PUNK'S NOT DEAD ITS JUST RESTING

I am the general average crazy kind of citizen,
Spiked denim jacket (covered in patches) wearing denizen
Minor threat and Nathaniel Hawthorne in my head again
I am anti-authoritarian and pro-gothic romantic literature
I am worried about the same exact things you were:
My poetry, my east side and central reputation, my silence;
All the letters I'll never send,
And never get,

And my goddam Instagram.
I'm spending my Friday night
French-press-coffee-staining a new white shirt
But a coffee stain is a minor threat-
The safety and sanctity of a shade so pure was never a safe bet
Not my money not my problem
A pill-popping, Pepsi-rocking society stuttering over its own ADD
Long live overcaffeinated generation RX
In the other corner, weighing in at one million pounds, team X-X-X
What a shameful lackluster lack of a legacy
The generation that never broke anything.
You know how many girls I wanted to marry?
Three,
But it doesn't matter because they all left me
Absolutely crazy

In love,
And though lying with her was my absolute comfort,
One changed her mind like a lying politician
And the next so skinny with boy hips and berry lips,
We ruined each other and still hoped to kiss again
In young hallways, and anyway, she found another redhead.
I found a blonde earlier this year and ran scared
Ran to a bespectacled and mustached man
Only to be butchered by his calloused hands-
ome looks; they were killer.
He was filler

He was offended, when I called him a joke
A "laughable mistake" what actually exactly what I wrote
And I wish it didn't hurt him so
All I was trying to say
Is that he once made me smile.

I swear

Tiny rabid wolf in my stomach howls
Louder than Allen Ginsberg stuck in an elevator
Sweating harder than a pedophile on an escalator
Descending slowly into hell
Dante had to exit through the gift shop
It's a little known fact
Like the fact that I can quasi-speak Spanish
Or that I am allergic to penicillin
Orange juice makes me vomit and I am
Allergic to the fine line between truth and lies
My father lied by omission
Like ravens lying, crying by omens
No lime trees bloomed when I was seventeen - thank God
I couldn't make monsters with you and I couldn't
Eat anything but drinking
For years, four years, four score and fingers and legs crossed for high scores
Dropped out like the turbulent sixties

The world is my pharmacy and
There's no need to talk when we have medicine
And my mouth tastes like rotting celery
And its not a pretty picture but realism isn't all flowers
And cotton candy,
Carnival rides and smoke and mirrors have made up my bones
And clown fake red joker paint has covered my body
Silly how we all think that blankets will keep
Us safe from murders and I keep my room messy
In case anyone tries to kill me
He will trip over just one size six expensive platform stiletto
And his knife will never reach me

Yes I assume this killer in question
To be male
Because girls kill me every day
I wrote a poem at the bus stop
For this girl whose looks just wouldn't quit
She was black and white striped under the shade of a tree
But in my head, she was stripped
Her wrists were tinier even than my schizophrenic heart
She was thinner than a piece of paper
I swear