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

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, then well; they’ll have to wait till’ next time. when you’re fulfilled, this isn’t even an afterthought. it’s just there and you use it and you don’t have deadlines or restrictions for happiness or smiles or kisses or dreams, hugs, wishes, desires, considerations, love, or companionship. you don’t have an hourglass telling you your times up, staring at you like the abyss. waiting till you slowly regenerate parts of yourself. now, I’m not wholly telling you the requirement or prerequisites for fulfillment and the goodies that are thrown in its path, nor am i acknowledging that it comes with everything listed. but, what I can say is that put your foot in the door; dont let it close. dear god, don’t let it close. that’s why my nails are short. outside there’s light you can look too, there’s a reason; whatever that reason is, is up to you. i used to think my happiness would stem from helping others, without helping myself first. i was brought up on a self sacrificial code of conduct, and to use my body and mind to bring fulfillment to others, as a vessel, partaking in nothing to rejuvenate it’s slowly decaying prized possessions. depreciating in value, with very little to offer after it has served its purpose; recycling bin overflowing with afterthoughts, asbestos and what couldve beens. wrinkles forming in the creases of my forehead, and ridges generating throughout this soulless visage. beautiful calloused hand carved depreciating asset, slowly falling apart, marble chipping off, corrosion taking its time to break down what the sun has slowly created over years. what light provided, in the beginning. in this statue you see a boys eyes tearing up, you look away and back to the statue again to see if what you saw was real. can a statue cry, move, feel? “i’m but a dying star” engraved in the rock. memories of a fallen hero fading through people’s memories. flickering between oblivion like broken conduit in a old warehouse. but we all disappear eventually, right? who am i to be so arrogant to believe i have a purpose? i used to think. apathy engulfing, and rage entrenching. miscommunication, and over analytical thoughts, negative emotions like envy, doubt, shame, fear, grief, guilt, frustration take their place on their pedestal and reign over barren wastelands, where verdurous pastures becomes obsolete. you need to kiss yourself, my dear. tell yourself you’re more than a brain in an armored mech. you need to stop allowing the furrows near your cheek to keep forming, for streams of tears from depression carve their way in them. you mustn’t let this happen. turn on your supercomputer and let it work to your advantage- falling into a pit of monotony isn’t what you want. it is your worst nightmare. and even though you slice through kudzu vines that grow around faster than you could chop away at them, you love the challenge. you pride yourself in temporary conquests of behemoths that soon use the seeds of brooding hell to spring back up stronger than before. using your i5 your i7, your i8, your i10, your i15, until your supercomputer can’t process anymore. it can’t keep up. please allow yourself to speak up for yourself without having to look at the floor in distress. counting molecules with x-ray vision, trying to ward away the anxiety. stop using your fist as a hammer to crawl out of shawshank. allow yourself to be vulnerable for two seconds before your masterpiece marble statue becomes a toppled piece of history no longer accepted in today’s society. allow yourself to bloom like the flowers you plant, and the plants you water- the ones you sing too, and patiently clean dust off of. dont allow yourself to hush yourself from crying so that no one hears you. i’m so sorry this happens to you. don’t look for the impossible because you want to feel human. please help yourself exist, you beautiful person. be star-studded. shine, glimmer between the edges. breath in death and exhale pollen. watch landscapes grow before you. i want you to do this, look at yourself in the mirror, and take a deep breath, learn how your body moves when you take that breath, tell yourself your flesh and bone, and not metal and programming. tell yourself it’ll be okay. it’ll ALWAYS be ok. even when it isn’t. you’re okay. i love you. its okay. don’t worry. it’s okay x20. keep saying it. touch yourself in what you think are your least beautiful parts. just dont give up. just do it. everybody knows you can. there is a man behind the machine, behind every mech that has been adopted by the belief of self-deprecation and abasement. let luminosity be a guiding force. sing twinkle twinkle little star, hum it. look up, and..thanks

last time you said stop

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 troubled track
been in love with a gunslinger. run my back
with your fingernails, tell me you’ll stay
leave scars, dig deep. i’ll tell you it’s okay
with whispered breath, inhale, exasperated lust
even if it hurts me, stab my grazing touch
it hurt writing those last four lines. they weren’t even much
that’s the thing with being a writer, your emotion is raw
like pouring a potion labeled love into a saucepan and stirring
caustic deterrence. awestruck with how, my wrong spats of burning
passion turn to rorschach’s, where i can’t discern it
call back. let me hold your arms back. let’s learn this
way to explore our bodies. near my chest there’s an armed guard
trained in combat, don’t go near there. fade into all black
fall asleep in my wine house. dizzily pour up your last drink
make sure the glass clinks. i’ve been told that noise is better than the absinthe
better than your absence
better than the last..
you’re better when we laugh. think
to the last time you’ve told yourself to stop
why did you go again?
sometimes silence is nice. most times i despise the need for questions
my secretary’s favorite line is “would you like to leave a message?”

figure me out.

it’s beginning to show

the way intertwining dividends between time invested, and growth. sore throat, sore back, sore humdrum. the ever growing size of my blood pump squeezing out of the thorax. 500 pound live, flesh chief alien invasion. the least entertaining showcase of something alive. imagine going to sleep, with binary code in your dream. you wake up and see, a beating heart in the sheets. take a nosedive into oblivion. hold me. i sigh.

neitzche authored the sequences that I’m telling you now. everyday is considered lost if were not dancing around. acceptance a must. i want to forget you, forget that it happened.. lao tzu said if you’re depressed you’re living in the past. if you’re living in the future, then its anxiety. i’m trying to delete this undo button on the time machine. i want to speak to the one. whether it be with our feet or our tongues. I’m used to this dance. exchanging euphemisms or moving to trance. don’t lose me. opportunities snatched.

i don’t know how to express myself without giving away, exact detail, but still obscuring the day. the sunset, and the rain, the gun smoke, the malaise, the perspiring. tired breaths, fire sex. i couldn’t talk.  because you were my only dialect

getting wound up in simile and allegorical speak, creating a world where the orbit isn’t even normal to me. it’s tough being an alien. love seeing it rain. UFO license plate reading catch me if you can. i love seeing you change, don’t want to see you the same. love being in rain.  i hate leaving a trail that’s exposed. i love sleet, hail and the snow. they’re the same thing just at different times of the year. like.. we are. or we were. i love to be in control. i hate underlying factors. i hate underlining tantrums. i hate when the sun provides a mountain of sunshine for eternity. i hate uncertainty. being doused in a punchline is concerning.  i dislike being lost. implant a GPS in my dome, let it beep when I’m gone. come sing me a song, lea salonga, let me show you the world. an interrupted reality where romanticism is whole. where erotic fiction overturns symphonic diction thats promised. everything i input is invalid or old. I can’t put my finger on it.

I’m back again. I identified the problem. Happiness can’t be figured out. That’s the point. you’re either a vastly void barcode, or a single celled, organism. that was an awful way to put what I’ve been trying to mean. and honestly

i didn’t say what i wanted to scream. i’ve got a troll that lives under the bridge where sound comes out of in the link of my throat. a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow isn’t enough to bring him to home. you live and you tell stories for these generations to see. I’m barely better than i was 5 minutes ago. but barely is better than nothing. i plead. pitch me a tent to live in. please, don’t let me down. sometimes i’ll take a shower, and put it on freezing. and sit there until i figure it out. goosebumps surround sound. sound cut off. curtain close. audience gasp. slowclap. then taking a bow.

wallflower here

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 same place that mine does.
conflict of interest. consciously thinking how to forget
i heard you like puzzles. when my eyes water my vision breaks apart like a kaleidoscope.
do or die. get close to me. don’t whisper, or the tripmines will hear you.
kaleidoscope. i’m so fascinated with it. the way it, breaks apart your vision, and makes you see different things. sort of the way
that
you do.
i’m a witness to my memoir. self-aware, debonair deathstar. get away. n bomb. i feel your pain. embark on this journey to my self-sustained benchmark.
gaze at you from a vantage point, you barely knew i had an angle to do so
saxophone tenor, ballad with loopholes, italian caruso.
some call it voyeuristic, i call it opportunity presenting itself
shy guy chronicle meets the walking contradiction for help
don’t decimate my only distinction. i barely hold myself together
captain to starboard, i want more than affection.
sometimes the grip of your neck gives me..cant describe it

They’re hardly going to miss you, don’t look back to Gomorrah
there’s a karmic relationship between, I and the plethora
of pettifoggers
ironic leaf petal spinning like a helicopter, whistling whirlwind, warping through the breeze. falls onto my skin, wafting through the fabric. blasting through my membranes. i need to stop over thinking every situation, sometimes a leaf falling is just a leaf falling. romanticizing everything that crosses my path. i think it’s because i want to believe that my life is something more than the background bystander in someones dream. i think its because i want to feel more than what i feel at any given moment. i think its because when i cry, i feel like my tears carry entire poems in them, and when they fall off my cheek that splash entire novels on innocent civilians. my brain reminds me of a dreidel that gets spun and keeps going. forever. that song stuck in your head, bleeding through a padded room.
its redundancy is suffocating. sometimes, ill fall asleep for what seems years and i barely recognize myself in the mirror. sometimes, i get jealous of animals that can cocoon themselves for what seems like a lifetime, i know it seems morbid, but i can’t help to think that maybe cryogeny is waiting for me somewhere. maybe im a butterfly yet to spread its wings. he hasn’t fully reached who he wants to be
i use the word kaleidoscope a lot.
getting lost in the labyrinth. i feel as if, i can find the ending to the pattern. that somewhere between the rose-colored glasses, there’s a door with an infinite keycode that i know the password too, and when i open it…
im not lost
anymore
theres somebody waiting

i know what i need 

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 be alone
a hundred teeth, sunk in deep, til’ they’re rusting at the bone
propaganda prone, post traumatic melodic drama
copacetic cathartic static, momentary sedative saga
mama said to me never mince words with misses karma
megabit verbage. sapient alma in the trenches of mock prison
velvet and soft linen, cotton henley makeshift pajama
couldnt figure you out…
kissed crevasses in your skin you were indifferent
about
you’re awkwardly distant to things that slipped through my mouth
look at you now..
Sinatra’s lovers glance, blood soaked sinful devout
the untolds dripping, gun smoke cigarette clouds
love grows thinner when sun strokes negligent doubt
what comes, goes.
hum low under floor boards or they’ll figure us out
self destruct sequence, count to zero with me
feel your feelings metamorph like metaphors in the breeze
i don’t know what i want, i just know what i need
better go home before I’m awoke and i see you
full of momentary passes focused entropy seams
beams of light bustling through cracks in the stream
pockets of time form like globules; we’d skip stones in ravine
everything’s too loud even when the volumes negative three
nothing we do can salvage this irreparable dream
que pena me da, que lo tienes sentir
shouted at you to leave, as i whispered the please

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

GUNS AND ROSES.

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 systems for you

polar influx. it’s why we drink whiskey to rhythm and blues

villainy’s cruel, but indecision is crueler

being a victim to being insufficient- isnt abuse

found the algorithm for bruising. most of it is self inflicted

bound to hell with self predictions, health needs help

it’s malnutrition. can’t help be hopeful for sanity’s sake

where vanity takes a backseat to this passionate fate

if it’s real, then it’ll never be over 

tell that to the bartender that’s mixing my gin and my soda

debonair devil. gallant gentleman

savor the cobra conection

tuxedo to the morgue. I regret your intentions 

tailor made bowtie, rose colored coated inflection 

stared into space. untie your fingers with mine under sheets

lower our voices. silence is the most powerful scream

poignant as the cotton ripples forming through comforter spread

where dozens of sins lie underneath ruptures of thread 

droplets of wine cover cream satiny fiber

cabernet fire. carmine cobblestone twine 

sit at the fireplace. untucked collared shirt in regression

of how much warmth we made over embers we directed

we fucked here before. fingerprints on the glass

commanded the sun as it melted the wax 

shot arrows of love with an Aries through summer

under cancers’ July over candlelit colors

Kiss my guns hello and my roses goodbye