The stranger on the highway seems to show a desire to move on in one direction

I ran across some of my older writing… and when I say older, I mean very old. I don’t remember what time in my life I wrote these, but I’m guessing it’s right around 15 or 16 at the latest.

Enjoy. Or don’t.

Look Back in Anger

If I could say one thing,

It would be

Do not burn the house down
when you slam the door.

The match you lit
falls to the floor
ignites carpeting and pictures,

house and home,
with all that that entails,

memories, and bad taste
are consumed by the air
that the trees provide,

but all you can do is walk
quickly through the forest.

That’s It

And we stare forever at our clocks and calendars
tracking time with our convenient numbers
thanking God we can

And we are defined by the dictionary
of carbon based life forms destined to destroy
themselves and everything from volume A to Z

And I walk down the path that isn’t there
and those who stick to the streets
are hit by speeding cars

and…
and…

and that’s it.

How Many Steps?

I know I’m depressed when I start questioning
whether or not I really have to brush my teeth.

It’s one of my bad habits.

I’m the kind of person that should be kept away from romance,
the way certain people should be kept away
from guns or sharp knives.

In my dreams my mistakes come back with mouths,
discovering new and fascinating ways of torturing me.

Now I’ve started making those faces you make
to stop your face from doing what it wants,
which is break into a million wet pieces.

I’ve become the kind of person that lies about his age.

I come from a family of accidents and lack of monogamy.

If my luck could be bottled it’d be classified as a chemical weapon.

I’ve become the kind of person that takes possession of things
I have no use for.

I know what it’s like to trust someone
then find out you shouldn’t.

Some of the best thinking is done in strange bathrooms.

It’s one of my bad habits.

I’ve become the kind of person that believes lies,
that lies to himself,
casually wondering how many steps exist
between that and completely losing myself.

What happens if nobody loves you?
Do you simply disappear?

I’m aware you don’t have to be stupid
to be happy, but it’s got to help.

Sometimes happiness feels like a weakness of character.

Too much sex is like too much talk.
Sometimes it just gets so noisy and nothing is said at all.

I get sick of it, the way you might get sick
of kicking a dead body.

It’s one of my bad habits.

I have a theory that people are more wonderful
then they realize.

You lose all your self-esteem if you’re
at all unique or an individual.

How many steps exist between this
and completely losing myself?

Most of my friends don’t seem like friends at all,
just people whose phone numbers I haven’t lost yet.

Sometimes it feels good to be temporary
rather then weak or hurt.

I treat every stranger as if they were christ in disguise.

I’m not religious, just careful.

The only TRULY healthy relationships
are the ones that haven’t actually happened yet.

The experience may not be nirvana
but it’s at least related.

It’s one of my bad habits.

I have not been very successful as a human being,
I’ll say that.

I imagine my life as a sitcom
that would last six weeks on Fox.

How many steps exist between here
and losing myself completely?