ago.
Eternities.

(V)

I live in the real world now.
I have a few friends and I worry that I'm not calling my grandmother often enough.
I watch TV and I heat up shitty food in the microwave.
I bathe regularly.

I buy the best shampoo available, none of that store brand crap.

Because I need it.
Because I can still feel it.
Because it clogs the drain and darkens the water.

My hair is always filthy and my scalp always itches.
I wash and scratch, specks of it floating to the floor, getting caught under my fingernails.

And everything tastes awful.
Tastes like unrelenting shame.
Like weak ghosts.
Like dirt.

Huge Bugs

I hope that if I'm murdered my ghost immediately springs from my corpse and slices my murderer's head off with a ghostly sword.
I'm very concerned about the fact that someone might want to murder me someday.
If it's you, if you're the one planning to murder me someday, consider this: Do not murder me.

Quickly Drowning In A Smallish Puddle

Wake up and try to go back to sleep, back to safety.

Dodge the bullets until they're all out of ammo, then return fire.

Humans are bad for nature's health.
We all know this.
But we do nothing about it.

Life on a snowflake, life melting with the ice crystals.

I gave up on being myself years ago.

Sitting around the campfire! Telling stories! By myself!

I wonder if I'd look better or worse if I put my face in the fire for a few minutes.
The flames are beautiful and I could be, too.
I could be, but I shouldn't be.

I've noticed that my hands don't seem to notice me anymore.
They're busy with other things, I guess, pursuing interests I'm not interested in.
They'll smile and wave to me when they see me, but it's a small wave and a smaller smile, not meant to start anything, not meant to make me feel anything.

"How ya doin'?" they'd ask automatically, if they could speak.
Or maybe they wouldn't.
Maybe they'd insult me.

If my hands could speak, they'd insult me.

If I put my hands in the fire for a few minutes, they could look just like me.

Unemployed

At work late, my boss says to me, "You are the only person who really exists and you should be ashamed of yourself. You are the garbagebagged minority."

At work late, I say to my boss, "Thanks. Thank you."

At work late, my boss's face turns bruise-blue and I think he's choking on something but I don't remember him putting anything in his mouth so I don't know if he wants me to help him.

At work late, I ask my choking and sputtering boss if I can take two weeks off in December to visit family Up North.

At work late, my boss falls to the floor and looks like a dying idiot.

At work late, I remember something I might've read somewhere and grab a ballpoint pen and stab him in what I'm pretty sure is the trachea.

At work late, my boss's red blood mixes with blue ink.

At work late, I say to my boss, "I've opened your airways for you. Now about those two weeks."

At work late, my boss fires me with his last breath.

Afraid Of Your Family

I hope your spirit never stretches.
I hope your spirit never moves.
I hope your spirit never does any of the things you want it to do.

I'm shrieking into a bag of snakes, pissing them off, acquiring dozens of clean and unfriendly bites.

Some people will do anything to matter to someone else.

I'd feel sick if I woke up and saw someone else sleeping next to me.

Fireworks Never Impressed Me Until I Saw Them With You

There are so many ways to drag yourself through the mud.

So what if my style is stolen.

My ears are the criminals of my body.

Wouldn't it be nice if you and I existed only in a dream being dreamt by someone we mutually dislike?
Would that matter to you, if that were true?
Would it make you cry?

I've probably handwritten the word "birds" a million times, and every time I write it I dot the i with a tiny portrait of you.

Words like "Nothing" and "Everything" make it all beautiful and possessive.

Clearly, There Are Mistakes

She didn't know what to do so she brought me to a hospital, where I disappointed her and everyone else.

I don't regret anything because I haven't learned how to regret yet.

No.

I just learned how to regret things and I think I'm a piece of shit.

If you want anything from me, just ask for it and I'll look in the trash and see if I can find it.

I miss being a kid or at least I miss what I think being a kid might've been like.

Turn Off The Music Before You Listen To It

I can hear an airplane flying overhead and I want it to shush, shush.

I can hear crickets and cars and the sound of people crying from very far away.

I'm the worst children's book ever written.

Cigarettes are great because no one has to ask if you hate yourself, they just have to see you smoking and go "Oh, okay cool."

Sudden noises can make me jump and feel like I have to attack something.
A sudden noise just did that and there was nothing around but myself.
I'm unharmed but lucky.

Dogs are barking at things they can't see, and so am I.

Gorilla

When I was 5 years old my older brother had a friend over and they were in his room and he closed the door and wouldn't let me play with them. On my brother's door was a poster of a gorilla. I stared at the gorilla and hated it. I hated the gorilla because it was stopping me from playing with my brother.

Daily Life In Public Places

Someone talked to me and it was horrifying.

Copycat Necromancer

I am great at everything you're bad at.
All the things you can do well, I can do much better, with much less effort.

I wonder what it'd be like to be a "real piece of work".

Remind everyone how useless everything they do is by not doing anything and being proud of the fact.

Fingernails only exist so we can scratch each other, drawing pictures of blood on every wall we see.

I am not good at any of the things I think I'm good at.

Chewing Up Bugs And Spitting Them Out On Your Face

Heal yourself infinitely, forget that hurting is necessary, that it can help you.

Do not breathe more than you can stand to.

If you want a good life, never be born.

And if you want a shitty life, act like you know what you don't know, and act like you don't know what you do know.

And if you want a life, take one.

I've built bridges out of water and no one can ever cross them, by definition, by the grace of God, by themselves.

I know how to haunt, I learned it from ghosts.

You still believe in things and that's ridiculous.

Freedom is drowning in a kiddie pool. So is everything else that matters to people you love.

We pin the tail on the donkey and we never ask the donkey if it hurts.

oh god

(oh god here we are
oh god we're becoming
oh god here we become)

We've been to hell and we had a nice time there. We remember it fondly.
You can look at the photos we took (we took hundreds).

Look at our smiling faces. Smile like we do.

"oh god" doesn't work there.

I am I Will

I am dangerous and I will fuck you up
I am dangerous and I will fuck you up
I am dangerous
and I will fuck
you
up

(I am a dangerous fuckup)

Hugging Your Bad Thoughts

The cruelest monsters look just like us.

You hear a knock on your door. You answer. Standing in line at your doorstep is Everyone On Earth. "It's okay," they say to you, one by one.

You realize that you've never helped anyone through anything and you feel heavy.

You look in the mirror and notice that you've become a meanspirited satire of yourself.

You receive one hundred handwritten letters from former grade school classmates. Each one reads "You've disappointed me."

You walk around parking lots and wonder what it must be like to not feel alone.

You can't remember anything but the fact that you're uncomfortable with who you are.

"Being healthy is selfish," you think, brushing your disgusting teeth.

When you die you want your ashes made into eyeshadow.

Your mom calls you on the phone to tell you that she's scratched out your face in every old family portrait. You don't recognize her voice.

"The cruelest monsters are inside of us," you decide. You're pretty sure you died a month ago.

Do You Remember Me, We Went To Heaven Together

I didn't think he'd look so dead. I didn't think I'd be looking at him. This is the most crowded funeral I've ever been to, excluding the ones in my backyard, excluding them, excluding myself. Exclusion. I can smell everyone's perfumes and I can smell their mental disorders, too. They stink, they are repugnant, they exclude. I didn't think I'd be so dead.

Stop crying. Stop crying. Stop. You aren't excluded. He's gone, he can't smell your perfumes, excluding himself, excluding death. This is my backyard, we are children and he was our dog. His nose is wet, not with blood, not with life. A dog with a mental disorder in its mouth. Dropping the dead thing at my feet, wagging its tail. Good boy. They stink, huh? Yes they do. Yes they do. Let's exclude them. Dead things wagging their tails, stinking.

I don't want to look at him or them or me anymore. I can't stop looking at me, everyone is mirrored, everything is a dead mirror. I didn't think I'd look at me. Everything hurts, excluding my eyes, excluding them, I can't see him. I can't see myself. I can only see a mirror and another mirror and another mirror. A mirror with me in its mouth. I am bloody and I am good.

They've left me alone with him.

He can smell me and I can smell him, he finds me repugnant. His face is contorting and the death is falling off of him. He sits up and reaches for my nose. I can't see. I can feel. I can smell. I can't see, his fingers are meeting with my brains, they are making a deal, they are friendly and they like each other. I can't feel, it hurts. I think about ashes and dust and I can't think anymore. They're all gone, they are in his mouth, they are my nerve endings. I will bury him and them and me.

I didn't think I'd look like him. I am under my backyard, I am under my childhood, I am under my tears and I am my dead dog.

happy man

a man is snapping his
fingers
and whistling

what is he
so goddamn happy about