cristian's wordpad & lingering thoughts

dose of Cristianism & other absurdities.

Posts tagged “haikus

a letter to no one, or a letter to whoever i think i am, or was.

Posted on August 24, 2018

fulfillment is neat. it fills you up, inside, and out. your skin glows, you say hi more often, and sometimes the sun shines brighter than average. not, sometimes, but more so all the time. even on rainy days, you can see the sun. its hidden, but you know it’s there, and you smile and the sun reflects light off of those pearly whites. you ever have a sudden jolt of energy, not like coffee, or stimulant, but just because you’re happy? that’s it. at times, I’ll make the most out of my happiness because I know it’s short-lived. so i’ll drive around, ride a bike, do push ups, tell people they’re beautiful, and make sure they know i love them. when it goes away,…

last time you said stop

Posted on August 17, 2018

sigh i don’t get it. they tell me to write happy things. the thing is you don’t feel the need to discuss your happiness on paper when you’re happy. you just embrace the moment and live it. i don’t want to talk about that. momentary silence. dusk lit bedroom apartment buzzing of cars from traffic afar, it’s when i stare into myself. melancholy loves company and misery loves to fuck with me, it’s pitiful she sticks her head in while I’m telling a story the room keeps spinning. I’m terribly sorry today i apologize. i can’t be myself try again tomorrow, bring me some help and the day after that. don’t fade into black amy said it best, when she said she’s treading a…

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…

GUNS AND ROSES.

Posted on May 4, 2016

it’s so unimportant. the funneling of guns to my roses. slow danced with the most disconnected soul on this planet watching steps into rhythm. coalesce death into wisdom.  such a succulent prose. im nothing short of a serpent to color me hopeless, is to color me human.  rendered useless by the silhouette that wants to consume me tragedy of existence – toy soldier battlefield pistols raising battalions til’ the atmosphere blisters ive had it to here. soaking up blood. every ballad for years nose bleed gush. let it mix in together with tears in december, remember me in your prayers feelings are invalid, because they have to adhere with current policies linear to what the mechanisms produce to become ugly to someone who’d move solar…

  

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