The Bouttonniere and Corsage


I'm walking by a place,

A place that has lost its reason to walk by.

Now I look at it with a somber face and a heavy heart.

I do recall the times i was here,

the joy and cause I had to visit here.

But its not those reasons that make me low.

Not the nostolgiac talks or even the cause of the past that weighs on my soul.

It is the joy of then, and lack of it now that brings me low.

The smiles that were, the smiles that aren't and smiles that could have been

The smiles that could have been.


Now instead I walk falsely,

to make light of what weighs heavy.

To make light of what weighs heavy.

I hold my head a little higher, stand a little straighter,

work a little harder; work a little too hard.

Joke a little more, laugh a little louder and smile,

Smile a little too much.

To make light of what weighs heavy at the place I'm walking by.

What Could've Been


Just sipping my tea,

Trying not to think about what could be,

In an attempt to handle my anxiety.


I look too far into the future,

Instead of spending more time just being here.


I do my best to be more aware,

of my thoughts and feelings that like to cause despair.


It's an every day struggle trying to let things be,

I try not to compete to control the outcome of these happenings,

My patience, though, often wavers in the face of the.

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Astral Plane Magick


I drew my magick in Arts,

In front of the altar starts

The Magick Circle around,

The Demon was abound.


He bowed over me,

"What doth thee?"


Magick on the Astral Plane,

This way invocations are safe...

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Some thoughts.

All White


Emptiness, a clean start.

Space in your head,

If you let life go on

Then there's place for magic.

Then the world will open itself,

And everything is possible.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Some thoughts.

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It fills my ears and mind,

It's like a blanket for my feelings.

Flowing through my tortured thoughts,

Making them seem a little less noticeable.

It dulls my overactive mind,

It makes me less aware of the travesties which haunt me.

Through the melodic noises it's hard to think strait.

This is why I listen,

Because it's a tranquilizer for my mind.

Spell Check aka Words That Have Lost Their Meaning (Slam Poetry)


“Brain, spell check my thoughts.”


I’ve waited so long to do this because I’ve been busy. Busy, okay? Preoccupied with work, sleep, human interaction, writing, daydreams, reality.

I’ve waited so long to do this because I give too many excuses.

I’ve waited so long to do this because I’m afraid of what I’ll fi-


Found: 43 total errors.


That was fast.

Finished even faster than the quickest thought of you this week.

I guess that’s not hard to do

when people like to call my head a shrine to your beauty.


26 moments of overanalyzing.


Okay, that one I expected. I’m surprised there’s not more, probably. I’m more aware than I should be when you sneak up behind me. I’m more aware than I should be of our untold feelings, the ones that have never even been written. I’m more aware than I should be when our secrets are under the same table. I’m more aware than I should be when you lean forward, bracing your weight on connected fists. Now I am even more hyperaware of how often I sit in that same position. I magnify everything, everything, everything, I read the signs before I can see them.


8 ideas you shouldn’t have had.


Shouldn’t? Who’s to decide what I should and shouldn’t think? I can’t get my mind out of the gutter when you’re around, it’s true. Most of my ideas should be outlined in a mess of green and red by now. I need to get back to the sidewalks, I need to concentrate-


6 instances of thinking about harmony, or that song, or a handful of cards with the best people, or lemon juice in an open wound.


Crooked red lines run rampant around my head, underlining so many of my thoughts, spell check complaining they shouldn’t be there, my brain thinks they have lost their meaning but to my heart they still carry so much weight, so many colors. I can’t fix myself I can’t stop thinking them I won’t stop thinking them


3 flickers of not even your name,

not even overthinking,

not even your initials

or the way you hold yourself,

just you.


The unavoidable. I could sift through my head and clear the red off this page, spell checks or bloodstains, until I can’t clear any more and even then it would go like this


“Brain, spell check my thoughts.”


Found: 43 total errors.

43 flickers of



Why did I do this again? Now there’s green and red everywhere, brain.


I crumple up half these thoughts. They don’t even deserve to be folded into airplanes before I toss them out so the page is clean.


Spell check has put crooked red lines under harmony and that song and a handful of cards with the best people and lemon juice in an open wound, forgetting how those things are intertwined with you, forgetting they exist entirely.

But still I don’t want it to cross out your name.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Written 2/10/17

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Tobacco at Odd Hours

Ashen heaven,
comfortably fierce
in my crooked yellows,
kicked back
at the primo-crack of
a casually deemed dawn.
A thin cloud of smoke
surrounds me,
inspires me,
only events such as,
can bring forth
the realest of I’s.

Can’t help but laugh,
my friends,
at confusion
of my own crooked innards.
Crooked smile,
crooked stare,
this Spirit brings
puffing nico-coals of
right for my cancer
I build between,
Yourself and I.

Nearing the re-printed Beast,
Closing in on a sour foam cylinder
of ‘safe’ separation.
Don’t give a shit though.
Why else buy matched sets of Twenty,
Keep Going
seems the plan.
The Hair,
the skin,
the lung,
What have they done?
Un-responsible, eh,
Rolled on my own doing,
bring joyful peaks
very rare to You & I.

Only the most selfish,
You know i am,
end with that letter
Lucky #9
WANTED: Trust,
Dead or Alive?

Author's Notes/Comments: 

I quit and I start back up again. I quit and then I start back up again. Again and again and again. ~ Carmello Yello

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"Thought Process"

by Jeph Johnson 

Sometimes everything in my head

Feels like ping pong balls

Bouncing around in my skull

Finally emerging flattened

Like a thin slice

Of George Carlin's brain

Through what resembles the slot

Where one would insert their ATM card.


Only upon further review

I realize it is really my butt crack.


How about you? 


How would you describe your thought process?

Author's Notes/Comments: 


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My mind is a storm.

You are the epicentre;

The moment of peace.

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