It’s your mouth,your tongue,your taste,that I miss. You would touch my face.Look at me like I was worth dying for. Your mouth and mine fit perfectly. Your kiss……

I wonder what the break point is. I know that it only takes 7 pounds of pressure to tear off an ear. That’s about the only fact I can pull out of nowhere right now.  But breaking?  Being broken? Well!  To quote Ralph Wigham “That’s where I’m a viking!”

I fucked my wrist up punching a guy on the bus. It was a bad punch. I guess the whole thing is on CCTV. Who cares. I told my Mother. She doesn’t yell at me anymore. Sometimes when she looks at me I know that she doesn’t know who I am . That used to make me sad but its ok. Guess that I am tired of people fucking with me.

All the way from the City to Lakemba on the bus he was giving me shit. Complete stranger giving me shit for no reason. I turned up my i-pod but I could still hear him and I could see the look of pity on the faces around me.

So I clocked him.

Is it wrong that I wished that I had a knife? That I wished that I had of silently got off at his stop and followed him,hunted him? That as I was walking home,my wrist hot and aching, all I could think about was king hitting him,pulling his head back and slitting his throat?

I don’t think so.

Me and my damage.Me and my lost …..

I guess he is back home in LA now. Must be busy and happy.California in the spring.I think about being there too. I won’t go back.There is nothing there for me now. No band. No friends that he hasn’t poisoned. Its all too depressing for words really.

You win.Are you happy now?

But hey! Welcome to my life.

I figure that I am broken. I try and go day by day.Keep my shit intact.I don’t look like no movie star when I cry and no one needs to see it. Oh,but try as I may….So my life,my dumb shit heart, is broken.I have tried to tie it back together with the Ramones,parade drinks  (What a joke that effort was! I went to Starbucks,ordered it shaking,went to the park and cried for an hour solid by the war memorial.I left it on the stairs untouched and went home.) Johnny Cash singing “You wild Colorado” on repeat till I stop weeping and pass out and time but here’s the deal,nothing works.Memories snake their way in and keep chipping pieces off.

I am in pieces.

This is a funeral without a body.

So I get shattered everyday. By scent,sound.You name it. I fell once. I knew it would only ever be once for me.I bet on it.And so I handed over my whole heart.I held nothing back.What an asshole I was. You and your new piece of ass must laugh yourselves silly at me.

And it got me broken.

Is it meant to make me feel better that I at least got to love? That I found the other part of my soul that I had been searching for since ,I dunno,forever? That his self abuse made me want to slit my throat in front of him so he would stop? That when he hurt himself he hurt me too?

So many fucking questions.

Does she know how to untie the  tricky knots in your laces and that you need matching socks to play a good show,that you hate eating new kinds of food and can live on junk food and never put on weight, does she fuck you for hours wrapped in sweat and fishnet,does she scrub your back,sing to you,do stupid dances to crack you up,does she write songs about how she wishes she could cook up your essence and take it like a drug,does she scratch your back,laugh at your bratty self till you laugh as well,do you take her to our Denny’s, does she go to war for you honey,does she bring you beer and violet crumbles from the other side of the world,does she hand you all of her friends,her whole life, on a silver platter,does she get in the ring and vouch for you time and time again,does she put herself second to make sure you are first,does she support you tirelessly,always take your side,get you tattooed, does she take you up a mountain side,just you and her and show you the kangaroo’s close enough to touch,did she make you a Black Flag birthday cake…….

I wonder…Does she have to try  not to put a gun in her mouth every fucking day because the loss of you is endless and will never stop?….

Summer has gone. I am not talking yet again. Nothing to  say.Its cold and that makes me sad. Well,even sadder. I am finally training again.Injury and depression laid me lower than a snakes ass in a wagon rut. I am going slow. I train in the middle of the night when the gym is empty and I don’t have to deal with anyone. All I do is sweat and think.

I wonder if he even liked me,the love of my life. If he dug how fast and funny I can be,that I like to read a book a day,that I used draw little pictures of what our house would look like in the back of my journal,that I am a writer,a musician,that I wasn’t just another dumb hole,that I didn’t take his shit like everyone else does. I got to thinking that all the stuff he may have liked about me at first he sure as shit didn’t in the end.

I wrote once “Everything they love you for in the beginning.they crucify you for in the end”

Magic huh?

I think about him all the time.Want to see him,never want to see him again.Miss him.Want to blow his knee caps out from under him with a .22 in a deserted carpark somewhere.You know,the usual.

Get so mad that I puke.Furious that he was so fucking blind accusing me of fucking around.I have gotta laugh. I didn’t then and I don’t now.My cunt may as well have a chalk outline around it. Its dead. I know how guys deal with break ups. Best way to get over some one is to get someone new under you,isn’t that how it goes?. I wonder what she looks like. Get over him? What fucking joke. My Doctor wants to send me to a ,wait for it,hypnotherapist,because I can’t touch myself. Because I don’t want to. Because I have not had an orgasm in,wow, eight almost nine months. Since Him. Because I shower in the dark, because I am too depressed to eat again.

And here’s me faithful to a fucking ghost.

” Your Dysmorphia and PTSD and running riot together” the Doctor tells me. They can move in next door to my depression and have a pity party for all I fucking care.I don’t give a shit but he seems to think its a problem.

My problem is that I am broken but no one seems to know how the hell to fix that.Least of all me.

One shot,remember? One shot.

You underestimated my faith and my devotion.

In valiant moments Id like to believe that its your loss but I know that I am just kidding myself.It’s my loss.

Bet you don’t even remember how I taste.



It’s my loss.

Wish that you were broken too but that’s not how it works.