he was over the top and out of control. he ran away at 16 years old but he had his feet on the ground and nobody pushed him around. his mother used to say you "better be a good boy". his teachers said "i turned that boy around" and everyone said the boys a trouble maker and all he would ever do was scratch his words onto loose sheets of paper that disintegrated with the themes. his home was under the influence, him taking the blow and all those crimson colors--- i'll stand up and salute him... he is the one with the smile. the one with the devilish look in his eye. his father used to say "you never were a good boy. his teachers said "i turned that kid around."
and everyone said "watch out, hes a trouble maker" and all he would ever say was life's just beautiful.

i was over the top, and out of control. little boys were not made to walk this world alone. i am the one you are staring down because everybody needs me around. my father said i always was the worst, my teachers- well they will never understand and everyone said "yah i used to f**k him" and all i ever did was write things down, my pen scratching against my blank paper, my skin, making drip drop sounds like the I.V. and your hospital bed--

warning: this was no accident. it was a therapeutic chain of events.-

The blood on your bed well consider it a gift from me to you. it's from the heart like your fist to my lip is from yours... if your heart exsists anymore has it disintegrated with burning through your ears? or is it burning your flesh like this scent of dead skin on a linoleum floor the scent of quarantine wings in a hospital?

No

-its not so pleasant
-its not so conventional
-it sure as hell ain't normal but hey

we will deal.

justsitbackjustsitback
justsitbackandrelax
justsitbackjustsitback
justsitbackandrelapse

the anesthetic never set in and i am wondering where. the apathy and urgency is that i thought i phoned in-

No.

-its not so pleasant
-its not so conventional
-it sure as hell ain't normal but f**k

we will deal.

the sound of your breating through that mask is starting to make me cringe, like the touch of your hand against my broken cage, release my heart release my hollow stomach release the bats release the butterflies. friends make life support my body makes death. i watched you cry, i have watched your overflow for my bruised corpse. i needed your lips against mine, your air, CPR, emergency! emergency!

beg for my forgiveness and you will recieve my tears, rusted metal to the face and a hatred for this place. my love for you is like my love for writing, it comes to me even when it is in the darkest of places. he is my family. sorry max. i love. i do love.

i am dying

but you?
you're a regular decorated emergency... the bruises and contusions will remind me what you did when you wake you have earned a place atop the ICUs hall of fame the camera caught you causing a commotion on the gurney again.

it sure as hell ain't normal but we'll not fail!