i have so much to say, and nothings suffice
the honest truth is, i just want to cry
enough violence of my energy marks being assaulted
my silence comes from expecting nothing less than the obvious
misunderstanding. awkwardness. overall shyness.
i acquiesce solely out of exhaustion.
closed captions underneath both of our eyelids
touch my cheek with your hands as i squeeze them as tight
as me clinching onto my blade, cause’ paranoia has taught me to fight
slightly understand the plight of women walking at night
i want to enjoy the things that so many like
tired of looking into your eyes without me inside
of you
i drift off into codependency, where i’m rarely absolved
connected. i disassociate and stare off into space
finding it odd – an atheist when i’m alone in the dark
interrogations with god. asking them who sent you
my disposition to avoid pain has rendered me recluse
my character arc is a biblical miscue
noah memory thoughts. flooded with pairs of ‘i love you’ & ‘miss yous’
we’re barely a speck. a floating rock in oblivion
we’re literally looking for something on the cusp of existence
most of what my therapist says, i think is a trick
when i’m writing in my journal i can feel you touching my wrist
i don’t know if i’m supposed to be thinking like this
my first poem titled:
my last healthy relationship doesn’t exist

i met somebody. (meeting someone who has a significant other, and you think there’s a connection they’re avoiding)

i met somebody

i’m not sure if i was supposed too though
not sure if she was a’pproachable
anxious and mellow.
standing with my hand on my elbow
studied her curves with the
glance from my hello

but, i’m sure, you’re unreachable
and as
a man (boy) wrapped his arms around her
as to slowly suggest a inflection
and grabbed her by the waist as they left
i was sunken by her destructive impression
stroking napalm into my battleship eyes
and, swim across the nebula in the reflection of my iris
pools of black pearls. pirate my last glance into yours
raid my souls sunk ships, with your davy jones dutchman’s
bathe in rainbows.
dunked in your ratio sun rays
your maybe so’s, some days.
stormy nights, to say hello.
rain checked and barely spoken
alienated. very broken
soft spoke. can’t stay alone like this
want to lay. with no bias.

Continue reading “i met somebody. (meeting someone who has a significant other, and you think there’s a connection they’re avoiding)”

spellbound hellhound. (a latino man’s overarching poem turned unfinished short-story detailed in excruciating sentiment and honesty)


is the term used to describe when you’re holding complete attention of someone, almost as if it were something magical; indescribably intoxicating. have you ever felt light brown eyes lock into your soul, eyes surrounded by the most perfectly tailored bronze skin, like if you crushed up jupiter and sprinkled the dust over an empty canvas, took neptune melted it into paint and used brush strokes like van rembrandt. rolled out a red carpet entrance to ones soul, these…windows surrounded by a sandy visage, complexion smoothed out like camera obscura. such a vicious assessment. have you ever broke silence with a moan? stopped time with a touch? felt a butterfly turn into a lion right in your stomach? why are you such a force to be reckoned with, when your heart beat writes me morse code for the hell of it, dot dot, dot dit dot dot, dit dot dit dit. tell me why breaking down to tears right before conquering your neck with my tongue felt like an arrow split my heart at the seams, landed in your lap and decided to live there. when i tried to get it back, it growled at me. why defocusing in and out on the most delicate image, at the utmost devastating angle–lighting that gives off a entrenching hue, like light cascading off a twinkling lake before sundown, glimmers of what ifs and perhaps. failing to derail raw passion. encapsulating one of the worlds most hypnotic views, hourglass, pinot van gris, pink poisonous ceramic lacing it’s way around sober throats and tongues spewing flirty conversation, guarding carnal rage, hints of strawberry oak packed in sweet alcohol, and telling times. turbo charged sanguine, blood blissful. ignorant to the cyclone about to hit chemical beach, where endorphins masqueraded as hurricanes rush to wrap around your lips

It’s funny. I spend the entire day thinking about you. I’ll daydream. Spend tiny instances, pockets of time, between breathing, and making coffee… just thinking about you. And yet, while I’m falling asleep, after a long day – soft linen beneath me, lids heavy, parallel to the floor. Dim light from another room providing the only discernible ray of bloom. I think about you. I wake up, concerned about god knows what, only to think about you. To check if you’re okay. My bed empty, vessel unoccupied. A silhouette of where you should be now takes reign. There’s a faint smell coming from a blanket you had. It smells like an amalgamation of me, you, sweat, and lingering lust. If it were to seem strange to me, i would be the most anxious individual on the face of the planet. Preparing a doomsday kit, but for forgetfulness. Eternal sunshine of the spotless mindesque, but with a hint of panic and dishevelment. I never thought i’d be so at ease thinking about your smile. There’s so many things I want to do with you, and i want to open myself up to you completely. I’m dreaming about future instances I have where we’re laughing, and the constellations in the background light up our night, and your skin absorbs all the moonlight perfectly. radiant, laser show; pores perfect in size. Stunning, really. I think this is the first time ever where i’ve been completely captured. enraptured by the stills of every dialect that fill your body language. caught up by the negative photo solutions, where tiny secrets and code magically appear. that white dress turns into a sepia-blue toned spaceship, and suddenly the picture is an adventure, rather than just an admiration of your beauty. This didn’t particularly happen — yet. But, i feel anything is possible with you. I’m slowly opening myself up. A crab, in his armor, feeling the warmth of a star permeate through the rock hard shell. Slowly, surely, intensely, moving at this frenetically awesome self sustained pace. You’re the sun. I’m the crab. Constellations. It’s all too perfect. i can’t stop thinking about you, and it doesn’t even look like it’ll ever stop. I can’t wait. I’m so deep into you, i can’t look back. Thanks for this

not finished:

where to begin

where to start. i didn’t expect this. take away my heart and make it objective. like if its some sort of malleable metal. main mission, arms on the clock ticking away. but let’s not start there, let’s deconstruct the chronology of the deconstruction of my expectation, oxidizing the steel surrounding my bloodbox. laid eyes on you, what seems like a mile away. dance floor alcohol. tiles arranged, into this zone of paint. flickering club colors, lighting the way. i’ll tell you now, gazing at you from what seems about a football fields length, was something- at the time- i couldn’t describe (i still can’t, but I understand it better). reporters (random club goers who have unknowingly taken the task of as sports journalists and photographers) on the sidelines ordering mixed drink and routinely ordered imported beers over mainstream domestic craft, set the tone for the night. but, there was something about the luminosity you brought that I couldn’t put my finger on. luminosity, is a word I’ve always known, but to describe you, it seems as if I kidnapped the word from the dictionary and put it beside your name. oceans eleven adaptation with a much more romantic, symbiotic flare. your name; carved into a tree, that tree being my spine. there’s a handful of metaphors here, but i promise you they eventually line up into a grand scale acid matte forest picture that is hung across an enormous gallery, in a bio-rich environment (also probably the size of a football field). i always wanted to take you to a gallery. i ALWAYS pictured you in the same clothes i first saw you in. perhaps, this is reflexive because that’s when i first fell in love with you. swishy, flowing flower dance pants that had little flowers move every time you moved in ways, that made me admire the time you seemed to put in, to be able to move like that, and uncomfortably made me wonder if anybody was watching my voyeuristic daydream. you also sported a navy blue top. oh, yes, when i first fell in love with you. I skipped over that. for good reason. can i interrupt this story with a guttural roar? thinking about what i’m going to continually write, and how i’m dealing with this right now is fucking terrifying.

i remember the first time i got the flu. I felt like absolute garbage. I didn’t’ know it was the flu, and for quite some time my invincibility got the best of me. I just thought I was having an off day. Until a trip to the doctors confirmed that I was fucking dying. (not really, but i was able to take a deep breath because I knew my feeling like shit was indubitably justifiable). That’s what it was like falling in love. It wasn’t love at first sight, either. I felt I had seen you before. I definitely prayed that you existed. For a world in which you don’t exist, isn’t really a world where I want to be writing love poems, at all. I magnified everything about you and tried to find a flaw. Too short, maybe? Too good at dancing? Maybe her fashion sense isn’t great? Those flowers do look great on her. I wonder if she likes flowers? What type of flowers? Gardenias. Fast forward to me plucking off petals in a panicking sweat, like Alfalfa. ‘she loves me, she loves me not, she loves me, she loves me not, she lov..” Until, I mentioned alfalfa and you would, without hesitation rehearse the little rascals, in, what would be your impersonation of alfalfa

” Dear Darla, I hate your stinking guts. You make me vomit. You’re scum between my toes! Love, Alfalfa.”

I fucking melted. If it wasn’t this, it was another movie quote, or another saying, or another obscure gesticulation, or body movement, eye twitch, hand movement, that only someone who is my age could even fathom of knowing. Literally. No one, in no time ever again on earth will be able to naturally grow up in the same culture that I did, the same climate, the same rhythm, blues, patriarchy pettiness, matriarchal madness, nothing will ever be what it is now. Latino American, We can get smidgens of what is it; mutations, descendants, meshes, clones, but we will, as a collective species embrace this again, we can pass down as many things to our children but time will erode things to its liking. They won’t understand the same things we do: neither will their kids to them, and so forth. We just have words, memories erased when we die. Rhymes, poems, love stories, imaginations that could never quite picasso the same abstract unique quarrel that is my life. our lives. east coast united states, first gen, denizens, half pop culture, mestizo, indigenous, african, half salsa, tumbado. food, the smell of beans, sudado, only to venture outside the safety of those prison walls to be met with xenophobia, racism, doubt and overarching theme of resistance, rebellion, anarchy, unpleasant prejudice, ignorance, naivety of people like me, expansion of my role in colonialism. by merit, by force. he best pizza on the planet, the culture. the arroz con frijole types, hojas, plátano, maíz, flor. deconstructed into twisted, warped family structures we build on whatever beam we can find. poverty stains and opportunity. chameleon dna. i’ll metamorph into anything my ego finds suitable. anything that will save me. we save ourselves. we find safety in this- this latinidad. this obscure robust sanctity, this sanctuary, of sanguine, saliva and saline tears. it will almost never happen again. no matter how many constellations, no matter the lining of planets with god names. no matter what trillionth our chance falls on. that’s the real gem. the real diamond in the abyss. the rough. those odds are quite literally, towers, leaning over. they’re staggering. Not just staggering – theyre fucking improbable. It shouldn’t exist. they’re literally impossible. if you do the math. I could get struck by lightning four hundred times. IN AN HOUR. That’s literally 6 times a minute. So, well, all right. I might’ve made that statistic up, but i’m sure you want to believe it. im sure it could be true somehow. and that’s all that matters. Almost. it’s almost what almost matter. believing. i believed the furrows, the creases your skin made when you mouthed word, i recognized them, they were only formed when something impossible was being said. Also, the football field club metaphor, and that my spine is a tree she carved her name into. Let’s not forget those. those are crucial. and, to the story, it’s almost mind-blowing to even think of it in such a manner. But, to think, I’m writing this at 2.a.m. The earth spins, it’s on its beyond trillionth rotation. time doesn’t stop. it’s the ticking that’s maddening. My emotions that continue that rebel against the madness. I’m sure we think about each other at the same time, sometimes. (you’d just have to think of me once, though.) and, i’ve heard when you think about someone for more than 5 seconds, that, they’re thinking of you too. You make, or made me feel… so many perfectly balanced, diversely distributed, good things. good as in being subjective. that I personally, feel selfish for personally, exclusively taking time to be grateful to be able to feel it at all. Random moments during the day my eyes well up with water, like plants with condensation, a prick when you get your shot, or river banks when the earths crust becomes saturated with a long awaited storm. I’m happy that I could feel this. I didn’t think things I wrote about so passionately would be true, or could become true, or even be scribbled onto paper. Imagine a fantasy writer finally being able to cast a spell, to have his inner desires devalue reality. to be able to spawn trees, or water without having to deal with nature, or time and space. it’s godlike, immeasurable scale of truth. it feels forbidden, like walking into cerberus’s playpen in the dark, or remove the shell from our hearts. or move mountains, that have made home on a tectonic plate, and years of erosion. you made a poet into a fantasy writer, in one fell swoop, just by being yourself. by breathing. moved mountains I didn’t think could move, and you have me so spellbound, hell-hound.

syrup pt. 2 (2nd volume to syrup- a follow-up on intimacy)

she’s smiling cheek to cheek, wide veneer cheshire
feel my eyes tether through your bed side
this that pressurized, bend-her-over sex drive
the entry to her treasure room, legs wide
find you in the vestibule, whisper at your back side
cause vigors’ just a side effect to when i imbibe
if pleasures just a mental boost
i take pleasure in these mental boosts every damn time
every touch explodes, fingers foot soldiers on a land-mine
something better be boiling on the inside
finger trace narcotic curves. im on a daze
can’t i? concentrate on what God unfurled?
my pussy.
you love it when i commentate on what i deserve
but you hate when i try to say that im unheard
undulating hyper-wave has gone berserk
now i’m insane cause you dont fuck the same from what i observed
im hard headed. my heart is soft centered
call center worker spun into withdrawal shivers
jewel spheres spawn light into these dark whispers
calm flickers, palm slipping, annihilation
we’d drop zippers. soft whimpers, dilating raw rhythm
you and i, condone this
kaleidoscopic, eye scoping, slight hypnosis.
caution warning message is sent
60mg oxytocin shower the flesh of your lips
hypnotic dosage
her butterfly journal. no reason to flutter
like a field i discovered, where i trace over patterns left by previous lovers
mind boggled, too.
reading diaries on how they failed to conquer you
chapters left blank, with nothing but a pencil and time
hand drawing rainbows with watercolor pigmenting dye
the arc of your back, with melted oil enzymes
frozen moment in time, where we coil inside
tongue ready to taste sweat that delicately falls up
like summer tree leaves in the depths of this autumn
or syrup filling places inbetween bark on a maple
sitting in the hilly banks swaddled in hazel
how are we able? despite our armor
so frigid. both thinking twice as harder
fragile, frosted crystallizing water
budding with pheromones to visualize our partner
bubbling over seas of red & rosy, slow touchings, moans buzzing, and get to know mes
blanket passion. the kiss me slowlys
turn sound off. let me go, please
enshrouded with fervor
can we hear you in a forest of trees when you shout and you murmur?

Michelangeloesque signatures on your crafted marble cheekbones
carnal loopholes, my caramel tease show
full figured, bloodshot, pouty lips
dark hair, gun shy rowdiness
mirroring oblivion, tongue tied drowsiness
unruly temptation. come into my arms
soul treks along spacetime and elation
unknowingly engulfing night stars
black holes and coffee stained eyeballs (mine)
rose petals and footprints to the daybed
colors in every conceivable wavelength
every nerve burdened, creates a spark
swallowed by the permeating darkness
of uncertainty and foregoing attraction
swerving clean into this moment collapsing
where the present flowing meets passion
seagoer calls for all hands back up on deck
capitans’ calloused hands meet the back of her neck

syrup pt 1

what do you feel, when you apply the sentience?
besides wall pinning. and drizzling fire sessions
momentary silence, pin drop in an empty room
padded wall. effervescent, and sensual
feeling your feminine voice
telegraph vibrations through many a noise
millenias not enough time to fix things we destroyed
i feel violated. pass me the void
barely observant. just an impressionable boy
unpacking post traumatical memory noise
your electrical currents, blend into words
ready to work, to have me possessed, like your serveant
invested, alluring. the rest is concerning
subway network connecting my brain
muscle memory. where her head would lay
tapping longing lust in this mental frame
karma sucks & its seems that way
cause i feel she turns the other cheek when i plead my case
you chisel streaked your name on my torso

i call them the oujia board hormones
you summon them like youre playing a game

heart strings tug at your loves centerpiece
commanding nerve endings to all rise like a judge entering
the ultimate meaning, what so many fear
meeting the puppeteer to this compulsory feeling
surgeon who writes cursive in different languages, slurring
in the OR tugging fleshy strings with insatiable thirsting
like water to rivers, drought cleansing downpour
crowned thorn. your love was the last remaining oasis outsourced

super conservative (the poets descent into the ‘convenience’ of a sudden rejection)

I get to the point where no ones’ love embroiders me,
I’d mix the oils, clay, and color coordinate the sordid seams
avoid distaste. annointed is the day shes holding me
hoist your rose colored lies on a crown of thorny leaves
hearing voices, and all
of them enjoy to scream
tend to open wounds, forget the ointment and gauze
nirvanas intensely consoling. and im pointing to God
for answers. for pensive motions, for something to want
memorized medusas feet, & my neck is at odds
alleged moments, you put me through in the dark
memory wash, collective dullness, deafness and sob
took years to look at you in the eye, and your tear ducts
the only thing set to stone was the mountain between us
consider the fact, were considering redacting
whats upsetting to me, isnt your lack of attention
you could whisper sweet nothings, molasses infested
but that wouldnt matter. instead its your ignorance
your palid irreverence against my calloused dejection
your beg to differs, go figures, your knack for these idioms
perhaps, its your undercut mouthing of idiot
the teeth grind to the bone you experience
perhaps, its that motherfucking tone its delivered in
your no holds barred in, your zone defense, the hole in my heart
crayola waxy pastels, bargain wine, oily art
watery eyes and no control is as close to oblivion
as broken hearts, ash tray and continued bewilderment
embark through the shadow, the only thing keeping’ me going
apart from fleeting emotion, is gravity from this blackhole
swear to god i got a disease in my bones
squeezing inanimate objects and pretend its your palm
they say deceit can be told from your eyes
but my god, the green in them brings me closer to god
i just want to be normal. i want to be calm
what bothers me is you couldnt be honest
wallowing like diogenes as a prophet
covering half truths, misinformative topics
performative love. banker turned art major
sharp razor, broadway liberal con finagle
how are you able? to resort to untrue resourcefullness
now all of a sudden youre super conservative?
save it.

me reflecting on unavailable women, whether it be emotionally or by status (succinct poem)

psychoanalyzing my pride. I’m ignoring the obvious
a war vet with ear plugs on the fourth of july
you’re that pyrotechnic glow on my mind
this memoir a token of antisocial expression
our vermillion bond, was anecdotal at best
demoralizing. you’ll only ever see it as a victimless crime
siphoning bits and pieces of our symphony’s chime
sitting in my oval office with petitions to sign
writhing in, inconsistency, not filling in shoes fit to size
concealing true entities. revealing my shrine
the answers rhetorical, when i ask who am i?
enough of the superstition. my existential crisis
to feel like i kiss your iris, everytime i think your eyelids

alma (revised half decade old poem with a modernized touch)


…over a quarter of my sentences begin with ellipses
the objective’s to sigh. the intent it carries? illicit
malicious design leaves my lips, but ends so benign
there ain’t a problem when it rains- you couldn’t tell that i cried
it becomes complicated to explain- when it wells in my eye
he pretends that he’s not, even though he bottles up the pain
locks it in a cage, then polishes his crooked crown
used to looking down, when things aren’t looking up
one day life’ll flash before my eyes;
not sure if that flash is good enough
been given a gift to scribe every moment as happened
with more details. more girth, more exposure, and factors
mere fractions of seconds, become volume series
weeks of dejection becomes your lifes communal theory
consummate. times snapped. here’s a problem that i had
what are words from wise men, when philosophers die sad
to my own respite, id serve up a bourbon with sprite
words became blurry and slurred over night
friends displayed worry. what’s that term to describe?
oh right, now
circle of life. how funny. it hurts when i bite down
i’d go in my journal and write thousands of wordy delights
to make sense of what happened, to an essay tore up outta spite
inherited words. characters without a characters worth
how embarrassing to have to establish, what to others- barely needs words
parameters towards my dignity gave an insatiable thirst
lessons invaluably learned through every varying turn
maneuver like van gogh’s jupiter through mercurial etching
to live frozen as a painter- in the worlds most peculiar settings
to see beauty in carnage, objectify tragedy as a series of concepts
rather than unfurling tempers flaring from a deity’s context
i hope my eulogy is written in blood. life romanticizes the beast
computerize all of my content. analyzing complete
molecules in your garden, fantasize mon cheri.
sift through the nucleus’ car-wreck. make a wish
I’m asleep

bondage (our chains, are invisible, but trust me, they’re there.)

inept, and upset, it’s like nothing is mentioned.
lifes a run on sentence, interconnecting.
eclectic, electric, im a plug in the wall.
a bit so perplexive. spotting the occult in the psalms.
the rejection. a song in the hall of this crazy asylum
straitjacket is off, and i still feel like i’m
abstaining. no hiding. not restrained or assigned
what’s a goon to a goblin, what’s 12 noon to this bondage?
shouts weaken as i interrupt the connection.
been seasons since I slept at the suns’ dusky consent
grayscale cuts. as lovely as ever
It’s only fear if we love to project it
i’ve learned to accept it, in a functional sense
inflections infecting, so fucking intense
influx of attention. but none to respect
found you by looking at your pendant glow in the dark on your neck
defunct. so abrupt, you can barely hear it
footsteps like eruptions, each thud becomes searing
unbarring. unnerving, like mummies in pyramids
we test love like currents, to conduct an experiment
shave off two bucks antlers, make my lovers potion in dye
appearing like, serum – you took most of in stride
the locust. conniving, always close to
my spine
blowing smog in my airways like covid arrived
halo spinning on her devil horns, soaking in pride.
denoting my time, with absolutely no focus adhered
from shifting gears in a war, now the coast has been cleared
she rode clean on her own horse, barefooted and gorgeous
you read me through your code words; without feeling remorse
like a fleeting emotion that cleaves through divorce
march to the beat of your own drums. cheeks are like porcelain
strawberry-stained bleeding disorder. heart beating endorphins
one weekend in greece, white villa is all that we need
cherry stem in her teeth. counting twenty sheeplings to sleep
plagued by beehives and wasps, in a treetop that’s neither streamlined nor warped
no te preocupas mi amor-
in the morning they’ll be more breezy seaside to waft
sea salt aroma, as sweet as its strong
no siege of despondence, no seething dissolving
just me, being charming, meeting you with resolve
so gather the sky clouds, chain the puzzle piece to my heart
my chéri amor, don’t wait till this dies down
permanent spring, summer breeze, no winter allowed
went from counting to three to running out of fingers to count


my inner voice. bragging and shy. so very coy
abruptly impassioned in its perilous joy
panicking. sulking.
abdicate holiness.
i salivate at the thought of having you hold me
heartbeat in my abdomen slowing
rapid eye movement. palindrome dreaming
what is the meaning?
we battle of the Alamo’ed the last of mohicans
i lament having spoken, “i love you and mean it”
there wasn’t any valid attempt to salvage our dreaming
no valiant feature. no heroine vouching for
just palindrome sequence. folklore and pretense
commodore drowning with his diamond princess and dreadnought boat
Goliath’s visage over david’s corpse and slingshot stones
a picture worth a thousand words, abstract distortion
how happy id be, if i didn’t have to be coping
passive aggressive when I’m manipulating my prose
this vacuum of time. pen inking words to expose
an odd inquisition to want composition to rot and erode
despondent, disposed. shook like bouts of epilepsy
loathe that i have to remind you to remember me
never felt as close to you, until you were leaving
no country for my old man left me in a state of bereavement
tired of this. esophagus, loaded with words
that’ll never break light or get its attention deserved
the most painful thing i did was losing myself
my memoir of dark thoughts steadily creep off the shelf
over saturated with half-love, masked-up infatuation
I’m so exposed
..at night time my heart wakes me up
it asks me what happened with so and so
i don’t know. please, heart

don’t ask me again.

Orwellian (my battle with depression, dysmorphia, anxiety, body image, eating disorder, perfectionism, and the ongoing back-and-forth with oblivion)

may my last words be half-slurred and cathartic
so & so’s favorite blue jeans stained with tear drops & saliva
head cradled in their lap, eyes barely widened
my interventions’ HQ will be besmirched within silence
my shoulder blades girth played role of a harbinger
the bonier they got; the more i wished i was a skeleton
malnourished, malevolent, maladjusted malaise
talking in malformed metaphors to try and explain
that there’s a concession of an all-dead jury saying my name
prosecutor in a straitjacket who thinks I’m insane
reading taped push signs over doors tailored to pull
judges with mallets in the same shape of my skull
my past lives failed me.
pantomime in his glass house flailing
glass eyed, no boundaries. highly contagious
armed & dangerous, with a heart a brain bit
ive gotten anxious, cause ive told you i’m not that anxious
i got chasers and glasses for my motherfucking shot-takers
a moment of silence, for up and comers w/ violations
bloodsucker, with lost childhood adult spaces
that touch base with generational cursed phases
misplaced trust havens. mass murdering & love laden
you fucking half murmured anything worth saying
innate phrasing becomes coding for crisis
like blinking twice, as a signal to police snipers
every moment spent sober – a cry out for help
tullamore on the shelf
books in the wine cellar
spending most of his life wishing id try better
heart of a lion, mouth of a sinner
there’s something so dystopian about 19.84 oz. of liquor

july 19th (3)


unsorted. unabashed. formal with his emotions. unashamed. vulnerable worn as a sash on thunderous days. sport a badge of honor stained with the blood of cain. what’s her name? love lost. lust loves to come in gangs. my father never asked if i’m ok. he told me he forgave me for what we brang. brought. sorry. when i’m in pain, my language crosses barriers all the same. rain forest. brain blots. lost in my badge of honor. should i say, i’m sorry? i’m not to blame.

fuck that motherfucker

fuck that motherfucker

fuck it. flames.

distraught and caught in daze. there’s days i question, am i supposed to be gone? hoping to holy father that i’m totally wrong. rotary dial. noticeable drama. rusty robot. corrosion in armor. lunch with locusts. emotional trauma. bandages with no adhesive falling off of my stitches. i’m more then enraged, i’m sort of conflicted. sort of insane. hold me no longer. aborting the mission. there’s holy ghosts that i pray too. prayers vanish. displaced. i read neitzsche and questioned myself. i read what she wrote me—- answer to questions dispelled. theres a wolf inside you, with a sheep in its teeth. what’s yours will find you, and crush you to pieces. find your heart indiscreetly, whispering that i love you. distilled inner feelings. take a shot of me and consume. sometimes i want to be lowered inside a grave. mausoleum adventures. nausea and deflection. hardly seen. i surrender, any parts of me i dismember. i believe god isn’t god if he’s hiding his face. don’t deny me my faith. close thy eyes then, sleep till forever. crying in shapes. not circles and ovals, more jagged edges and blades. that scrape down my cheek bones when they fall into place. tears become blood. blood becomes rage. it’s what we sign our names in when we scream out our names. when I’m inside of you. inside of your brain. eye stare psychosomatic. why are we strange? lie there so damaged. why do you push me away when i just want to stay? why do i stay when there’s blood on my face? a lion pawing away flys that nick at the scrapes. blood on my hands, nothing to say. asking if someone else wants to dance in my place. bach’s chaconne, slow waltz into grace. i’ve had it to here. i’ve had it to space. satellite metal floating till it touches something to change. engaging in societal rituals just to escape. jupiter ring hula hoop interlaced. interlaced. “pale fire” on the coffee table as blade runner plays. hiking alone up olympus with a cain in my fist. never without format, never existed. a whisper that’ll forever persist

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