Phobia boulevard

Seventeen seconds
for that long
id want to lose myself
in foggy mornings
like the homes
from the days of black and white t.v's
Another relapse
emotional collapse
panic attacks in the morning
do you know?

So long id remember
little things
the lettering
writings, blood on the walls
from days of the past
scars from shards of glass
rather you gave up
or just quit on me
I cant remember
but I need something
to fill a void.


Days have passed
first to lasts
time hasn't healed
through I picked at the band aid
being numb hurts worse than a gunshot
where has my friend gone.

And if could hear a familiar voice
one distinctive, with Lydia's stutter
and her sense of humor
cant forget how I was taught conversation
from the depths of silence
a screaming sound
awkward as it goes
all the way to phobia boulevard
to the idle corner of contemplation
during the raindrops of December.

medicate as I did
in empty rooms and in trees
getting down on my knees
to wipe away the salt
in tub now
nothing matters
and never will
in a time where we cant move
captivated by black-holes.

Least I forget
just what I meant
strolling down cracked roads
teary eyed
ears open wide
for something not coming true
acknowledgement from you
as the lights begin to dim
one last breath
awaiting death
on my terms
a plead within

kept it hush
to keep the wildfire contained
emotions restrained
under beds of nails
and razor blades
or enough pills
to give into one's fill
to eradicate a void, to kill.

Boarded bedrooms
I hated clichés
still do, through victim too
the vary spawn point
with simple days
and i'll kill you remarks
but everyone needs a punching bag
everyone needs someone to call, an idiot, a moron, a fag
to be a dishrag
rather it matters
or dissipates in the clouds
somewhere in the ideal of doubt
surrounding assorted ideals
of how to  act
how to feel
through I guess you cant measure agony of others pain
if it worked that way, I just won the lottery.


No room, no bed, tossing belongings like rag dolls
cigarettes and gasoline
success seems distant
as if I achieve it, ill be on my death-bed
days or moments later
but its only perception
and regrets
realization and frets
burning inside a mind
lost in thought
handwriting is fascinating
instead of focusing
to run a unsteady mind
to set alone in darkness
with nothing to focus on
idle thoughts of fear, and rotting milk
faster than amtraks
and advil.