cristian's wordpad & lingering thoughts

dose of Cristianism & other absurdities.

Posts tagged “haiku

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

Posted on May 11, 2020

Look …over a quarter of my sentences begin with ellipsesthe objective’s to sigh. the intent it carries? illicitmalicious design leaves my lips, but ends so benignthere ain’t a problem when it rains- you couldn’t tell that i criedit becomes complicated to explain- when it wells in my eyehe pretends that he’s not, even though he bottles up the painlocks it in a cage, then polishes his crooked crownused to looking down, when things aren’t looking upone day life’ll flash before my eyes;not sure if that flash is good enoughbeen given a gift to scribe every moment as happenedwith more details. more girth, more exposure, and factorsmere fractions of seconds, become volume seriesweeks of dejection becomes your lifes communal theoryconsummate. times snapped. here’s a problem…

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,…

figure me out.

Posted on August 13, 2018

it’s beginning to show it’s intertwining dividends between time invested with growth. my intention provoked. lying listless and broke revisiting moments that to me, seem explicitly warped yosemite vulture. my melatonins dried up some sore throat, sore back, amphetamine humdrum ever growing size of my blood pump escaping out of my thorax 500-pound dry-flesh, green alien invasion the least entertaining eyesore of something alive need something to die for, an end to the means imagine going to sleep, with binary code in your dreams wake up to see, beating hearts in the sheets cupid dart in my daith, superstar on the stage taking a nosedive in oblivion, fiending fans in their seats 15:56 in corinthians. hold me, and scream a cobra in the grass,…

wallflower here

Posted on August 5, 2018

the perks of being a wallflower, or disadvantage in case. mr observant, half perfectionist, getting a taste of his own medicinal value, describe me to myself in a vacuum. tell me how many times i scratch my chin, touch my ribcage, leave you feeling incomplete. when you feel me getting nervous around you, so i can cross my arms defensively. straighten up my posture and.. and tell you you’re wrong. or break down and cry. i’m.. difficult. an impressionist, copies people to the point where its comedic. I wouldn’t say I’m an impressionist. it’s not funny deflecting points of interest because im upset with how my intelligence handles situations. and ive rattled enough cages to know, the focus of peoples pain comes from the…

i know what i need 

Posted on October 12, 2017

I dont know what I want whether its surface dwelling alone at the swamp or an oak in a marsh, soul searching proverbial want we’re more or less spawns of monsters nobody needs you were my star spangled banner and I was taking a knee subterranean breeze, vitamin pond, still smell your perfume every once in a blue, Dahlia Divin creeps in the room black lagoon creature. months of despondent malaise never under the same moon, but always got in your way every constant is change, every constant in chains the sheriff to my merits, conversation warranted pain follow the tunnel light or continue to walk amongst shade politics, topic delay, boxer on the ropes you taught me to love; but to love to…

fötter day

Posted on June 20, 2017

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…

AA4564

Posted on December 16, 2016

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…

last 5 titles [updated 3.31.16]

Posted on February 17, 2016

i’ve scrapped my last five writings, with the opening sentences starting with, “its hell in this darkness” “dearly departed, please be here for my heart” the other three were as stark “i hate being alive” don’t seem to remember, one rubric:  ‘demons inside“. life is overrated. diluted with wine my tears empower me. tailspin fusion designed to reinforce and devour these current sutures. i try irritated.  i could feel the torque overpowering madness the endless script. scour for breadth in callousness. out of breath on land, but at peace underwater no feelings, this author. reveals at the end of the chapter that he doctored/remastered his slivers of sonder its physical misconduct. picture cigarette soft burn sepia softer, silky seeping…. mossberg you’re examining my life…

  

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