…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
my inner voice. bragging and shy. so very coy
abruptly impassioned in its perilous joy
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.
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
unwavering boomerang into unconsciousness
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
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
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
don’t know if I’m abnormal or still repulsively mourning
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
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.
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?
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
again thanks for reading, and the poems you guys wait for will be back on schedule.
I’m a fucking fire breather.
Breathing fire. Eating dragons, for breakfast
who wants some? None of you do
I’ve held back for quite some time
exerting no strength
Ball of fire. Giving the sun spots
ink blots and think thoughts
disregard your discourse
munching on mantras, making mistakes
i learn from them
wake up from nightmares hardly impressed
more creative next time, brain
laughable sequence, you could never understand
i ain’t lazy
you work hard i work smarter
catch a sneeze in the air
yelling from the sidelines
telling mayweather his footwork is scarce
looking at my mile times like godamn how old is too old to compete in the olympics?
facebook shows me gold medal ads the next day
your ads probably have bronze medal ads.
investing in bronze exports. making a killing
thanks for losing to me. still winning
dumb down my vocabulary to be able to talk
seto masochistic flair pops up when lactic acid settles in
i will say though, my only weakness is knowing when to try
i do it or not
do i love you or not? it’s the only time
where I’m clueless. i love it.
I’m scared of these dungeons i’ve never visited before
i barely gave you a chance
only because I’m terrified of defeat
but i’m oddly attracted to how you make me listen to you
not by force
by this weird thing called
it’s the only thing i can’t decipher
so i try to break it down
molecule by atom
acid and protein
muscles and madness
deconstructing everything into dust
but i didn’t need too
I’m only figuring that now
masqueraded dominance with self love
self deprecating jokes were my crux
like, you came out of nowhere
RIGHT THERE. but nowhere
solving puzzles in seconds
nice one on the wall.
visit art galleries just to figure them out
i know where you thought your last thought, picasso
no escaping my big brain
but you, oh you
i can’t figure anything out. and it’s
where? right there
she’s right here, cristian
maybe. but right there. whisper
tinier text. right
i remember once i was in mexico
strutting the city streets. and my game was
to memorize everybody’s face for 5 minutes.
needless to say i did that, and i saw them later
they didn’t know who i was
it was the hardest i ever pushed my brain
i slept for half a day. then went hiking
it wasn’t a pointless story.
we’re right there. the whole time
as were you.
not you physically. but. you.
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
it’s bittersweet. grapefruit sauvignon. rose stained cherry motif
nightmare on wax on repeat. please beware of the beast
swiping left. recurring sentiment, pattern repeat
didn’t fall in love with your pictures. fell in love indiscreetly
deciphering flaws, explicating subtle jungian traits
brains defensive mechanism. delegating safety restraints
decoding reflexive emotive. premeditative distaste
automatic, chemical composition innate
features built to delay or forego any possible symptom
of a broken heart, hemoglobin battle wound syndrome
saline suture. calculating how different you are
4am trip to neverland, not a trip to the bar?
borderline blasphemy. there’s times you cry over art
shit you gotta do alone, shit others could never remark
distinguish aquatic serene, underwater nautical scene
scraping off necrotic flesh your hands singed off my being
i wasn’t weird, i was rare. pseudo nominal dream
all circles around compatibility, malleable personage boost
8oz serving with juice. lime chaser and incertitude
enucleated review, i wonder if those winks were signaling doom
i don’t know everything, some swear that i do
to my prophetic odes of text i promptly construed
maybe it’s curse. mineralize moments of malice
materializing minute by minute, hours go vanished
learning to apologize to my fists when dripping in red
how dare me use them for writing and use them for sin
learning to love myself even though i hate when i fall
staring at bloody gauze when i get up from it all
found safe haven disguised in the words that he spews
who knew all you had to do was wipe his tears from his view
who knew all you had to do
was wipe tears from his view
who knew it had to be you
who knew i stop writing when it hurts
who knew you had to wipe tears
who knew tears didn’t hurt when you touched them
who knew i had to stop writing
you passionately spoke, breathing in between ; about how we’d be able to practically look at each other without speaking and know what we mean. hold my hands. slight facial gesture, radiant beam. on the cusp of extraordinary meaning, emboldened by components we both constructed with our definition of love. uphold the only person i wouldn’t give up. ultralight fixture hooked by the seams. lean over and tell me to be sweet to you. a declaration without question i consented too. something from dreams. dreams realized by coincidence. you see, i don’t believe in happenstance, or the desultory theory. i don’t believe in randomness, or fortuitous grandeur. i don’t believe we told each other we loved each other in our most comfortable ways, because it was random and we had to say it because we were put on the spot. hand me the… anthem to your beating heart, look how easeful we let ourselves be. enjoy the moment don’t let anything interject this tell tale juncture. i felt scared, but i fell asleep through it all. no other feet on the floor, making the wood creek. just you and i. no makeup, no making up things to hinder or shade the initial way we very diligently feel. under the shade, drunk, untouchable, dazed, you told me you did, and i remember your body. audacious. bronze, bold, and barely sorry. you stretched it out and let me kiss your neck till we stopped breathing. i’m not seeing, the dots. sequences mocked in my head, surrealist. please, pass the 1800 i left at your place. take a swig, take a swim in it til’ we recreate what we wanted to make. now what the fuck did we want to make? alcoholic infinity pool. ideas wrapped in embalming fluid, conservation effort at its best. medical kits ravaged through and through. petri dish left alone. the moss grows out of control. and before you know it the whole building is moss. they then turn it into a museum that shows the effects of nature without interference from humans. nefarious, ruthless. communication efforts, high rise wink, and a glare. 65 foot story edifice built with the air that we breathed in. we took it too far. maybe we didn’t take it far enough in the day. maybe, i accosted you. maybe i don’t know what to say. maybe i don’t when to put off, or lay off, and just proclaim we’ve gone too far, let’s delay the inevitable army coming to raze the buildings we built, the princesses we locked away in towers, in case someone dared to unravel the chains. battle the dragons that lay in scales of brave souls that couldn’t contain. in the nest atop of the moat, intense guarding by alligators that haven’t eaten in weeks, that stare with listless bloodshot eyes, that peek over the callous, dry mud you feel safe from ever slipping on. i didn’t realize it’d be from the other side of the bar. where we don’t speak to each other and know what we meant. that’s not what i planned. not what i wanted to express, okay? have you ever experienced the glow of rising sun with someone so advanced in your fortress you let them break down the doors to your chamber? i was in six feet of water trying to breathe. guide me, I’m weak. i’m not gonna lie, that night fucking broke me. i solemnly pray, calmly, or i solemnly pray somehow you could calm me. ironic. ionic. electrical charge. cation and anion, embellishing hardship. arrhenius asserted that large compounds irreversibly form into smaller charged particles even without electrical current. this is called dissociation. it sounds like disassociation. i bet you, you weren’t expecting that. wrote print my entire life and fell in love with your cursive. i still remember philip olivier. and i chuckle. can you picture philip olivier? hope my knees don’t buckle and shake, tucked into shapeless projections, and then crumble and break. i have a thousand thoughts in my head and don’t know what else to say. someone just left the coffee shop I’m in. i wish them the best.
the world can’t be given to you by someone else
but they can make it a bit brighter
what they tell you is don’t be selfish
what they don’t tell you is be selfish with love
in your twenties.
telling you right now, be selfish
i remember what your mom said
she wished she never left her first love, it’s a regret that she had
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?”