runs in the family

it's an awkward corner
we're turned around in
when things are left bare

glaring ugly
uncomfortable
and plain

I never wanted to enter
their sick contest.

I've worn the same scars,
inherited it all but
buried underneath them
insignificant

I hate asking for help
that I don't
want

there's words and whiskey
and dreams of other realities
other worlds filled with
lovely ghosts
that they want to erase
with pills

I'm afraid of losing
the beauty
along with the
pain.
And I'm not entirely
sure

that they're not
the same
thing.

A Little Crazy

It's cold and late
and my imagined everything
has become quietly hostile.
As if my pretend friends
have all left me
to talk behind my back.
And maybe none of you
are real.
Maybe this is all me.
All a bad dream.
If I fold in on myself,
hide,
this world will stop
confusing me and
leave me the hell
alone.
I know I'm all wrong.
I don't need to wonder
who else knows.

daydream delusions

it's hopeless, this.
the air is failing,
I'm tucked inside and
suffocating within lost things
imagined things
there's such a crowd of ghosts
in my head
they're people who were never people
apparitions, actors,
wearing familiar masks,
playing out dark scenarios
with quiet thirst.

my brain is conducting
a parade of beautiful shit.
it pays no mind to what's real
or expected or even possible.
what the dream desires
the waking mind fabricates.
what the nightmare fears
the waking mind produces.
fuck you, waking mind.