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
unsorted. unabashed. formal with his emotions. unashamed. vulnerable worn as a sash on thunderous days. sport a badge of honor stained with the blood of cain. what’s her name? love lost. lust loves to come in gangs. my father never asked if i’m ok. he told me he forgave me for what we brang. brought. sorry. when i’m in pain, my language crosses barriers all the same. rain forest. brain blots. lost in my badge of honor. should i say, i’m sorry? i’m not to blame.
fuck that motherfucker
fuck that motherfucker
fuck it. flames.
distraught and caught in daze. there’s days i question, am i supposed to be gone? hoping to holy father that i’m totally wrong. rotary dial. noticeable drama. rusty robot. corrosion in armor. lunch with locusts. emotional trauma. bandages with no adhesive falling off of my stitches. i’m more then enraged, i’m sort of conflicted. sort of insane. hold me no longer. aborting the mission. there’s holy ghosts that i pray too. prayers vanish. displaced. i read neitzsche and questioned myself. i read what she wrote me—- answer to questions dispelled. theres a wolf inside you, with a sheep in its teeth. what’s yours will find you, and crush you to pieces. find your heart indiscreetly, whispering that i love you. distilled inner feelings. take a shot of me and consume. sometimes i want to be lowered inside a grave. mausoleum adventures. nausea and deflection. hardly seen. i surrender, any parts of me i dismember. i believe god isn’t god if he’s hiding his face. don’t deny me my faith. close thy eyes then, sleep till forever. crying in shapes. not circles and ovals, more jagged edges and blades. that scrape down my cheek bones when they fall into place. tears become blood. blood becomes rage. it’s what we sign our names in when we scream out our names. when I’m inside of you. inside of your brain. eye stare psychosomatic. why are we strange? lie there so damaged. why do you push me away when i just want to stay? why do i stay when there’s blood on my face? a lion pawing away flys that nick at the scrapes. blood on my hands, nothing to say. asking if someone else wants to dance in my place. bach’s chaconne, slow waltz into grace. i’ve had it to here. i’ve had it to space. satellite metal floating till it touches something to change. engaging in societal rituals just to escape. jupiter ring hula hoop interlaced. interlaced. “pale fire” on the coffee table as blade runner plays. hiking alone up olympus with a cain in my fist. never without format, never existed. a whisper that’ll forever persist
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 hear footsteps awaken the creaks in the floor
again.
who the fucks at the door?
night stand machete laid neatly in drawer
revolver neath queen mattress. in case of a quarrel
but
there’s nothing. just repentance, contempt, intentions dissolved
gun powder, protein drinks, and penniless thoughts
could’ve sworn there was something. apparently not
hear a swarm of bees next to me every day before dark
borderline manic. try undoing the damage
safe spaces fossilize our balloons & our cages
as therapeutic as raindrops on metal roof interchanges
interpersonal relationships via internal damnation
stray further from kinship. purge the pervasion
starboard the king ship. observe the insane
social connection more grandeur than normal distinction
hormonal response. formality close to instinction
forming a bond. cutthroat. synovial strong
childhood friends like famous rockstars. so many gone
kurt, latore, shakur, shuffling through on the browser
normalcy’s paused. quiet as space. jupiters powder
going through life thinking, how do i amount?
inner city soul, stained by destitute out-of-towners
with every nuance i learned from human encounters
too many to count. too many to counsel
when obstacles are given names like they’re mountains
who wouldve thought. who couldve saw this
my descent towards aloof disregarding
diluvian shark fin. hell in a handbasket
downpours start when my umbrella unravels
distinct as makeshift drum sets in the big apple
phasing out white noise on hierarchal basis
psychosomatic. mind warp. self actualization
dwell in differentiation you promptly install in
we’re basic creatures. basically bombs
waiting to go off. waiting to want.
ticking til doomsday. can’t wait to disarm me
but
something is wrong when
my maslow pyramid has 5 entries for love and belonging
some things prolonged, let the panic begin
to quiet storms to harsh circumstances again
don’t need you to resolve what i mention
just
put my tears in a mason while you nod in acceptance
in a drunken moan. she’s slowly falling in love
ask her how slowly? we’re slowly making art when we fuck
making sure she comprehends. a lion covered in cuts
licking wounds. vicissitude. saliva and blood
we’re controlled experiments. and you’re variable A
variable b, mumbles to himself. paranoia pirated brain
dancing in her solitude, self awareness immense
telling women it’s ok to aim that gun to my head
what’s wrong with you? she asks. where do i start
the mountain that’s eroding or my castle of rocks
where debris of glass houses lay in demise
I’m praying to god. don’t even know if god cares that i die
barely a heart. just a human vessel, imitating a life
my advice to any friend is don’t end up like me
what do you mean?
deflecting momentary practices to forget I’m diseased
why do i feel so strongly? it isn’t normal to me
sometimes; i need… just a moment to breathe
do they call it paranoia if i want you leave?
she whispers; how will i find you in this wintery prose?
i bleed slowly. follow the trail in the vermillion snow
what do you think of this super sensitive sentience
drizzling fire, pyramid shaped flame over credulous credence
like a momentary silence, aluminum pin drop echo in a empty room
padded wall. effervescent, magical
i could feel your feminine voice telegraph vibrations through separate veins
like subway networks carved throughout my muscles where you tap harbored lust into my mainframe. electrical current possessed by your ouiji board hormones, commanding nerve endings to rise like a judge entering a room, puppeteer to this compulsory feeling, tugging fleshy strings connected to this insatiable thirst. like water to river, drought cleansing downpour. outsourced. i could hear your soul singing. smell you smiling cheek to cheek, wide veneer cheshire; feel my eyes laser through your bed side. backside sex talk. you know what you do to me when you walk away. warmly outlining your opiate curves, overdosing on those angles. equatorial melee. sedative quality, lulling me into trance, withdrawal shivers as perfectly jeweled spheres refract light into me. kaleidoscopic slight hypnosis. hypnotic dosage, 400mg oxytocin showering the flesh of your lips. where i trace over patterns left by previous lovers, like a field i discovered. reading diaries on how they failed to conquer you. chapters left blank, with nothing but a pencil and time. hand drawing rainbows with watercolor paintings on the arc of your back, with melted oil enzymes, and a tongue ready to taste the sweat that falls delicately. like a summer trees leaves in the depths of november. or syrup filling in the minute cracks of bark on a mellow maple sitting in melancholy on the hilly banks. slow, fragile crystallizing water, filled with budding pheromones, bubbling over a sea of red and rosy, blanketed passion. enshrouding with fervor, where you inherit Michelangeloesque signatures on your hand crafted marble cheekbones and full figured, bloodshot, pouty lips. dark hair mirroring oblivion, marking the end of my curiosity. and this unruly temptation. you soul treks along spacetime, unknowingly engulfing innocent, wandering black holes and coffee stained eyeballs (mine). every color drawn in every conceivable wavelength swallowed by the permeating darkness of uncertainty and attraction swirling back into this moment. where present meets passion, and my calloused hands meet your neck
KILL OR BE BROKEN. KILL OR BE ME
killed in combat over and over
killing disease
killed in disguise
killed when i sleep
killed in my dreams, killed cause I’m weak
attracting spiritually broken, they see healer in me
chill in my bones. killing me slowly, kiss me. it’s frozen
feeling the breeze. or is that you behind, huffing on these
maroon eye, jeweled demon, ruby iris. drool dripping
do or die
wolve wedding.
sheep ring bearers, unsheared sheep pastor
wool clothing. the warmth of our corrivalry helps me fall asleep faster
hyper empath, i hear your heartbeat miles away
hear it, before i fall asleep. hear it when I’m on a date
why does it all of a sudden, beat faster?
is it a scary movie?
reading a letter from me you’re ignoring?
are you late to work? or have you met someone new..
sometimes,
i like looking at you when you aren’t looking at me
it’s relaxing to know, you aren’t thinking about how my eyes engulf you
i’ve lost the illusion of things i thought irreplaceable
only to acquire ones that i thought hoping for once made me delusional
losing you, learning to realize reasons why I’m the way i am
like my obsession for control, like a sextant in my throat
i couldn’t control falling in love. and there you go
want to know a secret into tricking yourself?
think of a moment when you’re warm, cradled.
drinking an aromatic, or brushing the warm fibers of your bed
now, this is where you think of someone.
you can trick yourself into thinking they’re there with you
back muscles tense up.
i keep forgetting to forget about you
can’t remember to remember you’re not here
i’ll try harder when
I’m drunk
and you’re drunk
and we can
find each other in that inebriation
and hopefully
talk about
it
and what shouldn’t have happened
the moon the moon
the moon the sun
the sun the moon
press mute
succumb
doomed doomed doomed
I’m doomed. we’re done
who who who
are you
who are us? collusion
contusions.
you’re a cup of hot chocolate
on the fiercest winter morning
feel the blisters forming
whistle through the windows
pixelating percentage
whistling. cold air
whistling dixie
through the windows
it’s snowing.
frost on the glass
particle splat
icicles look like christmas ornaments
your silence
makes me question myself
i was too human
too human. too human
too godamn human.
too.
human.
(everywhere i put a period, is a moment in the story where i teared up and cried)
.
..
.
i fucking, maybe i should’ve danced.
that one time
that one time(.)
maybe that would’ve changed something
that one time that
one time
hot chocolate woman cup
god damnit. open up
do i remain robotic?
or do i remain human!
robot. beep booop
robust. beep boop
my safe full of cold guns
beep boop.
.
.
what do i do with you?
