cristian's wordpad & lingering thoughts

dose of Cristianism & other absurdities.

nameless

Posted on June 28, 2019

it’s almost time
for a confessional. let’s bathe our feet while we dance
sediment wash. baptism in the chemical sand
trekking through the barriers that barely stand
in touch with invariance.
writing love letters. barely legible; sun setters
cantaloupe sky. dusk settles. what’s warm love in november?
it’s cranberry cheeks. your tongue tingling. teeth
surrendering ourselves to eruption. lungs blistering. freeze
i’ve talked to god on occasion. mention mary and seph’
carried a mountain on my shoulders through a valley of death
i’ve longed for delay. had a walk through nirvana
hoisted a banner reading ‘i want to be craved’
we just want to be loved. we just want to partake.
on a trotting that doesn’t involve being numb
noticed your aura carrying breath of life to grave diggers
make their shovels change to pens like shape shifters
paint pictures. plant seeds that proceed to out wait winter
gasp. breathe. then watch spring make way
that was a metaphor for how fruitful you are
when i think of kissing you, my fitbit thinks I’m working out
and when i talked to you
my fitbit said my heart rate slowed down
that’s just testament to how you slow time down

and
it works out.
want to spend time with.
lets cascade, the sky, rip.
over to
your face visage. that’s engraved under eyelids
to my future lover. i’ll consume you like no other
keep you fluttered. keep you covered. with an influx of these crimson colored kisses
mission: smother. mission: touch her….
heart, create a spark that dwells deep within ventricle walls.
imagining ember blaze, rinsed with a dab of my tender gaze
create mendable art. candlelit wicking flame
absolutely delicate. trapping in shadow
everything’s past tense. everything matters
speaking weakly under covers. cheeks in blush
proceed to hush the noise. drown the sound.
unsheathe the void
asleep we touch.
wake up. innocent eyes. glistening. tithe.
as morning UV bathes our skin with it’s dye
remember this line; we could drift forever without an anchor
pigment alignment.
so fluid. our loose lips could sink battle tankers. finger paint on each other within our silence

HUMILITY

Posted on May 29, 2019

soul is sequestered.
hanging fruit, in a forest of giants
praying for atonement or a holy alliance
molding my bones. soul seller solely uncensored
sling to be highest bidder, sold to goliath
liquor bottle pried in my fingers. corroded and weathered
like sewing a sweater, stitching holes i’m developing
linoleum tiles.
alone in his centerpiece, exhausted, and smiling
phone ringing. moment of silence
calloused fingers, punching the rotary dialing
show me a sign, show me these messages
but show me something,
worth something more than im fretting for
patternized moments wove into metaphors
tethered alignment into saturn skies orbit
were all enraptured to die
for worse or for deserts. for better, I’m dying
choke in the sandstorm that envelops the earth
lying in dirt. drenched in his own recollections
pirating strongholds, storm in depression
hurricane in a teacup, hold a blade in my teeth
for someone so verbose i hardly say what i mean
that’s what’d you say to me.
footsteps loud, like a mouse, but barely a peep
bestial morphing.
don’t know if I’m abnormal or still repulsively mourning
who knows
apex predator stuck in a matrix. his cage is lead proof
have dreams of your tombstone i never payed respects too
every morning at three id pray at your feet. go rest for awhile
heard nothing but echoes. stretch moment denial
heads closed in. labyrinth threshold.
side-thorn, blood shot. gigawattage electrode
eyes sore, daily. is there anything left to fight for
python bite force, venom poisonous psych ward
joining through the nylon nervous system sidewalks
bicep tendon, symbolism. combination ice cold
thromboembolism. narcissism. it’s hard to paint the right tones
existentialist grave digger. ghost hunter. face filter
illiterate author.
conspiracy factist. fascist stuck in francisco ascaso
conjecture gets harder. the lesser the gaudier
the lesson: contemporary. your protector. your guardian.
preparation delirium. procrastination is lazy
injection paste into serum. like they did to blacks in the 80s
reincarnations a bitch. face in the stitches you gave me
perturbed with no purpose, let’s give it a pause
and stop for awhile, the resentment is awful
statuette in a costume, baphomet with a cross
sometimes thinking I’m crazy. always thinking I’m lost
seeking fulfilling things- small cause, far from colossus
never thinking I’m right. confused with humility

indigo magenta

Posted on March 19, 2019

lachrymation and silence

my most cherished possession. holstered like a primary weapon
baseline until i count to 7, quiet like a library session
four
five
six. these moments just help you evolve
which adds truth to my theory that pain is a necessary involvement
in life and in fiction, typecast me as your typical loner
sedentary absolving finding peace as a cynical joker
time caught in a stone. i’d propose if you let it
i could grab you a minute, if you’d hold me a second
slowly regressing
into a caterpillar
hold me. then clench me. visit my calloused winters
(don’t) let me go- grab my spring and it’s passive whispers
don’t catch my depression. but, do catch my kisses
even if it’s something to feel
run to the hills. rip out this chapter & section
tourniquet heal. veins indigo, black, and magenta
dab in scented oil to mask the repentance
cloaking valid potential into the aridest deserts
ignoring red flags was only half of the question
half the equation, double the time, a third of the lesson
do clipped wings still make birds as majestic?
hardly.
do my inklings slipped under your door make you regret it?
still hear your laugh interlaced in absentia
if a tree falls in a forest you burn does it matter no more
does the sound it make get engulfed in the roars?
séto masochist, full of control
atom poems in my notepad stayed so reactive
drunk cursive shooting out my pen like the borealis
digitalis in the garden. ketel 1 in my ale
procrastinating the ending, i couldn’t have been better prepared
no plotwists keep character progression derailed
fighting uphill battles with no wind in my sails
i promise you i meant what i said
even if half of it was muttered on the other side of the bed
I’m waiting alone. plagued by a catch-22
you sang me song, but sang it in blue
win, lose or draw. paint pictures of this varying muse
recapturing colors that i barely knew

blog post: reaction: self help

Posted on February 14, 2019

this is in response to a friends blog post, titled “self help” a person i silently & greatly admire from afar.

in ten days from valentines, it will be the “anniversary” of when my childhood friend, took his own life. i was 17.

he lived down the street from where I lived. the morning after I went to school, (late, as usual) walked towards the class I was failing. noticing something very strange about the air. when i walked into class, everyone sort of just welcomed me, with fake smiles. depleted hearts.

sobering reality kicked in, and the world seemed off. i didn’t pay much attention to it, i didn’t pay much attention to anything that seemed off. cause, fuck the world, and fuck you. i ignored it (per usual) & continued to be my rebellious, teen self. one of my friends in class – mentioned what happened to george “was crazy” and that he “couldn’t believe it

i remember so photographically – that one instance. in fact i remember everything so vividly, that thinking about it haunts me, still. if i ever get good at painting, I’m going to paint this very moment, kids standing in class, some sitting on desks, centered around me, almost like a centrifugal mass, where i was the unknowing sun, and my classmates were bastions (planets) of information- and name it “he doesn’t know what’s going to hit him”

when i mustered up enough curiosity,

i asked which george, and what had happened?

everybody figured my perpetual disregard of mere small talk was of my coping mechanism to deal with my friends death, rather than regular happenstance.

read that again. my classmates thought me ignoring them, was my coping mechanism, and not my regular go-to reaction in life.

george got into an accident.”

-“oh like skateboarding?”

very nervously. while the class looked on, my friend said

no, man. he’s ..uh. he shot himself.

he’s dead

walking into next class. i felt as if the grim reaper was following me. the day got dark. metaphorically, and i felt as if there was a giant cloud fucking making its way over me. permanently. there was no other way to explain it. i got into class and slowly, felt tears fall off my face as the lecture went on. they felt hot. too hot. lava dripping. like tears i’ve cried before. the night before. and the night before that. but i never cry in public. that’s something i do at home, comfortable. door closed, locked, pillows and blankets underneath the door so nobody can hear me (or rather, i thought, that i don’t disturb anybody with my cries for help)

what i did was curl up into a ball and cry. i cried and cried and they had to call my mom. i was embarrassed(!) i demonstrated such weakness. everybody understood, though. nobody remembered, i hope. my mom came and i walked as if i had lost a limb. tears falling off my face.

mom asked “why am i picking you up?”

starting to cry.

she asked why.

over and over. it got frantic.

i couldn’t talk. it’s as if the reaper who followed me cut out my tongue. fed it to wolves. to demons, that i felt were following me for quite some time.

after letting pressure build up, i manifestly let out a guttural cry, held her, and said “my friend mom. my friend! he’s gone”

i cried. and i threw up. i said many more things, but i’ll spare you for the sake of how explicit i was.

i guess, perhaps, looking back, i felt like i wanted to take my own life. (not perhaps, but decidedly, did want to) i was almost upset at george for doing it first. it sounds weird, disingenuous, dispassionate towards my friendship with him. but i felt, perhaps taking my own life would have spared others from doing the same.

“would you jump off a bridge if your friend did?”

in this case, no. i just wish i had jumped off first.

felt as if he beat me to the punch. for years i delved, not in self harm. but a weird form of masochistic self torture. not in the “traditional” (is that even the correct word? it sounds awful as hell) sense (wrists, cutting, eating disorders, etc) i trained my body vigorously. too much. i would do sit-ups and pushups until i couldn’t move. i would punch myself in the stomach, and face, to “build” myself up. id break my wrists from punching things. i’d pee blood regularly. id have bruises the size of grapefruit, that i strategically covered with baggy clothing, my long hair, and other tools of my rebellious nature. the list, unfortunately goes on.

that was my twisted version of strength. me being strong was being able to survive my own version of hell that i felt the world created for me. i wanted to show myself (and myself only) that i was stronger, than the demons that followed me.

i never went to a therapist. never told a friend. never mentioned anything. ever. how could i?

fast forward->

in the incoming year or so, i heard my mother crying. crying like i’ve never seen her cry. crying like how she saw me cry. i go into the room, apathetic. “strong”- like, (stoic, unperturbed, with a calm demeanor) and asked her “what’s wrong?” she choked up the words, “se murió, mi papá está muerto!”

i’ve never seen so much pain in someone’s eyes. so openly vulnerable. kneeling. with the carpet visibly showing that she’d probably been crying for hours.

i turned to her and said, “well, … life.” (i regret that).

and walked away.

i never shed a single tear. in fact, i still haven’t regarding my abuelitos death.

years later my cousin of similar age as me (with a child) died of breast cancer, that eventually took out her lung. she fought a tough, strenuous, long battle. i still haven’t reacted to that, as i probably should- as i feel a pit in my stomach. nobody ever asked me to react. in fact most people probably react the same as my classmates did when they thought my silence was my overt, and obvious pathway to coping. death is a very personal thing. and as poetic as i am, i can’t make any particular component about death as shakespearean as most would want it to be life.

i don’t regret anything i did to myself. my only regret was not seeking help when i needed it. and creating my own version of strength. my regret is not going to my kneeling mother and giving her a hug that breathed life back into her. (she never was quite the same.)

exclaiming to her it would be okay, and that I’m here for her. my only regret is not

doing the same for myself. help yourself. please

self help.

again thanks for reading, and the poems you guys wait for will be back on schedule.

again and again, again.

Posted on January 16, 2019

again

i hear footsteps awaken the creaks in the floor
again.
who the fucks at the door?
night stand machete laid neatly in drawer
revolver neath queen mattress. in case of a quarrel
but
there’s nothing. just repentance, contempt, intentions dissolved
gun powder, protein drinks, and penniless thoughts
could’ve sworn there was something. apparently not
hear a swarm of bees next to me every day before dark
borderline manic. try undoing the damage
safe spaces fossilize our balloons & our cages
as therapeutic as raindrops on metal roof interchanges
interpersonal relationships via internal damnation
stray further from kinship. purge the pervasion
starboard the king ship. observe the insane
social connection more grandeur than normal distinction
hormonal response. formality close to instinction
forming a bond. cutthroat. synovial strong
childhood friends like famous rockstars. so many gone
kurt, latore, shakur, shuffling through on the browser
normalcy’s paused. quiet as space. jupiters powder
going through life thinking, how do i amount?
inner city soul, stained by destitute out-of-towners
with every nuance i learned from human encounters
too many to count. too many to counsel
when obstacles are given names like they’re mountains
who wouldve thought. who couldve saw this
my descent towards aloof disregarding
diluvian shark fin. hell in a handbasket
downpours start when my umbrella unravels
distinct as makeshift drum sets in the big apple
phasing out white noise on hierarchal basis
psychosomatic. mind warp. self actualization
dwell in differentiation you promptly install in
we’re basic creatures. basically bombs
waiting to go off. waiting to want.
ticking til doomsday. can’t wait to disarm me
but
something is wrong when
my maslow pyramid has 5 entries for love and belonging
some things prolonged, let the panic begin
to quiet storms to harsh circumstances again
don’t need you to resolve what i mention
just
put my tears in a mason while you nod in acceptance

again

nice’s guys finish last

Posted on December 22, 2018

I’m stronger than you. Or, I thought I was. Maybe I am. Don’t fucking touch me. Make up your mind. Tell me you love me. Fuck me like you mean it. Mean it when you fuck me, love me when you tell me, you love me. Tell me a secret. Show me your ghosts. I’ll show you my demons. Baby, you should go. Maybe we only got along cause our monsters played nice. How to atone? I’m so over, being alone. But, I rather be alone, than prone to abandonment and holding, on to consolement that’ll never be known. Fuck what your sentiments wrote – they lied to me and let it be shown. A lantern is only a guide if the lights lit, and you have your sights set on looking for home. Hope you sow what you reap, motherfucker, my eyes on you. You’ll be holding up hollow fruit with no seeds in between. you asked me to keep my poetic words away from hurting your soul. I aint keen on breaking promises, but, no. Hold on a minute, hold on a hour, hold onto my throat. my broken heart is telling me you told him you won’t.

Fuck it, I’m definitely stronger than you. If I did half the shit you did, you wouldn’t be breathing.

I could fucking feel it. MY heart beating beats it probably shouldn’t. Cry kissing you while my eyes blur up the honesty. Moments freezing. Cryogenic holding cell, to serve as reconnaissance. Mild dilemma. Miles of enemies. My field of daisies wakes up to your bombing them. Rot in your holding cell. Holding your rotting cells. Selfish, cold, hell, I hope that you’re happy. Well, I’m happy you’re hoping. We look at the present like it’s not as good as the past, try to absolve ourselves from the what future brings us. Cumulonimbus. Futuristic. Who are you kissing? It’s me. Look at your constellation tattoo and connect the dots. I am that shining star.  You ever look at it? It’s the letter Y. The same letter to the question I ask. Phases un-phased. Finding myself in the middle of nowhere. Then, I’m finding myself. In the middle of nowhere. I don’t know what I am, but.. I do know what you aren’t. Humans are complex. We’re showing emotions of what we don’t currently feel, and hide the ones that we do feel. I’m a crab in my shell when I’m screaming to let me the fuck out of my own skin. Someone once said it is impossible to be selfish and happy – and that’s terribly true. I just hope you stop being selfish.

Telling yourself you’re a free soul, unbound to any chains. But my love, you’re holding your own chains. You aren’t free. Just running away. There’s no underground railroads for people running away from the truth. There’s only one way to unlock the chains. Your lips, need to not tell lies. Now tell me with your eyes how you’ll make that happen.

slowly

Posted on December 19, 2018

she whispers

in a drunken moan. she’s slowly falling in love
ask her how slowly? we’re slowly making art when we fuck
making sure she comprehends. a lion covered in cuts
licking wounds. vicissitude. saliva and blood
we’re controlled experiments. and you’re variable A
variable b, mumbles to himself. paranoia pirated brain
dancing in her solitude, self awareness immense
telling women it’s ok to aim that gun to my head
what’s wrong with you? she asks. where do i start
the mountain that’s eroding or my castle of rocks
where debris of glass houses lay in demise
I’m praying to god. don’t even know if god cares that i die
barely a heart. just a human vessel, imitating a life
my advice to any friend is don’t end up like me
what do you mean?
deflecting momentary practices to forget I’m diseased
why do i feel so strongly? it isn’t normal to me
feel my ocean tide get wilder. moons orbiting me
dormant volcano waiting for a moment to speak
sometimes; i need… just a moment to breathe
declining every phone call is a habit ive reached
detaching from reality so i can actually breathe
do they call it paranoia if i want you leave?
she whispers; how will i find you in this wintery prose?
i bleed slowly. follow the trail in the vermillion snow

when hercules jumped into river styx

Posted on November 19, 2018

KILL OR BE BROKEN. KILL OR BE ME
killed in combat over and over
killing disease
killed in disguise
killed when i sleep
killed in my dreams, killed cause I’m weak
attracting spiritually broken, they see healer in me
chill in my bones. killing me slowly, kiss me. it’s frozen
feeling the breeze. or is that you behind, huffing on these
maroon eye, jeweled demon, ruby iris. drool dripping
do or die
wolve wedding.

sheep ring bearers, unsheared sheep pastor
wool clothing. the warmth of our corrivalry helps me fall asleep faster
hyper empath, i hear your heartbeat miles away
hear it, before i fall asleep. hear it when I’m on a date
why does it all of a sudden, beat faster?
is it a scary movie?
reading a letter from me you’re ignoring?
are you late to work? or have you met someone new..
sometimes,
i like looking at you when you aren’t looking at me
it’s relaxing to know, you aren’t thinking about how my eyes engulf you
i’ve lost the illusion of things i thought irreplaceable
only to acquire ones that i thought hoping for once made me delusional
losing you, learning to realize reasons why I’m the way i am
like my obsession for control, like a sextant in my throat
i couldn’t control falling in love. and there you go
want to know a secret into tricking yourself?
think of a moment when you’re warm, cradled.
drinking an aromatic, or brushing the warm fibers of your bed
now, this is where you think of someone.
you can trick yourself into thinking they’re there with you
back muscles tense up.
i keep forgetting to forget about you
can’t remember to remember you’re not here
i’ll try harder when
I’m drunk
and you’re drunk
and we can
find each other in that inebriation
and hopefully
talk about
it
and what shouldn’t have happened

what the fuck do i do

Posted on October 24, 2018

the moon the moon
the moon the sun
the sun the moon
press mute
succumb
doomed doomed doomed
I’m doomed. we’re done
who who who
are you
who are us? collusion
contusions.
you’re a cup of hot chocolate
on the fiercest winter morning
feel the blisters forming
whistle through the windows
pixelating percentage
whistling. cold air
whistling dixie
through the windows
it’s snowing.
frost on the glass
particle splat
icicles look like christmas ornaments
your silence
makes me question myself
i was too human
too human. too human
too godamn human.
too.
human.
(everywhere i put a period, is a moment in the story where i teared up and cried)
.
..
.
i fucking, maybe i should’ve danced.
that one time
that one time(.)
maybe that would’ve changed something
that one time that
one time
hot chocolate woman cup
god damnit. open up
do i remain robotic?
or do i remain human!
robot. beep booop
robust. beep boop
my safe full of cold guns
beep boop.
.
.
what do i do with you?

fire breather

Posted on October 19, 2018

I’m a fucking fire breather.
Breathing fire. Eating dragons, for breakfast
who wants some? None of you do
I’ve held back for quite some time
exerting no strength
Ball of fire. Giving the sun spots
ink blots and think thoughts
disregard your discourse
munching on mantras, making mistakes

barely

i learn from them
wake up from nightmares hardly impressed
more creative next time, brain
laughable sequence, you could never understand
i ain’t lazy
just smart
you work hard i work smarter
catch a sneeze in the air
yelling from the sidelines
telling mayweather his footwork is scarce
looking at my mile times like godamn how old is too old to compete in the olympics?
facebook shows me gold medal ads the next day
your ads probably have bronze medal ads.
investing in bronze exports. making a killing
thanks for losing to me. still winning
dumb down my vocabulary to be able to talk
seto masochistic flair pops up when lactic acid settles in
i will say though, my only weakness is knowing when to try

do
i do it or not

do i love you or not? it’s the only time
where I’m clueless. i love it.
I’m scared of these dungeons i’ve never visited before
i barely gave you a chance
only because I’m terrified of defeat
but i’m oddly attracted to how you make me listen to you
not by force
by this weird thing called
love, perhaps
it’s the only thing i can’t decipher
so i try to break it down

molecule by atom
acid and protein
muscles and madness
deconstructing everything into dust
but i didn’t need too
never did
I’m only figuring that now
masqueraded dominance with self love
self deprecating jokes were my crux
like, you came out of nowhere

right there

but nowhere
RIGHT THERE. but nowhere
solving puzzles in seconds
nice one on the wall.
visit art galleries just to figure them out
i know where you thought your last thought, picasso
no escaping my big brain
but you, oh you
i can’t figure anything out. and it’s

RIGHT THERE.

where? right there
she’s right here, cristian
where? there.
my heart?
maybe. but right there. whisper
right there
tinier text. right

there

i remember once i was in mexico
strutting the city streets. and my game was
to memorize everybody’s face for 5 minutes.
needless to say i did that, and i saw them later
walking.
they didn’t know who i was
it was the hardest i ever pushed my brain
i slept for half a day. then went hiking
it wasn’t a pointless story.
those faces
we’re right there. the whole time
as were you.
not you physically. but. you.
you know?

right there

mad scientist

Posted on October 15, 2018

mix gunpowder and moments. of silence
gather components you’d author with smiles
combustible crossover. lost in your eyeballs.
gifting a locket, heart shaped alloy

wishing upon a asteroid comet
because

it’ll turn to debris before it reaches to me
countdown from three, wishing your frown obsolete
douse gasoline, that sets blaze to decree
miscellaneous. mundane.

missiletoe mainframe. hypnotize what lingers in me

complex emotions
compartmentalizing alone
left alone in your apartment
high strung and high-rise.

affectionate tease
was used to darkness from sun rise- till sun shivers
stand in front of me, shut eyes with your fingers
pressed mute with your kisses

tell the moon to revisit.

i’d mouth i loved you in english
what could’ve been at a later date
neck, shoulder, premeditation
escape  
from your inner desire, and overture taste
melanin eye, brown sepia. tell me these lies.
skeleton sky. clouds breaking off into my lines
sound waves-get soft, and decibles dice
where consensual lust, rears it’s head in and tithes
gives a percentage of care, pretend to be bare
you only said what you said to dissect what was rare
those are your words. foreword. fast forward

ball of mass in a chokehold

ozone layer of old words layered.

strapped over my torso.

I’m so… so angered. hormones anchored

to you. apropos the flavor

addicted to it. postpone my conflicted prayers

I’m such a sicko. i hate it. like a mad scientist wanting to create frankenstein but can’t,  I’m mal aligned. attack of the titans, a clash of indecisive i cants. i can’t, not decipher the feelings, let me rot and writhe. holding a wallet picture of us in my pocket insides. wanting to gift it. arduous. physics. trying to stop what I’m thinking.

but can’t

hellhound pt2

Posted on October 7, 2018

heartbreaking
shattering
crushing
blasphemous,

bludgeoning, over saturated
don’t be surprised if we can’t be separated
science needs a new invention

to mend hearts
or a swab test for tears
where a story is written by the chemicals in them
and the chemicals in them
are only ones that i can create


with my signature on them
my blood, and my distinction
nobody else
well, that is interesting.
cristian

doesn’t want it to end like this
the story is written by an author who has no
business writing it
don’t be surprised if one night
we’re looking at each other
eye to eye
holding each other, close
so close
so close, i can feel you brush
your passionate breaths
against my lungs
that fill with air, and move your head

i feel you slipping away.
and by now, the category 5 hurricane
by all and any expert
is said to have definitely slowed down
the eye has shrunken
our eyes have. shrunk
it isn’t a category 5 anymore
and it won’t ever be a category 5
and sometimes, looking at the weather
i believe it will slow down
i don’t want it too
the chaos of it all is intriguing
inviting. warming
sometimes, though
other times, i don’t believe it at all
other days it’s category 6, maybe 7
8, or 9. category 20.
and i feel this storm going up
in numbers,
up and up. it’s the size of the
entire planet now
I’m the only weather reporter
that believes this
i have hope in my math
don’t believe in machines
i want to categorize 20 different
parts of you
that i fell in love with
category 1,2 3
4
5
i love you
your love is a hurricane, it comes and goes
in september it came and went
it went
6, your honesty is like
powerful gusts of wind
that rips trees from its roots
that blows stop signs from their post
rips roofs off house tops
14 i love how much we loved each other
it’s like, i thought it was real
maybe it was
maybe it isn’t.
i have so much to give you
wanted to give, at least
still, do. i don’t know
21 please don’t do this
i don’t want to feel like an acting lesson.

your only oscar.
don’t
if i could
id bring a version of you back from a time machine
so i could talk to them about the future-you
maybe i could
understand better
feel better
i regret
anything i did that brought me here
did i
say to little
say too much
love too hard
love too soft
was it me crying
was it my silence at 5am
i didn’t mean to
I’m
I’m
going. well, i was
i was going through some things
these things now are different things though
hurricane artois
they say don’t chase what you can’t catch
I caught feelings
you caught my heart

i chased.
don’t be surprised
if you can’t find something like this
nobody can do what i do, like me
not even close
can’t extinguish flames with a whisper
don’t be surprised
don’t be surprised when i don’t stop

If you jump, I jump
over frontiers written in bold text saying “invade me”
with invisible feeling
into bewitching allure of where my heart is kept in your cage
back stroking through the perfect sound waves where each word spoken fits in my ear, words where you made me imagine us together with wrinkles
I was so drunk when we were together
my submarine descends into our own fucking galaxy

(I’m STILL HERE!!!!!!)

of silk and honey being hand woven by broken hands

(20th time) into this fucking perfect perfection we perfected
I was so hypnotized
was that an eclipse or did the moon kiss the sun and did the sun close her eyes while he did?
I was captured by your solar flare
tunnel vision, tunnel feeling the moon and sun
deathly slow, slow dance to the spanish passacaglia raising goosebumps on your arms
We jumped to the moon
the moon jumped to the sun
the sun burned

hellhound

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