…over a quarter of my sentences begin with ellipses the objective’s to sigh. the intent it carries? illicit malicious design leaves my lips, but ends so benign there ain’t a problem when it rains- you couldn’t tell that i cried it becomes complicated to explain- when it wells in my eye he pretends that he’s not, even though he bottles up the pain locks it in a cage, then polishes his crooked crown used to looking down, when things aren’t looking up one day life’ll flash before my eyes; not sure if that flash is good enough been given a gift to scribe every moment as happened with more details. more girth, more exposure, and factors mere fractions of seconds, become volume series weeks of dejection becomes your lifes communal theory consummate. times snapped. here’s a problem that i had what are words from wise men, when philosophers die sad to my own respite, id serve up a bourbon with sprite words became blurry and slurred over night friends displayed worry. what’s that term to describe? oh right, now circle of life. how funny. it hurts when i bite down i’d go in my journal and write thousands of wordy delights to make sense of what happened, to an essay tore up outta spite inherited words. characters without a characters worth how embarrassing to have to establish, what to others- barely needs words parameters towards my dignity gave an insatiable thirst lessons invaluably learned through every varying turn maneuver like van gogh’s jupiter through mercurial etching to live frozen as a painter- in the worlds most peculiar settings to see beauty in carnage, objectify tragedy as a series of concepts rather than unfurling tempers flaring from a deity’s context i hope my eulogy is written in blood. life romanticizes the beast computerize all of my content. analyzing complete molecules in your garden, fantasize mon cheri. sift through the nucleus’ car-wreck. make a wish I’m asleep
it’s
my inner voice. bragging and shy. so very coy
abruptly impassioned in its perilous joy
panicking. sulking.
abdicate holiness.
i salivate at the thought of having you hold me
heartbeat in my abdomen slowing
rapid eye movement. palindrome dreaming
what is the meaning?
we battle of the Alamo’ed the last of mohicans
i lament having spoken, “i love you and mean it”
there wasn’t any valid attempt to salvage our dreaming
no valiant feature. no heroine vouching for
just palindrome sequence. folklore and pretense
commodore drowning with his diamond princess and dreadnought boat
Goliath’s visage over david’s corpse and slingshot stones
a picture worth a thousand words, abstract distortion
how happy id be, if i didn’t have to be coping
passive aggressive when I’m manipulating my prose
this vacuum of time. pen inking words to expose
an odd inquisition to want composition to rot and erode
despondent, disposed. shook like bouts of epilepsy
loathe that i have to remind you to remember me
never felt as close to you, until you were leaving
no country for my old man left me in a state of bereavement
tired of this. esophagus, loaded with words
that’ll never break light or get its attention deserved
the most painful thing i did was losing myself
my memoir of dark thoughts steadily creep off the shelf
over saturated with half-love, masked-up infatuation
I’m so exposed
..at night time my heart wakes me up
it asks me what happened with so and so
i don’t know. please. don’t ask me again.
may my last words be half-slurred and cathartic
so & so’s favorite blue jeans stained with tear drops & saliva
head cradled in their lap, eyes barely widened
my interventions’ HQ will be besmirched within silence
my shoulder blades girth played role of a harbinger
the bonier they got; the more i wished i was a skeleton
malnourished, malevolent, maladjusted malaise
talking in malformed metaphors to try and explain
that there’s a concession of an all-dead jury saying my name
prosecutor in a straitjacket who thinks I’m insane
taped push signs over doors tailored to pull
judges with mallets in the same shape of my skull
my past lives failed me.
pantomime in his glass house flailing
glass eyed, no boundaries. highly contagious
armed & dangerous, with a heart a brain bit
ive gotten anxious cause ive told you i’m not that anxious
i got chasers and glasses for my motherfucking shot-takers
a moment of silence, for up and comers w/ violations
bloodsucker, with lost childhood adult spaces
that touch base with generational cursed phases
misplaced trust havens. mass murdering & love laden
you fucking half murmured anything worth saying
innate phrasing becomes coding for crisis
like blinking twice, as a signal to police snipers
every moment spent sober – a cry out for help
tullamore on the shelf
books in the wine cellar
spending most of his life wishing id try better
heart of a lion, mouth of a sinner
there’s something so dystopian about 19.84 oz. of liquor
sitting in his shadow
match lit. iron sight shifting with his arrow
da vinci with a trebuchet.
resentment at a younger age
don’t think i’ve ever fucking been the same
stay still please, so i don’t have to ever aim.
heartbeat on my cabernet, gospel on the interlude
never into hurting you; but that’s probably hurting you
want to hear you love me, but that’s my crawling incertitude
I’m sorry. you’ve heard it… too… many times
loose lips sink ships on the new delhi line
blueberry, thyme, seattle fog on the bloomsbury dime
anxiety finds a new adversary for you every time
kavinsky playing nightcall
nightfall addict. gun-slinging, moonlight absorber
eyeball static, upbringing made me too primed for torture
leukocyte warlord with a do-or-die sword code
DNA punching out morse, cause the nuclei’s disordered
sobering negative. gripping a metal shank alloy.
overly sensitive programming on this self aware android
therapists that call me the armchair nutcase
trying to turn back to bugged versions of his software update
i stop to stare into your eyes, perfect, oval shaped opals, like russian dolls holding more jewels in them like an enigmatic invention
a hundred soft, hazel static connections, like joules that gather intent, that teach me there aren’t lessons in every traumatic event
over evolving. dopamine soberly blossoms
noted and jotted in, like an old scripture
bludgeoning forecast, people make what they want of him
hold whispers. cold shivers. so obviously rigged
language is bothering. thunderstorm on the brink
on the cusp of oblivion, and never stopping to think
or wonder, what wanderlust awaits waverly love
dozens foreshadowing. waving red flags like the waging of war
bare footed resolve. homosapien scourge
black pen granule dissolving. technicolor gradient torch
collateral damage. animal bondage
lion with his crown of thorns and his lioness hostage
i knew you didn’t love me and it wasn’t a matter of knowledge
it was a matter of topics. you never mentioned before
casualty tally at the head of the door
lambs blood painting a story nobody knows that goes on
anxiety outbreaks – three centuries long
hes so twisted. he’s so rigid. never distraught
stares tacitly at the ceiling while embellishing god
with his headstone reading “i wish you death. rest in pieces, amor”
concerned he’s never understood; stained by indelible scars
a felon with no parole riding shotgun patrolling in cars
tossing his palms up in a garden. a prayer to Rah
eric garners’, spirit harnessed when i try to relay all my thoughts
only to shoulder the weight that buries me all
bury me. fall. now look at the sowing you reap
i’m a cannibal wolf in a room full of sheep
thinking how wonderful it’d be if you’d change for me
self awareness comes with a cost
reality, unlighted tunnels, perilous concepts
self-destructive. unhealthy bargaining chips
biting down on stupefaction, limbo. nothing exists
it’s unrelated. lick my tongue. getting me off
symphonic bass. sweat bead reservoir. fucking you raw
fall asleep. counting me, after my unconditional teaching
teeth in you. swearing i fucking need it
barely breathing. rib cage fluctuation, sepia pause.
throat curvature, palms. fixed to your arched spine. getting involved
brain emitting July’s bohemian sprawl
reading your body. handprints stories on your thigh and neck
finger tracing in half speed, panting four times a second
close your eyes, heighten senses
demonstrably
unwavering boomerang into unconsciousness
gigawattage catharsis.
purge you of any worldly distress
whirl on your neck. middle finger dug into your nape
mine for the time being. set sail in your lake
want to escape, fall into you & dissuade
(dis)integrate. half-life with a half life
don’t let me decay
knowing that we’ll never look at each other the same
theres a parrot on my shoulder that already knows what i’ll say
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
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
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.
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.
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 a powerful gust 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 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 don’t be surprised if you can’t find something like this nobody can do what i do, like me not even close you 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 this 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 fucking 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
recognize this abandonment pattern. neglect and avoid
pushed to the side, suffocate & deprive
overwrought. rush to get over the noise
stiff arm tactical markup. 1 and death on the goal
practically harmless. red zone ballad demarcation
change is in constance, conscientious tailored departure
mademoiselle, i’ve heard you tell me this often
understandable. hatchet & nail in the coffin
they could hear us screaming when we’re barely talking
ripple effect. tsunami wave/ dimples and neck
telling me to hush because someone just called
delicate. soft. let this be a lesson resolved
inconclusive as it is abusive and sordid
usual motive. behaviorist sadist assortment
white dress. biting my lip til the flavor is gone
entanglement. arthritic, you say. wait till you call
some call it analytics some call it to wait, for the fall
wallowing towards the barking up the
karmic relationship. darkness derailing
flagging down the shipwreck. lighthouse is hazy
maybe- I’m faithful. shit. i ain’t as smart as you make me
maybe my prides hopeful. handing out dead or alive posters
street peasant, preaching dreams, nobody dropping a nickel
pinning phone book back-pages, milk carton picture depressant
mighty magnificent. silence, i solemnly covet
my spaceship running on smog
started to build bridges, only to drop it and run
the troll under it was just a consequence of it
follow me, darling. don’t follow me. fuck it.
state of affairs, shoulder kiss, blissful disdain
i made sure i heard you cry
wasn’t sure you could rain
wish i could rewind my lips. then make amendments
it is what it is. it is what it isn’t
regurgitating versions of self we hardly know
wrap ourselves in layers of hardship and clones
despondency boasts. free jazz concert take my attention
for an hour before i soar off into retention
of body and soul.
who do you talk to when the person you talk to is gone
2 month rental.
the insurance is paying for it
run it to the ground
who cares? it’s a prius
it doesn’t belong to us
and the gas is free
i’ve always wanted one of these
just to see what the buzz is about
someone said it’s been used before
can i just pretend it’s new?
put your foot on the gas and you’re out
i don’t have to pay a dime
i wonder if they’ll even care if i crash it
let’s not drop it off.
they can come and get it
insurance is paying for it
remember?
after all, it is a prius
