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

skylit lighthouse

we spent an hour alone watching our eyes meet our lips
my revolvers extinct. extinguishing meandering thought
cradled across indifference right into addiction
deference to malice. rosebud digitalis reborn
grin. while I think about things I haven’t before
soaked in grimace and gin while I’m singing along
philosophers physics. you had me at ‘gone’
underneath the chasms we nuzzled upon
dreamt that you nightmare’d that i had dissolved
to the active involvement of our rapid devolving
i caught you at 12 under moon crescent December
BMW leather. something that you’ll soon remember
luminous, leacherous, somehow loosened endeavors
uphill battle to oblivion, where passion is glued in forever
f
unny; how erratic romances never seem to be better
than hand in heart, avant-garde fractions remeasured
you tethered my inaction with half-wit adventures
regretted the hand i played once you passed out the deck
i questioned your motives of why you accepted
my friendship, out of desire or a dying affection
like it happened out of nowhere, its hard to pretend
that im not infectious disease in dire need of a medic
i mean; at-least that’s what i get out of your attention
cause the seeds you planted have weeds in them
nirvana doesnt exist in this squander of thought if you arent elected
if the devil wears prada its because you modeled for them
this is just misjudgment of honest broads. a cautious indifference
treating genuine women with impartial disinterest
just a devilish debonair with his cavalier distinction
the hemisphere changes with its Australis emissions
so now i stare at the stars. i hate that im this
paint constellations with apathetic detachment
atmospheric phenomenon, in hindsight it was madness
so now we wait
wait for the sky to hit limelight while i cascade into blackness
damn it

last 5 titles [updated 3.31.16]

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 on repeat
and it’s slightly appeasing to people reading
each piece to critique the mystique i deliver each weekend- or month, or year.
its weird. i can’t survey time-frames in increment values
separating migraines from lachrymation is sad too
just script what i have when my souls in a vacuum.
red dwarf fighting a black-hole ready to eat me
dissect the inside of my pen, where ash grows tethered beneath
the mass knows, the malice that backhands this skeleton species
youll find remnants of relic of this deeply defined, delicate e.t.
a cavalier lifestyle, the atmosphere. where sadness smears nice smiles
in half a year, went from happy tears to having fear light fires
a tower with a floor unbolted. i’m a boatmen with no course. no joke.
thousand waves, found their way. like an omen or horoscope.
had the wind knocked out of its sails, with winds brought up from hell.
sing by myself and it sounds beautiful; help
when i’m around super sopranos i can’t sing all that well.
an imperfect mesh of nervousness that curls from my snarling lips
like a surge of restlessness that stems from the furl of depression.
defensive. protective. self deprecation, or self preservation?
dedicated a distaste for eternity, and to being enigmatic
if you ain’t honest with yourself who can you expect to feed you a truth
that dismantles your courage. without feelings of soothing
i see a lighthouse that i’ll never reach, so i kiss my lantern with fervor
feel the SURGE, of A BURNING sun when you fuck with the solar flares
or don’t- my souls ensnared. most likely tell you that i don’t care.
touch paintings of fuel like braille i consume
my muse – it entails within rules of varying doom.
feed off energy that doesnt exist in a physical sense
even spiritually and, its progression is hasty.
correct me if im wrong but i think that’s the start of an inherently crazy
apparently brazen human being, with narratives caved in.
communicate with airwaves,  that illuminate the way
layed in a zany loop of naysayers. that feed them daily soup to trailblaze
tied up in this phalanx suit of grayness, where hatred blooms the helmet
doesnt have a rhyme or reason for simple explanation
that in theory is, relevant to his seering insaneness.
i dont fucking get why im like this,
i accept all and any likeness to help me on this quest. or this crisis
.
i carry the heads of lions on my belt. and then it’s goodbye

unfinished love gimmicky, smug grinning combustible bunch.

puncturing flows of buttery colors, exposed in
post and pre nuptial showmanship. Function control
amusing instrumental. effusive, ode to hold this angel to a centerpiece
basil, with cloves, of energy that exposed a masterful synergy
a weeded rustled drone, that tumblerode a the quietest depiction of the color blue on a petal
succulent. moss grows on my archers boot and a straw of my grass clenched by my jawbones
a flux of rusty trombones that exude music through it’s metal
I’ve heard poetry spoken in crux, bolded by a bellowing, bolstering
Underlined by a snake in the grass, it’s so mellow. Just hold me
Boisterous. soaked in droves of this sorceress satin
She spoke in a language obscurely molded in spanish
her lips curved, Sagittarius furor. Sandals & codeworded for passion
prescription for cures and an ailment aimed with her astrologers arrow
a hollow barrow, and a node i focused on with a ridiculously pure heart
Fluent in affluency, forehead kiss, and a bewitching allure
Potion and magic, with an inflection of sultry enchantment
I’ve met a beautiful queen that I spoke to in Latin
Aztec rituals, led to a madmans’ mystical matchmaker
with slurps of a spiritual flask, drank from a vase of snapdragon
curvy dress with cottony ripples at slightly past bony knees
impervious to the dogma your thighs created. your souls a speech
red in loud voice, in a cabin with a fireplace, abrupt.
where the fire grows irate everytime your feminine tone erupts
sensuous, cold, the scent is insane. I could hear your perfume luring me with incendiary handcuffs
had enough with the tempestuous cuckold.
where a icecold gloved gauntlet haunts your light toned marked garments
misses maestro lust. larva finds a crawlspace where it bugs my lifes’ oak carcass
i tithed to our religious cult-like chemistry
where memories like centipedes held life in its arms
so magnificent, mount me to a crucifix, slow
and show me the coloration of the sounds that i used to know
portugese picture-esqe beauty
whisking along with curly-haired brunette insouciance
where a degree of our separation, detonated my inner vignette of vesuvius..

guillotine lust

particle physics; radiation cusps at every speck and a grain
that didn’t mean infecting the inflections as your hypothetical claim
bite the bullet. swallowing the pistol. it shoots
harboring a hollow feeling. sipping miller to boot
coil gripped Corona, drowning out social persona
were evolving into moths, wallowing towards the
murky gray skies. yeah, the coffee! what’s next?
marvelous pillow talk over a body of sex
heel gone from the left side of my moccasin treads
in particular, inarticulate guy with philosophers breath
cotton linen robe; tonight i uncover the secrets you stashed
underneath the cardinal chasm embedded deep in the cracks
try to unfurl the english, through your lips on contours
christmas carolers scarf, closed captioned lyrics encore
wept for concourse, a few have witnessed my characters arc
behind the lighthouse, my sailors boat tried to signal off shore
shelf life of a dying love is only half of what you want it to be
being in love, and being in dumb. It doesn’t mean I’d just drop it and leave
singing the songs, for the markers. autumn leaves for the author
monastery blues. with the indents of my knees on the altar
statistician Jack Daniels keeping crop of my phobia lot
who woulda knew behind every letter is a quarter of scotch
a stench of me in the shirt i gave you ‘for the aroma in seams’
with 4 inches of your middle carpal on a mobile digital screen
a soul gazer, in trench-coat i remember the buttons with such reminiscence
forgetting how to speak to me, Landau-Kleffner expression
promises made by executioners fueled by the guillotine lust
soft lips, with a barbed tongue, said your farewells with a clean cut

…shoot me in the foot. sparing me any beamed blood

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.