heroin doesn't hurt
guns don't kill
users need
people pull the trigger

sick as I am, I'm giving it to him
inject the drugs deep into his veins
wait for the flowers to bloom
please be pretty

I am lusting
for the velvet between my fingers,
anticipating the effortless tears
visualizing the shredded petals browning in the air

Do two wrongs make a right?
You were wrong, I am wrong, I was wrong...what about three wrongs?
This is not poetry--this is madness.
This is a revelation that my revelation has not come, despite the devastation of us.
To err twice is madness. To err thrice is strike out and go home.
Let me tell you what home is like:
Demons make room for me in bed,
Stupidity and Regret pile on top, either at the same time
or one after the other.
I don't get to scream.
I don't get to refuse.
I don't deserve to have a choice.

The life of the bunny is wretched.
Feed on man's garden.
Taunt him with your softness.
Dig up his carrots and leave them to rot.
Lure his gun out.
Help him aim at your flaring nose.
Proliferate.

I would like to curse evolution for giving humans the ability to turn it off.
I would not survive without it.
I cannot live without it.
The world is an uglier place
when people like me can survive, can live
but cannot finish in the tragic death they desire above all.

Sometimes,
I start to believe that clouds over the horizon are prettier
than the clouds above my head.
Why is the colorful and beautiful always so far away?
Why is the rain so frequent beside my face?

Sometimes,
I'll chase the horizon clouds
before I realize I'm chasing the sky's shadow
and I'll remember how I miss the rain
so much
I want to drown in its beautiful grayness.

Then sometimes, I have to forget everything
let the clouds float into my head
condense in my lungs
and give up the privilege to appreciate rain.

Oh me, oh my, you know it's I, I, I.
Always and forever, it'll always be me.
I apologize.
I think selflessness and love were left out of my DNA.
This is the best I can do.
I apologize.
Take me if you'd like, but I urge you to leave it,
let me wither like all things eye-grabbing,
then perhaps I can be fertilizer, a useful waste.
And that'll be soon, because I will die for myself, and only myself,
out of hatred,
out of dirty, ugly hatred.
I apologize--I don't make sense.
Here, help me make the world a better place.
Destroy my defects--take all of me
and just forget.

I think life is blackjack.
You get delt these bullshit hands (as Eminem said)
and even if you hope and pray to be lucky,
the dealer always wins in the end,
because that's. just. math.
Well,
Fuck it.
Because I'm not playing anymore.
I've been dumb enough to gamble,
but I see the idiot in me, and I hate her, and I will kill her for the idiot she is.
I will strangle her in her sleep and wake up idiocy-free.
Thank the __ above for murder,
because I sure as hell want to play blackjack.

A teacher told someone who told me to do my writing when I'm most in tune with my subconscious, which means I need to be dreaming or drunk.
Perfect because I am drunk.
I'm drunk off attention,
drunk off the easy way out,
drunk off of years of a bad decision turned into a list of regrets.
If I can't get drunk off of all that, what is there left to drink to?
Let my vision blur, because I am Asian enough for the world to see,
but I am not unique enough, not fine enough, not great enough for anyone to notice,
not enough to anything support my head I imagine held up high.
I want to be god.
I want to tell you what is worth your greatest fears, what is worth your sacrifice.
I want to tell you what is worth giving your 1 or 2 or 3.14159 shits about.
But all I can tell you is that I know nothing--my thoughts and knowledge and truths don't matter.
God is not with me, god is not within me.
I am simply depriving myself of sleep.

My lungs, my flesh, my mind are of earth,
but there is sky inside me.
Continuity-
-I feel it as soon as I step into the open air,
as if I shouldn't need to breathe.
One breathe's capacity is too lamentable.
How do I shed the part of me that is a slave to gravity?
How do I let the sky in me take over
the bones that bind and the blood that soaks me through?

[incomplete]

We who suffer are blessed. We are blessed because those who live a conflict-free life are deprived. They cannot experience weightlessness in relief. They can only be thankful without appreciation. They remain unaware of the heartbreaking weakness of humanity. They remain unaware of the heartbreaking strength of humanity. They sleep through the drama, the horrors, the colors, the climax, whereas we, who suffer, outgrow coloring books and go on to create masterpieces.

Look forward to mine.