fötter day

you can hear the…

suburbia chime, zirconia vertebrae. pearly white spine
glass thrown in stone houses, regular suburbia night
whirring, rewind. chronicled childhood in olive drab paint
monocle glass. wormwood and bottles of shawshank.
dissolute solitude, wanderer who wallows in maze
en route. delay for tomorrow. never promised today
virgin diary. anne frank. marie curie disease
tinture of rainbow, even if the distance is blurry to me
he, who knows the way to zihuatenejo.
furlough father. demand you to die when i say so
26 pesos what’s left in your wallet
lint and mothball, merryland. experiment omelette.
laundromat arcade quarter exchange
2 o clock shadow of death and follicle strain
these boulders were supposed to be gone when i got here
you shouldered me off. sunday morning penny loafer with frost
social commentary gabriel-lucifer talk
metamucil, retrograde. jupiter star
bolivian roast, oblivion, and a toast goes to mars
you hold my hand; but i don’t even know who you are
shout at me when indoors, but whisper weak when afar
im so close to eroding, skin growth, barely a scar
in my house; the big wolf. lungs pulse til’ exhaustion
i read a suicide note from the ghost in my closet
i dont know, if he knows if this apartment is haunted
by patriarchal pettiness, reminiscent negligent heart
maleficent maligned distant/forgot insidious offspring
with ammunition in their lips, that keep you off guard
feel the metacarpal love letters til your fingers fall off
once you step out the door, you hear the wooden creak in the floor
fell asleep at the creek daydreaming before
everytime before bed i hear footsteps coming from deep
and i hide in my closet, until they delete
REM hits me while I’m counting my sheep
counting rosary beads for every step wolf takes towards me
like neighborhood freeze tag, counting to 3
dysfunctional beings, huffing in suburbia breeze
i know that i know nothing is in love when i speak
into denizens, the medicine cabinet creaks
when you close it and i haven’t heard it in weeks
form bourbon, to curtains burnt at the seams
I’m so close to being the opposite of perfect, i scream
what emerges, a bird sits perched in a tree
what alerts him is
suburbia breeze

AA4564

i feel 

so disconnected. pictures of stars are trillions of seconds old
heliocentric. we spend our time wishing we could revisit a setting
i could see it in decimals. each dot a pause in a sentence
hold my hand, avalanche. bring me the check when you’re finished
mezzanine at the theater, velvet seamstress, madam Gutierrez
que romántico eres. carve my heart, au revoir mi mujer
i spend the evening in tears, like its common procedure
every droplet is a sonnet, every water stream a cathedral 
where people gather, or they scatter, whether it be former or latter
and they pray to their jesus, and i pray cause i have to
there’s order in madness, rhetorical hope in the sadness
like a volcano that’s dormant or a star going dwarf 
just part of it all, endorphin hull, heart to starboard 
when we talk, disembark. your lips presses mute
mrs vixen, so dissolute, pixel perfect, lipstick in blue
vigil for a virgin, vicissitude, picture me as i picture you
don’t listen when you talk, kiss your ears when you moan 
so petite, heavenly, pour the shot-glass, and reload 
monkey see, monkeys cheek perfect on your ocular bone 
cause to me, you’re as sweet, as strawberry dose
through the darkness, on horses. cobweb corrosion 
cut through the bark with my sword. I’m sorry my forest
double entendre. knot in my throat.

not even sober
harlequin clone.

dark knight imposter, I’m already joker 
early onset alzheimer’s,

forget what you told me
along the lines, were ostracized, but we’re all really lonely 
wave down a taxi, drop me off on the corner. call me when you’re home
wait for me at the door, don’t leave me alone 
lay down – the house spins. false belief, methadone.
marmalade, cherry tree, cigar leaf, telephone 
qu’est-ce que c’est¿

fasten seatbelt while seated, mi amor 
stand to applause, an encore, such a valid response
you’d barely feel it 
you moved on, so very far. 
i checked my bags at the door. viewed the empty decorum
sit at the bar. recount the experience
watch the only bag revolve round’ the oval
let me fall. so very scared

we should want what we fear. 

thanks 

dreaming of colors

I salivate at the thought of atom lasers and waves of splattered rainbow

the way they collaborate on a acid halo.
technicolor schemes, that i’d envy more than me.
oh, what it is to be, a color never dreamed.
enactment of life, elapsed by the clockwork
collapsing of time. facets of ‘why does it all hurt?’
a village helps a villager, if the villagers hurt
do these pills help the piller if his pillars are burnt?
his bridges are burned? his highways corroded
how do I ride into the sunset if I can’t shift out my motor
road to hell is paved with gold embellished shades
it’s so subjective. wave hello to your soul in separate planes
i don’t know.
stuck in a layer of concrete. put flower petals to the metal
a gentle giant so powerful, yet afraid of his heartbeat
accept what we think we deserve-  excuses for bad behavior
human nature to constantly be stuck in reverse
it gets worse. “but it gets better” nothing to learn from forever
the souls dark. wholeheartedly wrapped in fatigue
thought of happiness being something that you have to achieve
awkwardness. my bed cries with me when I’m sad in my sheets
trail of tears that supersedes the native retreat
i create a path of logic built on a mountain of lies
mountain lions call me out on my pathological lying
fake it, till you make it. hate it, till you love it
love it that you hate me, it jets the fuel i huff in
was taught to cherish things that were romantically scenic
sucked nostalgia dry ’till nostalgia was bleeding
drank the blood from a chalice, and soaked up its privilege
youth gave me a run for my money when i was broke to begin with
a loner with dimming hope, so dull it begins to show
a biography of my life would expose darkness over light
like an eclipse, with a plot twist most would think morose
eskimos have 50 words for snow, I acquiesce 50 words for hate
most manifest themselves, in bloody knuckles. bloody gauze and tape
learned to roll with the punches, but humans werent meant to roll
a ball inside of me, that snowballs bigger everytime its cold
everytime i hold, myself when im at home.

im a droll, dry-amusement, type of guy with nice intentions but with bad conclusions, soft witted, mild human, sophisticated tall thinker. with a soul that’s sly and stupid, controlled environment. spry delusion. im told, it’s tiring, to expose your entire being in poems, and in higher reading.

i never said goodbye once, cause i believe in good karma endings
nice guys finish last but you learn more when you’re not as condescending

July 19th, 1991.

all little boys need father figures

not to be normal, or not to be sane. You wouldn’t turn on a lightswitch without seeing where all the conduits placed. You grow up with a fist full of hurt. A surge, like a missile, without hearing a ‘miss you’. But one thing is certain, nothing makes you question your integrity more knowing that your very existence is burden. You’re a burden to breathe. I was just a curious boy. Curious George. Curious Cristian. Tried to talk to friends, but the look on their faces. It hurts just to listen. A burden. “How about a counselor?”. Yeah, I know the in-and-outs. I’m a soldier. Here take my money, let me cry in your shoulder. How do you plant your feet in the mud? And how do you turn your feelings to comfort? And how do you know what you’re feeling is real and isn’t some misguided daydream, cause you’re weak, and well – younger. I’ve broken off my hearts pieces asunder. endured the most embarrassing trial and error in the world to learn how to speak to a lover. It sucks. Questions I wanted to ask. Questions that needed answers. How do you express greediness more than leaving a son? Upset cause I proceeded to ask ’em. On the cusp of 24 without never really knowing how it is to have one. Just shells of people that didn’t want to take up the task. Another week is another meek undercover. Another daydream took a plunge. Now all i wanna do is scream. I want to go into the streets and scream ’til I don’t feel any nothing. ‘Til I summon beams full of thunder, till I shutter streets full of anger. ’til my fucking teeth shatter and bust into a dozen pieces of rancor. ‘Til you see a fucking beast take refuge on the streets with an anchor, and he won’t leave til sun-up and sunsets over under. ‘Til you fucking learn my motherfucking pain isn’t something to play with, motherfucker. There’s a bloodbath of ink on this pale sheet. I’m on a smooth pace of spilling, a new space and ceiling. Its a tragedy that I had to reduce my father figure into newspaper clippings. How my favorite ballplayer scored 30 points. There’s a new wave of emptiness intended for millenials
and I write most of everything in metaphors. Soft explanations. so the interpretation gets lost in translation, cause as long as I know what I meant. Your misconception is void, cause I felt those words when I wrote them. 100 years from now when I’m gone, children in classrooms will be dissecting my verses. With no intention or purpose. I scribbled them into quotes. A message deployed. Through rejection. Through rage. Through an affectionate ploy. An inception became a reflection of my own inevitable pain. Cause remember, for everything set in stone, there’s a knife where the edges are frayed. Irreverent. Sane. I clutch an invisible pendant made out of being ashamed. Every individual second is captured in a thousand frames. And those frames are just lost, they never see light. They’re just gray. There’s a judge that looks exactly like me, handing out a sentence in vain. Bail is set at impossible, and the bailiff is me too. At my funeral, I want Beethovens 5th set as the prelude. Every physical sentence I mash out is obsession. I’ve invented the abstract. & what’s next is a flash. I sit alone at the dinner table, 3 hours past supper. Spinning my index finger in the red wine, staring into the glass, as if it’s gonna stare back up. Every masterpiece I created is crap. And my own perfection is lackluster. I don’t know. I’ve been so hard on myself, that the quality is starting to lack. Quantity takes its place to tackle an impossible task. Ive’ tacked on a badge of honor; madness bottled up, swallowed up by a flask of somber.

I already know what you’re going to say before you say it. it’s non euphoric. and even if I were to become complacent, it would be out of boredom. What a soreness to wake up out of touch with the world. Like yeah, I see your pain, and I raise you my void. I’ve coughed blood into buckets. I’ve sung songs that have trumpets. It’s better to have love lost, than to, fuck it. Making people laugh is a drug and I love it. And then I run out of punchlines, and realize my life was it. Feeling implicit. Two decades confined to fetal position.

CONSONANT ART.

Processed with VSCOcam with t2 preset

I don’t even care for breathing air, like A.) it’s clearly a mission. B.) Decided not to get angry today. It’s barely decision. Think life should be more grand than it is, but it isn’t. Can’t have regrets with being wrong, that’s why I love indecision. Sweater against chins, found myself looking for trouble. I love when the thread gets hooked to the stubble. Everyday that awaits is merely a presence. Trepidation dismayed, Come on, spare me a second. Deliriums weighed out of space, a variable essence, just savor today and take care of the present. Valiant way to go about positive pulses. To distract any and, all cognitive focus. Bottled emotions are false, I recycle with candor. Light a candle for the fervor, yeah, I’m slightly enamored. Find me an ember, then signal me over. Superstar to the blackhole you stitched in the nova. Pray to thy father for all lucrative sin. Indifferent with my efforts to feel human again Making deliberate errors to feel human again. I don’t feel human again. Oh my god, I don’t feel human again. Crippling endeavor, how loose can I get? Mixing leisure with whenever = hows the hubris in print? Ballad of blueprints I script; valid Freudian slips. That the entire, massive audience gets. Parrying my worries off with a quart of vodka and gin. Cocky with grins, cordial to the ghosts that i sleep with. Blood alcohol at about .8 for a better portion of week. Speak in harbingers. cohesive volume bleep. Final cut of Lost in Translation in scene, ironically explains my solitude deeper than any audible scheme .what a phenomenal feat, I still dream about the hairs on your neck. To tell this real boy that he’s still a marionette. Cut my heart strings, in all fairness, respect. Your stare down had me speechless at my ventriloquist act. Webbing off surrealism, with tarantulan siege. Gargantuan in a glass jar, with nothing to reach. With nothing but handprints on the outside that acted as speech. Palpable. Weak. I wish when I talked, that my verbal drew in circles with supersonic aplomb. And my vowels would nonchalantly evolve through a canvass. through a gospel of songs that I draw within language. Go into a lobby, as if I’m talking to god, to what I embody; through an army of my consonant art.

Explosives can be a growth experience

tired of decomposing, dried up, my dreams are dozing
my body has peaked the opus, through godly retreat.
I hope. trying to feel a pulse, pariah that feels opposed
pinching my gripe, controlling. picture my mind in solace
pitching and writhing, gritting and grinding my teeth to focus
witch-doctors reveal a poem, my palms have been reading growth
exhausted. my beings broken. loathe signs that concede to smoke
I need the tar to feed compulsions. exhaust that secretes emotions.
tyrants as deacons, posing; goliath as people cloaking
a lion in sheeplings clothing, a tiger that feels repulsed
about the lines that he sees his coat in. why do i feel insulted
sonnets revealed in quotient, to qualm this conceited ghost
but while i sleep, i know that, the mind is a demons crows nest
fire that feeds ferocious, piles of sheathed explosives

CAMBRIDGE

fire place with tourettes. pop and crackles in depth
drunkenly asking questions I wouldnt dare. I was shy
recherché brunette, with curlicue braids in her head
there’s a reason wine glasses are in the shape of a Y
fork in the road, left or go right, slicing tension with knives
I went left, it felt right. spooning you cus’ the etiquette’s nice
drinking the truths I fed you, intoxicated with lies
sedated and high. i’ve contemplated for help
what kills you isn’t the virus, it’s the inoculation itself
it’s what helps you, and what hurts you; it’s complicated as hell
whatever. that isn’t what I wanted to say
I wanted to go, but in jest I wanted to stay
it’s getting awfully late. capturing arguments offside
cured by clever wording, Cambridge-Oxford alumni
defunct and debased. aim the hair and the trigger
selfishly enamored with death. date at 8, before dinner
ignoring the nose bleed as I stare in the mirror
tighten my neck-tie. debonair of elixir
ignored the pain, hailed a taxi to a chain up in Gloucester
took off her pea coat, pulled up her chair, and with posture
stayed after pay. After lobster. Chatting crucially after
doodled on napkins. flirty exchanges on contours
draw a monster for me. now.. what makes it a monster?
Voodoo and magic, pin the needle on the doll
Incognito. High libido in the stalls.
torpedoed, and we fall. Mistaking distress cause i’m loyal
disrobing attempts at joy. sex as a crutch to enjoy you
aware, but yet not so. picked up on the influenced behavior
clues like, you were nice to me, but were rude to the waiter
apprehensive as creatures; egotistical shroud we bestowed
to, jealous of the fires made when I was set out in the cold
mistakes are subjective. practicing repetition til’ death
like a photo out of focus is a blunder, but ten are a trend
ambien, ambiance, ambulance.
a picture of you in a locket near my hearts strings
open it up. learning to stop looking for happiness where i lost it

Flown off course

Vaudevillian. I’ve flown so off course
that my radar doesn’t even beep
it’s silent, instead it weeps
for some recognizable aura of man to detect
signature heat, thermal readings. nothing
Become so abrupt in my comings that most of my time
is spent twiddling my thumbs
I’ve flown so off course, a meteorite that had its path
altered in slight trajectory by space debris
could be my new home, if it ever passed by me
that’s how far off I am
I’m flown so off course, that my wings don’t even flap
in this new dimension of flying, we fly with our minds.
I’ve flown so of course, global positioning
isn’t a satellite thing no more —-
it’s how i view our galaxy from a lightyear away
mars and mercury are tiny stars
venus and neptune are off
but furthest, but not least, earth, is the last of equation
where a place full of life could make me feel like an alien

Electricityyyyyyyyyyy

incandescent. i’m pregnant with my words
pregnant as in, ready to burst
and give life where it’s needed, or not
irreverent, moment of shining
where bulbs of luminous lime invoke
a poisonous vine. it’s similar in fashion when
I couldn’t feel a feeling twice,
it’s only one time that I felt it
like, I can’t relive a time in inception
to revive the electric vibe
that enlivened me in a second
So terrified at the ghastly future that I stayed in the present
played with ploys of my past
Avoiding, a void, is like a moisture in cracks
Over periods, the crevice loosens its solid texture
it falls, and become decrepit over time.
A dam is a unimaginable creation of man
and i was that, an image of grandeur
but with just the constant pressure of water
my only vulnerability turned into disaster

Leonardo

Freshly dressed tourniquet

Empyrean cosmos. This feeling I swallow; it’s real. It’s hollow, but there. I know it. It’s growing, a hole full of sorrow, it’s weird. Some sort of eery control. It’s sculpted out a grave in my heart, it’s six feet into my soul. Clay soldier statue that’s woven and wound up by fear. Wounded by perceptions and ousted by fear. I’m used to it, ruthless, I’m near it, I smell, it; I hear. And movements that veer into me, is getting boosted. It’s like every little thing is in motion for me. Emotionally, my blood pumps. it’s mundane humdrum. I’m so used to panic attacks when it happens, I’ve practiced drowning myself to get better at ‘em. Crusted bark falling off the sharp edges of trees. Hearts with initials were pleas for adjustments in romance. CG + your initials here. Or Your initials here, + CG, because ladies go first. It’s old. And when the heart breaks in half, my part of the heart looks like a parenthesis ). It’s funny, because you said I always kept everything a secret, like a sidenote, like parenthesis. I get it, see. I’m holding the keys that unlocks the deepest, boldest embarking trips to the depths of my soul. I don’t even know if it fits, homesick, if home is where the heart is, i don’t even know if my home fucking exists. Went for a doctor check-up and hugged him when he said I had 65 beats per minute. “really?!” I said, with a smug grin on my face. That’s 65 reasons a minute why I hated myself. Verbal vortex ripped in coercion. I’ve lived a minute for 23 years and, I’ve tasted helplessness in 65 different version. I’ve envisioned never being hurt and it’s never visioned. Feeling defeated every second, I sarcastically think ‘is that why its called beats per minute?????’. Overly saturated covert emasculation. Social emancipation, i’m vocally allocated. Totally placid. Manipulative dickhead. Owner of phallus castle, got my troops and took over ovary palace. Sensory sonar. Very elective, and deceptive. It’s no arms combat. I’ve learned to defeat you physically by waving a pistol made with the way my lips sway and turn words into bullets. It’s only defense. I’m the least offensive person alive. I’d totally offend you though. don’t hurt me, I’m ready to let you go. Let us go. In an emotionless scene, and ocean or sea, of developing flowing disease. I could kiss the wrists you executioned me with. Puckering kiss cracks like the whip that antagonized our failure. I apologize for action, that me, myself and I don’t acknowledge in real. I’m molded. Grown old and outsourced. It’s like the mold in a spore. Can barely afford to pay attention to myself, how would I know I was there for you.

IT’S 2 A.M AGAIN, wooohooo.

 

its 2am

i feel interconnected through any vine or snippet of life
perennial inflorescence of any 6 seconds are chimed
the success is a hive. hummingbird wings in slow motion
hearing the crickets sing, so monotone yet obscurely composed
feels like they’re talking to me, as i walk on the leaves that i cross
demure. you’re so provocative. and i’m surely a ghost
crunching of autumn, is like a skeleton field for tiny trees in the fall
to possess you is a  perfect choice, and you’re as alluring, a host
sunbathed petals, drowning in jack’o’lanterns of coffee & pumpkin
squash the soggy leaves, after a beer. underneath the frothy assumptions

it’s cost me a fortune. ink-jets flew the loss to the profits
that’s just the cost out of pocket, i wore the pants, but you wore the wallet
living a martyr. nose-dive a dotted plane into soil
where waves were uncoiled, from the amber gaze, to the point where it boiled
hear the ether perform. a duet with 42 degrees, and a choir
robotic vampire, nothing to do but to sink my teeth into wires
mechanical organism, metamorphing orphan. with a heart full of gears
bleeding gasoline endorphins. pros&cons was the love you pretended to smear
propane huffed outta’ my ears, olfactory prose transposing as mutants
you wrote me off as a human, with me begging you to hear me out. it was ruthless.
wasnt enough. contraption malfunction
the sound drowned out. a whisper was like dropping a mountain above it
teardrops were waves, where even a arc wouldnt suffice
you took two of each beast that i had, so immediately, I….
just lost it.
you whittled a soldier out of clay, from the earth a clone was conceived
with a chisel that was made by the bones of deceased
you were the cotton in an aspirin, a linen in my attire i wasnt accustom
to go into combat for you with a war-drobe and the cloth that it’s cut from
ungodly. the humdrum. i couldnt acquire the taste
you were so tongue in cheek with me. i blushed into haste, when you asked if i’d want some

all i want is 5 minutes where we understand each other completely
where we aren’t drunk, or having sex. sigh. where you just complete me
developments real. the buzzing of broken street lights. are loud
suburban cemetery. not a real burial ground. that’s the imagery
you stole what i had, but now that you did, my souls deep with love
you need so badly what i have, but now i don’t even want
hows it feel to have it? i couldnt sate it but maybe i was deeply depressed
it doesnt diminish my character. but it diminishes you. exposes your WEAKNESS. you werent even a friend
you poked fun at my features, especially crucial to the dent near my nose
which were filled with rain drops from my pupils. there now tears are used as placeholders, for now they’re never exposed
so hastily brash, sorta insane, but with class,
you took the sage and lit ablaze the incense with aroma my nasal could grasp
heart rates out the bag. but a cat caught this lung! out of breath and out of reach
a tongue with an abrasive touch, i just wanna say, what i wanna say, without the effect of me to stay in this funk
i dont even try to be me, i try to be me, but for you just like me. to see me as something else besides a jaded complexion.
you were into astrology. i read the sign of a pisces for august 10th and copied it cause i knew you would make the connection
i manipulated myself, but in that i manipulated you
all it took was a simple placement of emotion, for you to be the creative ink of my next scintillating muse
pixelating. ruse. miscellanoeus. who? ive never been vindicated cause vindications rude.
ive been to places, you….. couldnt move to. in a million years
walk a mile in my boots..
where bricks from the ceiling and the steel-toe sorta disappears.
dissipating. pointless. ventilating. poignant. vision aided moistness
where physics plays a joint version of the bible’s revelations. over and over again.
my wound is opening. fix the sutures. fix my future. remove gauze
remove smog. sterilize. feral eyes. then apply the ointment.

its 2am