If I die in my sleep tonight,
its because I went against my will
deservingly my gums
fire do my gums feel
my insides--
"inside out!"
More to the hellish
tone to try and re-create
and re-enact
such a hellish act,
such a stupid act

I blame Freud,
before I blame myself,
and I curse
the very date
of my birth
for the worst of the worst
acts to follow to the first
is the last breath to swallow
because there's none after
to follow;
no roses to flutter
and fling to a stage
no cape but to flung
over shoulders and blades
no swings to be swung,
not curtains to be drawn
no encores no backstage
no "glory day" songs

And next I regret--
Oh just about everything
I've ever dreamt that I've did,
or said that I've done
to just about every stranger
I've known
or thought about knowing,
or acknowledged via motion;
the constant seperation
of myself as a person of
substance in a world without taste,
just because I deemed myself a person of character;
a person of worth-- a real hard worker ha!
hardly, the hardest profession, since the beginning,
if you'd beg to differ, it's a big book profession
outlasted recessions, professors and confessions,
so "shh.. me" and ah me,
and keep one last secret
before the tips of my fingers
lose feeling completely

"We're missing a step, or two,"
You're missing a lot more,
and you don't know what you want,
and you'll never get it either--
I'm sorry to have been the one to tell you,
but you'll get a lot more
and I pose in the mirror
once a look of terror--
"Dorian," someone will gasp
"No Non-Sense"
"Nine" someone will say in German,
"No-Nosxyl?"
"nine"
"Non-sense"
"syl?"
No, "Nine"
I'd rather look at the trees before they're damaged completely
and remember the summer,
lonely, anxious little summer I became a man before winter,
and didn't see the snow pile,
and stayed clean a full day. and died sober, a day or two,
but none the less died sober, happy, lov-ed, lov-ing everything and everyone family, familiar and un-the latter in which i've become unfamiliar.