naseous

you don't want to live
but you're too afraid of death
to kill yourself.
it would just give people a reason
to feel bad for you
and that's the last thing you'll ever want.

never ending fatigue
and trapped
eternally
in your own head
a useless and morose
existence

it's almost not worth it
not worth anything

try

i floss my teeth with your existence

sad

she whispers everything she wants you to say
into your open ears
and you relay it onto everyone.

you are conscious of everything you say
and yet your mouth continues to run
no matter how bad the words are
that issue from your mouth

maybe because you believe they should be
relayed
maybe because they're true
or maybe you're out to destroy yourself.

i'm sure it's just that.

everyone's too good for you.
self-hate was once a fashion statement
and long after it went out of style
you still harbored it

often you believe
the right idea
is to be totally absent, removed
cut all the strings that tie you to
the ground.

give up and stay down.
become an object rather than a thought.
never let yourself feel.

but then
when world's become horizontal
when there's a constant tether
a constant canvas at your fingertips
you imagine a future
of togetherness
of drawing infinite maps,
owning something other than yourself
taking care, taking charge
of everything.

torn between two extremes
two differences.

unhappy and happy
both at once.

blessed at birth to destroy oneself
is your fate.

this is the end

maybe he's getting you back
for all you ever did to him,
and by did, it is really
ignored.

there is an amount
a fair amount, for sure,
of time you should have prepared
and served to him,
but was wasted on other things.

the glitter in your body
the substance,
it was never created
for just one being;
it was create for many.

voices, hair,
teeth, soft lips and
red tongues,
they sparkle a symphony
to whoever may hear
such high-pitched tunes.

more importantly,
since that one moment in history,
you will always dream, wonder,
dread,
what he once slipped up, and did.

it's a guilty pleasure,
but also a fear,
a cry,
a hate.

you know,
know know know
know, know.

it's so obvious,
yet you can't formulate it
in words.

someday it's going to come
someday, you'll still be expectant,
some day,
you'll still not care.

everyday,
you will always have love,
always have hate,
and always have knowledge.

just like
every other
day.

everything is veiled.
and that is how
it should be.

self-hate, world love.

balloons in throats,
acrid tastes
floating across palettes.

maybe your thoughts,
your fears,
will never make their way
from synapses
to megabytes.

nothing makes sense, but still you love

daydreams
create
possibly reality,
or the future.

beauty perfected
in red, blues, whites;
stretches, softness, twine,
everything you ever wished to be...

you know what his wishes are now,
you've always known, in a way.

you know what will happen,
eventually.

you accept it,
eventually.

condensation greeting beige
is not an option.

time is cruel,
but still,
you press on.

she has always been above you
and you love her, still.
but she has,
and still will,
take everything from you.

you know everything that goes on,
and you see things that other people
may discard.
he loves her, but also
you.
he loves her,
more than you.

in the end, she is who he will
pick.

she is who he thinks of
when he thinks;
color, thought,
touch, taste, love.

for you, it's the same
for you, it will never change.

nothing ever makes sense.

you love her,
and everyone built their lives around her
and you did once, too.

this is the begging of an end
it's the beginning of a beginning too,
and acceptance is the dance of your mind.

this is the end of an end.
the dryer of all sight,
the cycle of sickness.

this is the end.
this is the beginning.

you conformed to her once,
you saw others conform too

and your love,
it conforms, finally,
too,
as you expected.

[he will take her,
over you,
and you once took him over...
the speech he records to you,
the laughs you will miss
it all adds
up]

and now,
it's not the time
to speak, to write.

now is the time
to sleep.

time to shut down

reanimation:
a flower opening.
closing.
it grows, matures
then dies, decays,
reverts.

cold, then warm.
one side closed off,
the other, inviting.
too many thoughts,
too much love,
too many wishes

disbelief and loss
of memory,
of thought.

fear still courses
through veins and capillaries.
through muscles, fat,
bones, marrow.

anatomy is a reoccurring subject.
loving strangers who remind you of
brothers.
it all intertwines in some
way.

stress melts.

you are sure this time,
acute,
aware of the warnings,
and you are sad, but happy.
you dream of this each day,
create a tragedy,
in which you win;
and this is never the case.

you know, this time.
you are aware
and you have no care.
you're alright,
you have acceptance.

this time,
you're ready.
you know your own worth
you know your boundaries
your importance,
appearance,
morality,
and personality.

this time,
you wish and wish,
and never get.
but you are sure,
when the time comes
you still wont be ready;
still, you will melt
will perspire,
will dissipate.
you will revert,
you will accept.

this is something you are used to
something you will always know.
something
you will always let go.

you are omniscient.
you are God,
in some ways.

you believe in yourself,
at times,
you hate yourself,
at times,
and to your own thoughts,
you do not exist,
sometimes...

this is the end of a beginning.
for lives are long
but love is not.
and this you know more than anyone.

for you,
you're done.
but you still smile,
still laugh,
still produce what is expected.

you know the products,
the results

but everything to you,
it's nothing.

you act, you play
you decide, you roll
eyes and gears.
everything to you is nothing.

you know what he wants, desires
thinks and loves.
you can't stop it,
and you don't want to.

you just let life take its course
let is run on and on
and nothing to you,
it's everything.

it's all a repeat
all familiar,
and you hope to do it
again

and again.

i am sorry.

severity tastes my borders
it sleeps in my own bed.
serious caresses
the dry skin of my face
it sings it's honey-dripped voice
into my ear drums.

life slowly drips
chops,
movies in pieces
to my own thoughts,
commands.
and it should not.

triangles dropping
smiling on command,
feathered with micro-thin lines,
black, blue, white;
they turn mouths
upside, facing the sky

they teach lives how to
thrive.

weight rules in such a world,
taste is on vacation,
and senses are on fire.

alone,
it is supported,
discouraged and
less exciting.
but together,
it's beautiful
horrible,
and life changing.

at crossroads,
words just
stop.
at points where you would
never expect them.

self-hate blooms
it laugh,
sneezes
it's own pollen onto others.
it's coats people in indifference
in doubt,
and sometimes it's perfect
sometimes, it's ignored, but acknowledged,
sometimes it's the best
you will ever get.

often,
people are born
with a lot of love, but a lot of hate
and when the love
goes to everyone else but themselves
the hate piles up in their mind
unto their own being
and this is what creates
self-esteem, self-hate,
suicide.
and every other terrible commodity in this world.

too much love for other creatures,
it creates chaos
and the saddest acts
you will ever learn
in your own lifetime.

done for however long it may be.

the noise is a constant drum
inviting but too loud
loving, love for it, and beautiful
but maybe too much.

thoughts swirl in circular motions
around breath, skin, sinew and bones;
around life
and grief
care, nurture and touch.
it creates 90% of your thoughts
and they are a part
of 90% of your love.
this feeling,
you wish it never goes away
no matter how much doubt
your mind creates.
and you know it will create
until the end of time.

brows furrow,
eyes dry
and times is a blur
times skips
time is obsolete
until one resounding moment
that creates
silence.

your life is his own
and always will be.
but eventually
all this will end
and the beginning is now
and it's end,
it's begging.
you know,
and you accept.
as always.

sometimes,
you wish for such a thing.
but at the same time,
you wish for such an opposite.

lives blooming around you,
and you pay no attention
for some reasons
and some interests
and unexplainable
possibilities.

everything should always be
in this state;
a state of confusion, fuzz,
skipping and bubbled.
a beat sets your hearts pace
your breathing's pace.

you tense centered muscles
muscles up top
onto such meaningless appendages

and think about past scenes that
play in your mind
that makes sense,
but don't.
that play clear,
but blurry,
and you breath in
the familiarity.

you smile,
you live,
you love.
everything is how it should be.

me

two lips press together
dry, but not chapped
to try and smooth
what is already soft

small hands grasp
big cameras
metaphors for bigger dreams

with nails chipped and
painted gold
attached to arms
that wrap around
shoulder, waists
the same nails drag along
concrete streets
and wish to save
a dozen lives a day
when they can’t save themselves

inconsistency is the consistency
of your flesh and bones
for singularity is never enough
but it’s always what you
go back to

made of paper-maché
solid, yet hollow
lightweight, yet keeps it’s place
you are magazines held together
with paste

brown matching brown
and a face forever
somber

sometimes you find yourself
walking unfamiliar paths
but you trust your feet
to lead you straight
for they understand better
than your own head

sometimes
you’re a singular body
in a sea of multiples
vision tunnels and corners turn
white

calculus

the class buzzed
with not conversation,
but silence.
there was a distant hum
as if you could hear
everyone around you think.

calculus, a vile subject
that slowly cooked the mind
and caused time to tick;
the second hand lurched
as if you flick a distant pain
away.

all around you were somber eyes,
half closed, half moons
eyelashes sweep
left to right, like a broom.
they blink away
saline and hide in peripheral
vision.

bones clatter onto desks
a miss in the search for
numbered buttons, plus signs
and equals.

every being in that room
a hallow bird or broken feather
the teacher stood, yard stick in hand.
each twist of her wrist
brought it down with a smack
into her open palm.
a quiet smack.

and whilst pencils scratch
in time with the second hand's tick
in time with the yard stick's smack
the room's still abuzz with
silence and the mess math makes
in one's mind

reader

as if chopping carrots
crisp, fresh
his teeth bite down
awful sounds
and nails break off
at the quick
almost too short
almost too painful

his hands are calloused
rough and tattered
from both work and play
but mostly from
the wood he commands
with his palms curled around

it's not that
every time you see the sky
you think of him
but really
every time you see his eyes
you think of the sky

the air moves with him
and not around him
as if he carries it with him
in a jar

movements quick
like a shutter released
and speech that tumbles
tongue over teeth
sharp, yet melted together

at bus stops or train stations
he is who you see alone
daydreaming up another life
and whispering to the clouds

creativity

“the C-41 developer”
she says
“for the color film”

she may have the wrong
impression of you.
every time she comes
you’re upset
or tired
or out of touch with reality.
it seems the best of days
she’s never there.

everything she creates is beautiful.
even things she has
no control of:
her voice, her hair
the features of her face.

with hair aflame
and eyes alight
she breathes words
from her mouth to yours;
Cardiopulmonary Resuscitation.

barely with words she speaks
more with gestures
and slight of hand

but at the end of the day
you’ll shake hands
and promise to meet again.

you can't save anyone

3 subject notebook

you've been terribly inclined for him
since longer than you thought:
six months rather than three.

nostalgia, maybe
or just the curiosity of
looking back.

everything seems out of place
you can't find what you're looking for
and documents are constantly lost.

yet all the while, he is
a solitary figure.

hearts beat, not one at a time
but many at a time, and for many.

he knows this.

the outdoors are now foreign
and the ones you love are too
but now, you can't tell if it's
your fault or their's.

maybe the man with the brick face
triangle eyes and silent composure
will never ever know how you feel.
maybe, not matter how many times
you search for skin
for eyes
he will never fully understand
and will be blinded by veils
of uncertainty for his own being.

there are other's, and there will be
painted black, as if to blend in to the
night
but still you see them clearly.
and in this state
you think of apartments and cooking
and to change the course of direction
would be the most foolish decision
you could ever make.

quick

twilight
when the sun falls under the horizon
when the sky darkens
moon rises, stars alight;
there is no REM
eyelids are poised open
and grasshoppers
maybe distant static
is the only sound whispered in your ear.

it's madness in it's own form
but it's your only
escape.

at times,
rhythmic beats will create a pattern
within your toes
within your arms, sinew and muscle
within your mind
and all you hear is rushing
a river passing,
blood,
and all you hear is
the beat.

at times,
the beat stutters
or maybe gets too loud
and, off track
confused, maybe
frightened
you will try to find your way back
and you will succeed.
every. time.

and if it ever were to end
it would not be your doing.

sometimes,
you look too far ahead
and you wonder how things change
from one side to another
and you fear for something wonderful
because you are afraid of losing it.

often,
you'll disguise the indistinguishable
but off the radar it stays
and you whisper it
into keyboard, into ears

just soft enough so no one hears.

a lost voice,
something you can lose without having
speech is lost under quick fingers
and red cheeks, beating hearts.
you have strength in expression
just only when it's silent.

worthless

unusual feelings;
someone's blowing balloons up in your chest
it's pressure, it's stress.
things aren't the same
they all feel different
and maybe this is just growing up.

it's scary
and the thoughts in your head
open up different horizons
new and fresh and foreboding
and you will always daydream
and fear the worse
but fear yourself into some kind of
super human
that you'll never be.

somber eyes stare in the mirror
round, brown
half the time remarked as
remarkable.
and the rest they are just
shit.

maybe this is just the blood flowing
through your veins.
maybe it's the sights you saw today

your head never seems to settle
words, thoughts, feelings
a jumbled mess.
and everyone sees that as something bad
but you use it to your advantage,
you use it with what you're good at.

no sleep, good for the soul

"frown"
he commands
and upon request, you supply
supply and demand
and he says
"look, a smile"
and laughs.
but all you see is a
frown.

you feel the need
to thank an other worldly force
god or something more ridiculous
for such good fortune.
every visible patch of skin
a color you could never vocalize
or describe with pretty words
is something you wish to
run your fingerprints over
over and over and over...
until they bleed or until
anything can stop you
(time, mostly)

and this is the most beautiful thing
you think you've ever seen
and every single piece
is just as beautiful as the next

go home now

knuckles,
where intermediate phalanges meet
proximals;
they rap
(a hollow noise)
onto breastbones,
to create
smiles and laughter
and wonder.
but put your ear to his chest
to hear a beating heart
and realize,
he's made the same
just like everyone else.
and in some aspects
this is a let down,
but also a relief.

you thought,
maybe,
a heart does not control this boy
nor a mind, a machine
but something else
to make him so different.

but his blood pumps through his veins
like every other human
and in this thought
he was born the same
and he will age the same,
with you
but he lives different,
very much so.

bad for you

10 days straight.
any questions asked
will be swept away.
dust pan and broom
scratches the surface of
beige leather
or tea with milk
soft hands brush soft hair
out of piercing eyes.
looking back
what you have are pictures
and words.
what you've always had
and what you must give away.

sleep can wait.
the human body tests its limits
daily
everything happens at night
everything worth living for.

trucks driven,
vans,
fancy cars without
acquaintances and
snarls.

you wont see the sun until 7
maybe
but light leads the way
the day breaks at 5am.
and life seems less livable.

the more you look at him
the less he seems.
before he was a figure in life
a statue of something preservable
inspiration, something to look up to.
ruin and love rip off his mask
to reveal the truth beneath.
his simplicity and lack of tact
burn perfect cigarette circles
into your memory.

to your closed eyelids
the car is infrared.
their outlines sear through
the sheet with bristles
radio, body, wheel
they all stay perfected in your mind
for just that moment.
and when you open,
a new world approaches
one with lights and solidity.
eyes closed, 2-d virtual
eye open, 3-d nerves.

in the van we chase a storm
to the beach where the lightening
strikes far off into the black ocean.
the tin water swallows the electricity.
the lights are bright on the strip
the sand gray, the air cold.
here, time is segmented
time comes in little bits and pieces
and each matter and are loved.
forgotten japanese gardens find their way
into your mind.

you're disconnected now,
a separate story from the rest.
the rain falls,
bites at your skin
and nothing matters anymore.
each mistake made
each slip of a finger
creates a smile
wide and bright that you must hide
behind foreign scarves.

the world is split
four parts, again.
deja vu makes its appearance
as always.
the familiarity brings warmth
and home.

each impulse comes in waves
radio, micro, unearthly
it crashes over you, like an ocean
and tightens your body
sets you straight
shiver and convulsions grind like gears
inside.
intoxication, it sets your skin on strings
lifts you up to where
it should be.

recklessness should be avoided
but here you stand in the middle
of everything you ever hated
and everything you said you'd never do
and in love with it you are.
you've never been so confused
and you've never smiled so wide.
but alone you are in a full car
everyone lives in their own world.

the LCD looks like a movie screen
old, cracks in the film
dust on the reel.

this isn't what you expect
but it's something familiar
amplified ten times.
maybe you just can't ever remember
'last times'
for you must forget to remember.

a weight on your stomach
literal and not figurative
it centers your attention
words repeat
'pure delight, sugar pie'
and rapid rivers flow past.
wrinkles in the sheet of water
black and the light is orange.

you hate yourself but
what else is new?

heat, rain.
legs bending like sandalwood inward
legs waterlogged,
face crumpling inwards, heavy
then stretched open into a gate.

light means sight
without it, you are one object
a machine, typical.

him, your existence.
a vehicle and the water.
a three part life.
beasts walk in front of you
lead the way to your blind eye
and your feet are sandpaper

the water floods the streets
turns asphalt to ocean
parking spaces and double yellow lines
just a part of the sea floor.
there are oceans in the parking lots.

naivety can be tasted in the air
and the climate is just rights.
the lightening falls into the gray sky.
what intimacy is here?
a car garage with numb fingers and spring water.
ranting to yourself
drowning in your owns words, causing heavy breath.

the one girl you are connected most with
you don't think she likes you
anyone or anything for that matter.
she sits with a blank stare
unaware, an apathetic injury.
this may be a horror movie.

you feel like a motherly figure
and yet one stands before you.
you feel as if you have a soul
and it comes from somewhere beautiful
celestial.
but the guilt swells up, too.

walking along
slogging to civilization
lost but not lost
a world you've forgotten
lived in
and are rediscovering.

each eye has its own perspective
each on a different path
a light shines through his middle
two halves are created
each eye has one, in focus and contrast

the subjects they speak of
sense is lost
and never found
and to you, it feels like metal ripping from cars.
she is so different,
cold, asleep
but awake.

silent screams are hidden
behind swirled lips
insanity ensues
it feels like you're going 12
on a 65 highway.
there is silence
but old NES sounds fill your ears
static and blips.

her eyes in the mirror
it's too dark to see
if she's watching.
breaks squeal and alleyways come in
to focus.
alleyways are taken and breathed in.
street lights create two lives
and now water is a fear.

right now, it feels like a family
and now you know the workings
of the universe, to some degree.
in front of you, a phone
misshapen, bent.
someone took your memory reel
and cut out segments with scissors.

animal instinct on the tip of your tongue.

mucosa

sobriety a lost eden
4 parts segmented
and full.
none purified
none accepted,
you will surely go to hell.
what you have in arms reach
your friends
and with that power
you are your own god

wet

the roles have switched
a hand, burgundy
it seems it seeps through
fabric, the same
or maybe the cloth itself
is attatched

lungs

all liars
all clay molds
all catalysts of one another,
reacting against but with.
the same message repeated
the same synapse to cause
a thought.
the same repetition through
god hated mouths.
hate swirls from
caves with white stalactites
and they collect in a whirlwind
counterclockwise
a funnel cloud.

the room bursts and no one cares,
they laugh.

off in a lake
the surrounding area
exists in just a mind
and the bodies inhabiting?
fake.

floating on your back.
eyes never blinking
breath never inhaling or
exhaling
at a constant rate of
asphyxiation
and the tides bring you
to where god wants you.

melt

your life lingers in your throat
any sign of teeth
the spasming of diaphragms
it surges up, seeking an escape
but your memory is firm
no matter how round the disks are
how destructible,
your life will stay stuck.

claws

when the blade speaks,
you're in.
and when it says
"let's get creative"
it's time to leave.
so swallow everything you've got
wipe the earthy taste from your lips
and smile with teeth
covered in a blue film.

weeds

organic, green
its roots spiral through
the ground.
leaves grow up, like stalks
and extend into jagged
stars.
its essence, its vapors
a sleeping pill all its own

...

you don't know
how i feel.

and you don't see
what i see.

you can never imagine
what happens after dark

a few more days

it feels as if
you are watching evolution
on film.
black and white
grainy film.
bodies writhe, shake
slither up from the floor
blossom into extended arms,
hands, fingers
they flex and jive and juxtapose
and fall once again,
like a flower dying
it's petals curl, suck in to the core.
fetal to lucid to solid to fetal
all in one motion.

the world shakes,
the floorboards bend.
such a small room for such
energy.
the walls resonate
with not just sound but
emotion and
life.
the warmth:
does it come from
outside
or from the bodies that
surround?

not a frown in the room
smiles
maybe drunken, maybe induced
maybe organic and true.
the lights reflecting on the windowpanes
they mimic stars on the dark sky
and fool any passing eye.

dual bodies
entirely different in sight
but in voice,
in passion, they are identical.
they shelve themselves
for the crowd to see and
speculate,
just to be
speculated
to be
heard.

the lights are dim,
the atmosphere dense
and full
yet tasteful.
people open their mouths
for a taste.

a crack, a scratch, a mere blemish
on a window
or perhaps an insect with
see through wings.
the light catches it
just right
and you are sure of
nothing.

in a finale,
or a final thought
the arms outstretch
to one beat, then another.
a constant sea, constant waves
of human action and
instinct.
one half partial to the offbeat
the other partial to
treble.
they create an ocean
together, in this room.

it's better this way

she is becoming
worse than what the hunter
sings about.

and still she wonders
why you never speak.

rubber and air
tumble down
concrete, grass
dirt.
a field would be
beautiful
but they don't mix.

the overpass
if it were to
crumble at any minute
send you jetting to the ground
you would throw your arms out
and pretend to fly.

it seems what you most love
is calling you to
face what you fear most.
the darkness swallows you,
while the screen shows you
the way.
a niche,
bright lights and
dark waters.
the gears and spokes
the metal tubes, crisscross
like a wicker basket,
they sing a song like cicadas
a hum, a whisper
until your body is free of
breath.
it's a time to think
time to celebrate silence
to appreciate beauty in
simplicity
in nature, in electricity
in life.

time is passing
and reality is catching up.
realizations confirmed
unfortunate, but understandable
and reacquainted with the past.

forever stuck
901.34 miles away
a lifetime, and in reality
15 hours.
if this were the case
you wouldn't hesitate you take your peace
your hum, your freedom
and haul it all the way down
for everything you were made for
what you consider your life.

if this were the case
you wouldn't hesitate.

nyeh

in the dark,
the lights are on in this room
the window open.
dogs, coyotes
an animal howls.
in love, in pain.
sight, sound and scent
attract to such beauty.
it's all crickets
fear and interest.
peace is a state of mind
make it what you wish.
late nights,
small sounds
this is peace.

turn your ears
what do you hear?
make this your peace.

the animal
dog howling
or owl screeching
may we ever know?

the cars hum in the distance
a highway previously visited
a place to share interests
beautiful sights
inventions and love.

tread lightly, for if he sees
he will question and shake his
head

chatter

this mouth is a city
molars hanging above,
threatening
and below,
as houses.
until one day,
the mouth closes, and crushes
a city.
nerves are severed, in the process
just like electrical
wires.

this mouth is cement teeth
one bite and
secrets are sealed forever
teeth solid, yet
with pressure, they melt.

you are a singular being
on a slingshot
navigating your way
through this world.
you feel as if
you are playing a simulation game
of a simulation game.
rowing a fake boat
to row a fake boat
to victory.

tiny demons
black,
they crawl across where
fingers play symphonies
of words and conversations.
an iron fist cracks down,
a plastic disk
or soft beige fingers, more likely
and an end to a life is
born.

it lays,
in plain sight:
disgusting.
forever until a clean sweep
rolls into town
and snatches it away.
and then it will decay
until there is nothing left but
the memory in one
little girls mind.
a landfill,
forever,
until the day.

maybe you are just as fake
as they are.

they should all be known.
it's unfair you get it all.

it explains your stature.
just not enough.

always getting cut
in line.

among other things.

fend for yourself.

what will you do to this world.

you just do not
understand.
not really anything
anymore.


now you think
was it even working
in the beggining?
was it ever
working.

you are seethrough

as they say
the dust will never really still.
the ropes will still begin to get
longer and longer
and the slack will fall victim
to the waters cold depths
until retrieval is no longer
an option.

empty lots with no street lights
just at passing glances
and stomachs drop without
a hill in sight.

you'd like to try
but you believe there is only
an opposing force.

feet go numb,
entire legs ache.

everything you see
is a haunting
and it's starting to get
unbearable.

the road forks now
in many different directions and not
just two.
some roads are inhabited
and others desolate.
your feet are on their own
and they gravitate towards
desolation
when your mind crawls towards
civilization.

something that started as your biggest
enemy
that became one of your best friends,
now burns a bridge, and see what happened,
we are back to the beginning.
and your enemy, he laughs
straight in your face for all the times
he has done wrong.
two times now it has been
a life breaker
and will continue to eat away at lifelines
until the end of time.

you are done, you hope
with this,
a finality.
and though the stream will continue,
untouched by you,
the fire will continue to burn
when you call upon it.

at this crossroad,
your mind is racing, still.
you will forever wonder
where all the people must have gone
for excuses never should exist
and doors will forever be closed.

at this crossroad,
the dust swirls into figures and
micro bursts,
and your eyes follow their path.
you don't want to follow them
because they run down a road
similar to the one behind you,
but at the same time
you like the way things look
down that road.

this is the end, i promise you

as the earthquake slows
to a soft rocking like a boat
and the sun shines down on empty roads
and humans,
infants, adults
crawl from the reckage
they all smile and realize
they are alive.

but they all forget,
the aftershocks.

now you begin to realize
slowly, minute by minute
everything is less and less okay.
you wont speak outloud
because pity is your most hated
emotion.

the sea, surely
begins to churn.
the waves turn white
and a warning is sent out.
even then, you will sit on the dock
and understand what the sea is
speaking to you.
you listen and share similar stories.
your smile shines
in the bright lightning bolts

anger, anger.
laughter, too.

too much forgiveness, maybe
for one and not enough for
another.

hug the tides
when the moon sends them to you.
love the salt that encompasses your
skin.

this is the first time
you have been let down and not
you letting someone else down

from this, where will you go?
walk the dirt road back home
in search of other souls?
or do you keep along the path
of solitude, for good?

if he dares to ask for you,
you will breathe the salty
warm wind as it hits your face.
you will eat the salt that
catches in the corners of your mouth.
if ever in the future
the moment comes
no matter how much want there is in you
you will say
no.

too full for any more

the moment you have all been
waiting for
has finally came and yet
you are not ready.

when you arrive
it's all
fanfares, confetti
the welcoming crew all
have masks with spattered paint.
they hug you, whisper welcome
in your ear.

but once you are there,
really there,
you are unsure of what to do.

it's as if life just
stopped
after one stumble down
airplane boarding stairs.
nothing productive
nor anything you ever did for fun
before
comes to mind
you do not know how to move on.

reflection:
there is no anger
there is no sadness,
you fucking searched for it
and it was never found.

too many questions
you could have asked
but didn't.

it's sad and selfish
when your highest priority
is to know if anyone
spoke up.

reality is a funny thing.
in the silence
in remission and in a room
full of thoughts
childhood and ragtime
drive past your house.
it's funny,
when worlds that collide can be so different,
with a passing car full of tragedy
and a stationary house surrounded by
family,
the eyes draw to each other,
they process images
but they don't know anything.

stale

pathetic as your enemy
in fact,
you've now become him

the end

dunked,
electronically
by a ball and a sign.
consumed by water
consumed by
something different.

peers edit
your state
your personality and
emotions

at this point you are
in space
far away and
no one can
contact you

just bite down until
salt is not a sense
isn't a taste nor a
feeling

bitter.

reflect
until there is
nothing left

forget simple tasks to feel complete

they teach you,
authority and adults, that is
that deviation is a form of
"getting away"
detaching yourself from
reality and,
forgetting what you are,
living.
when really,
it's a way to defeat death
a way to
defeat reality
and commit to something
greater than you could ever
imagine on your own.

honestly,
the purpose is to,
create different memories
create feeling you've never felt
explore life and it's exports.
be something
different without being
fake.

it's never something bad,
no.

it's all for show,
it's all for the words

it's all for
you.

narcissistic,
vain?
selfish.

it's really all for art
self reflection
and to feel what it's like
to
LIVE
and really live.

sure,
you love normality.
you love
awareness and
perfect, scripted, segmented memories

but anything different you can get,
any supplement you can obtain
that creates a different world
new words and
colored pictures
you accept with open arms
and use it to your advantage.

many says its horrible,
but really,
its beautiful

and you beg god
to allow you to make more
sense.

please, god
allow me to
live and breathe and
love.

give me what you're made of
give me the wind, the clouds
the soil, the love, the atoms
give me all you've got
just to see if your creation
can stand up to your
expectations

take a fucking chance.

but, wait.
you already have, with me.
with you, with me.

i am gods latest gift,
latest creation,
latest disaster.

i am perfect in the way that
everything imperfect
follows me,
is created by me,
encompasses me.

i am death, rebirth, life.
i am everything you hate, love,
despise and create.

what you paint, play, sing.
i am inside you, around you.

breathe and i will forever affect you.

your biggest fear my dear?
to be forgotten,
to be nothing?

but don't worry,
you were born to be
famous.

reverse

you are made of liquid
boiling liquid
liquid with bubbles and
infested with salt, sugar
or other additives.
pins poke your back
mere paper creates
senses you cannot ignore,
senses you've never felt
before.
lips that swim with fishes
tingle and
deviate.
you lick them to moisten,
but nothing changes.
they still vibrate as if
alive.
and they are.
the mind is clouded
moving as if in a dance,
en pointe
or whatever other position
it could be in.

you are confused
but fully aware.
eye close on their own
giggles emit from
unwilling mouths
and smiles blossom
on apathetic faces.

the apocalypse
never seemed so
wonderful

fall over

dizzy,
numb.
gimme that
d700.
uncoordinated
stumbling and
free.
from the depths
the underneath and the
core
comes pressure you cannot
ignore.
close your eyes and let the
waves sway you from
side to side.
sip, sip, sip and
swallow.
smell familiarity and
disgust.
hear distant planes fly by overhead
wish you were them
and make goals you will never
keep.
look forward to things
you know will be disastrous.

stop making sense.
not like you
already have.

blind

his face moldable like clay
fine tune it into something
you like better.
a life you don't remember
replays.
5 years ago, maybe
or more, or less
segments of time
replay
and you feel as if
you are a child again
you're back in an old house
now forgotten.
memories you seem to have misplaced
resurface.

you look into his eyes
and see nothing
but lids and red veins and
black.

it's like a trainwreck
ice melting before your eyes

too many faces in too big of a
house

the lights shine memories
into your eyes
and though maybe forgotten
when the sun rises,
they linger for the next time
the tide comes

worry stews the worse

what if things don't fall
right back into place?

what if it's that moment?
late afternoon,
the sun is making its plummet
into the horizon.
the tall grass whistles,
itches your feet.
that moment when,
you're apart, in every way
until your eyes meet

what if
you go to take a step forward and
accidentally, by reflex
take a step back?

blurred

you're sure you searched back
to the exact date that you fell

glamorized by few,
but the real reason is to
refresh the memory.

four steps in
and 29 feet to the bottom.

you laugh,
because maybe it's his beauty.

you're reminded
of not only parchment paper
and blue ink

but also
of roman skin,
whittled into
perfect half moons and
of mud

there never was a taste
but there doesn't have to be

the words,
the sights

yes, they were
enough

but now,
things are different

now,
there are cataract eyes and

a whole
different
story.

are you afraid of the dark?

it that seems you fear
being away for too long
would cause the earth to stop moving.

but more so,
the world would move on without you
leave you behind
forget about you
and change when your back is turned,
like a coward.

as if, in a few days
you would change your mind,
change everything about yourself
or you would forget something important
about your life
that doesn't apply anymore

you've discovered
you only fear what is impractical,
yet face danger
head on.

you realize
you don't need to lay yourself out
gleaming clean
vacuum sealed, laminated,
set out, ABCs
for people to see
because here
you are a human geyser
gushing your guts out
so someone can maybe
figure you out

you know, now
you're afraid to be forgotten,
and that's maybe your biggest
fear.

dirt

the body
adapts,
under pressure.
or even when you
get away.
from yourself?
or other people.

stop to lay and think,
take the time.
grasp it in your hands
like sand,
as if you could.

drape your body
as if
made of paper
over a chair to dry,
and this is your time
to think

with its laugh
comes also
a list of pathetics:
"plain", "a" and "symp"

play on words
most wont understand.

tonight, gifted
and in pieces, more so
than usual

if the others around you
fall into routines and patterns
you figure,
it's time to leave and
breath in the fresher air.

but you know
you have no where else to go
and how free
is too free
of a spirit?

sometimes you go crazy
trying to understand
the minds of your peers
and how they think
the way they do.

maybe you will never figure it out
maybe
you grew up too fast.
maybe you never got the chance to

you prefer it this way.

snow storm

warm sunlight
turns porcelain into
liquid gold,
and blue eyes
into stormy seas
where waves crash,
whirlpools flourish
and lightning turns saline crystals
into pigments of light.

it's similar.
skipping vision and
no sense for
anything maybe at all.
but carousels in your head
(constant clockwise turns and
circus music)
and an entire body under the curse
of sleep
is different.

ask for marks you will
eventually cover up
and paint nails
you use for dirty work

you are a giant body of
waste.
70% water
and waste.

you skim your eyes over
the words,
and opaque black silk
settles on your shoulders

but you figure
do not fret,
the silk is really
red
when you wipe the film
from your eyes.

bug bites

the exchange:
smiling mouths
the same shaped lips
same color and glaze.
emitting laughs and satire,
while hands pass forth
handles;
clear and
plastic.

in the dark,
footsteps slick against pavement.
lack of light and
additions of it in
small tubes of energy
and orange glows

chemical burn,
technically.
menacing in percentiles
of ones or maybe
twos.
but when stirred into blood
in a crystal cup with a
glass stirrer,
percentiles of
fifties and even eighties.

if there was sunlight,
maybe the liquid
and crystal would
refract the light in both your eyes.

nerves convulsing
yet numb.

the ultimate
is like drinking water
until you believe you're about to
explode.

intense and foolish
yet
perfect and humorous.


and for the first time in maybe
forever
the sun stares into your car
kisses your eyelids
and wakes you.

paper weights

the main interstate
and flimsy branches of intersections
dyed blue
race under transparent skin

while table tops
plastic and not wood
wielded by
fake knights
carve a dirt path
through arms

dig a hole
cut through the gravel
sit and stare at the top
that is now just a pinprick
a ghost of what it once was
6 feet wide.

you no longer see
the blue sky

thefuck?

plastic planes
paper planes
fighter jets and
Boeing 474s

sat atop a
ceiling fan
and spun
spun spun
around.

words only come when life sucks

at the point
between inhaling
and swallowing
his taste lingers
on the back of your tongue
and you could taste for
weeks to come

hot

the skin of your arms
is hot enough
to melt ice in
seconds

nh89erhdfih

maybe once you learn
the technical
and you don't just know
the feel
your viewpoint changes

the fog
the smoke
feels as if its free flowing
underneath your skin
in a good, not bad
way

things are changing and have changed
and again,
good and not bad.
the wind changed directions
and is now flowing against your sails
to guide you
toward goals and what you want

so much noise and so much heat
it all pounds down
and sheds you of impure
dead skin.
skin that used to soil you
ruin you.
it's now brushed off
and the new is shining out

words don't come anymore
not as much

they should the way
you are disconnected

your mind was dry when you
started.
and now it has
disintegrated.

not as good but fine enough

you realize now
you don't do it
because your conscience is holding you back
and you thank it profusely
because you know when your mind is clear
you would pray for time to rewind.

i love it

you're not yourself sometimes

it was a revelation

there you were
alone
standing on the tiles of
black and white.
you felt like you weren't
in your own body
like you were made to be bigger

perfect opportunities present themselves to you
for things you wish for mostly
and when the moment is right
in its time frame between the red lines
you can't bring yourself to do it.

whatever.
two things you wish to pursue
and the current scene is something you gave up
if you make one wrong move
you'll be stuck
happy, maybe
but locked away from two opportunities
you're too hopeful to pass up.

it's just that wave of too hot
and you cough just gently enough
to dull the scratch for a few moments.
a blast of wind to cool the workers
that try to bring you down
with their pickaxes on your throat
not to hard, but just enough.

with essence still on you
thin fabric of your shirt
you weigh your options in the glow

each second the blanket of heat
that god bestowed upon your sholders
grows heavier
sweat and conscience alike
try to bring you down

but in your hand
brass scales
that tip and weigh with blindness
shine through with the truth

but luck be with you
the blindfold a permanent accessory
so even if truth can be revealed
justice
you'll never get to see it

nerves

you woke up with russian on your face
a fire burning in your stomach
throat, eyes and heart.

a doorbell
and you flee.
you press the lock and
forget the key

under the covers
"they'll never find you"
in there
you have everything you need.

hot hot heat

it's still too hot in this house
and you're still in the same state as yesterday.
a sure sign of summer,
it's warm waves and whispers of wind
make their way through the cracks in the windows
and the doors.
the creaks in the floor.
barely a fog that covers your skin
and still, you sit
in this heat and you wait.
and you wait.

but nothing ever comes
and it makes you smile.

your demise always makes you
smile.

titles always come last

second thoughts
dread
regret

you think that
your caution to let them out
or your inability to do so

makes them stuck
in your head
your throat
your chest

and creates a sickness.

quiet down

history repeats itself.
it is, tonight.
everything seems to be shifting.
different parts of your life, going back to normal
and yet, in the wrong places.

you really were so in love
and now, it creates hysterics
in laughter and maybe tears, eventually.
but for now, the sky is dry.

you're sure that's why
there isn't a bitter bone in your body
there isn't any hate left
for you to shove at anyone;
down throats or sewed onto eyes.

one emotion that you never believed in
and rarely do, still.
but you're sure you'd swear by it.

philosophy is against you
and it's hard to stick to your own morals
when one emotion clouds
everything you ever built up.

no title

it's funny,
ironic, maybe
and sad.

past entries
into the public.
stories that should be private.
things said that,
you're sure should have
could have,
gone unsaid.

the immodesty shows through, now.
but mostly,
you're reminded of how he affected you.
and now you think
maybe it never was attraction
but the way he made your words change
and thrive
as they do now.

you're still not sure, even now.
there's still something there
and you're ashamed.
but at the same time
relieved.

because, as they say
"quitters never win"

but, you think back to certain words
in particular.

ones that screamed
of a balanced life
and wordless minds.

but now, you'd consider everything to be
balanced.
or at least,
empty.

and yet the words still come
yea, they still come.
because even when thing are lost
ripped from you, even.
you can still suck the nutrients from them
vampire teeth or
a dirty syringe.

throw it away

the winds changing direction
it still burns your eyes
forces them shut

but now,
it laces fingers and
fills lungs

not alone,
but together.

broken bones

sandbars, mini islands, swamps.
maneuver your way around them.
small peartrees, skinny and just planted
but the perfect height for
a dancing partner.
decorated with diamond hearts
glittering in the sun.
too many to be challenging to find.
yet they make a spectacle of it,
as always.
trying for a macro
but the man with the
scarred, tattooed face
and too big lobes
stops you in your tracks.

you can't remember much else,
but you feel as if it may have been
life-changing

"reinvent love"

maybe it's meditation.
when you don't want to think
about certain things,
you imagine yourself
walking on silver air
feet off the ground
in bursts, each step.
choppy, not smooth.
the air cuts curves
around your body
and the background behind you
is dark and black.

you're in a nightmare,
another world.
but at the same time,
you're warm and you feel surrounded
by things you love.

you're closed off
and that's what you want, maybe.

when you do this,
you feel in control
you feel safe and powerful

and like you're flying.

what the fuck are you saying

things that happened mere months ago
seem to have happened
years ago.
or just never at all.

it seems like time just
skipped
and things in that certain period
never happened.

almost like
jamais vu.

first person??

dear world,
why are you so obsolete
when my dreamworld ticks on time and
in perfect swing with the water doves?
dear world,
your tilted axis caught us in a landslide.
in my dreams i transformed you human.
you walked with a limp, with your
eyes shining blue-green.
your skin that just-bitten color of rose

when they come for us,
we'll hold hands and plead ignorance.
and if ignorance opens old wounds?
insanity.
but mostly, we'll plead
love

go to sleep

Insomnia is an artist.
he uses wide brushes
and strokes
filled with vibrant colors and
thick paint.

he chips away under your eyes
with dirty fingernails
to perfect you.

his masterpiece.

not productive

biore
clean and clear
oakhurst:
brand names

strips
face wash
milk:
things


menthol:
good

lead eyelids

you look over
to watch the scene unfold
and the only thing
that disgusts you
and bothers you
is the fact that you once wished for it

and now you wouldn't even dare.

red hands

it's over.
"everything".
you laugh
because it's humorous
and also sad.
sadism or maybe just wisdom.

you unlearned trivial things
over the years.
certain emotions
waves of passion and
sea water
that floods deserts.

so all thats left
is laughter.

it's freedom,
in its own way.
even if you're still
pierced through the mouth
and hooked

you bet people wont believe you
and it doesn't matter
because you believe yourself
and that's all that really matters
and it's all you really need
to fuel your
day dreams
and
requital

deja vu

they say love is stronger than hate
but how can that be
when hate is so much easier
to feel than love


to forget:
you imagine steel plates
sharp, long but skinny
sharpening your skull
but in a worse way.
flying through your head
piercing the brain
until it's all but a solid
until there's no more room

until the pressure is so great
that it all turns to liquid.

maybe if they stare hard enough
they can see the buildings
crumbling in your eyes.

covers

you fill up
until that's all you know
sometimes, the things
you try to forget
are stronger than the fog.
but mostly
you're perfectly distracted.
and it's for all the wrong reasons
and maybe that's why you did it.

past experiences
keep coming into view
and nothing will ever be the same.
sometimes you forget that,
so keep reminding yourself.
remember the hate so you can
prevent future pain.

close your fucking eyes
for once.

ice cream

still
you smell of her
at least you think
but maybe you just smell like your old self
and it brings back memories.

you think you don't really want this
you're just lonely
and you have the choice
of not being it
but you just can't bring yourself
to settle.

weights

at the thought
like dialing a call
and never receiving a voice
"at the tone, please record your message"

you produce a smile
so wide and seemingly joyful
that is honestly filled with
sadness, regret, wonder and defeat
you don't know how it comes to life

to think of something
as sad as this
and be able
to smile like you are genuinely happy
must be some sort of
twisted talent

you're not covering anything up
you're not faking

laughing heartily at your own
complete disaster and misery.

you don't know.

disconcerting thoughts

why do you smell like her?
everyday for the past few days
you've had images
memories and thoughts
produced in the corners
of your mind and eyes

never would you say this
out loud.

you can't want such a thing back
because of new people
old words
and what happened in the past

it would be like
dirtying yourself
fucking a virgin
killing in front of a child:
destroying innocence.

smell is most linked to memory
and this one makes you nostalgic
and weighs down your eyes.

you're going crazy.
you gave up on one bad habit
and took up an old one.

people know not your own intentions
and you know not of his
just one, not many.

and so you gave up
and you don't know if that makes you
a bad person or not.

you just want.
you wonder and you wait
and never act or be acted upon

you just close your eyes and smell your skin
and think of past times
when things were so simply complicated
and made sense
in their own fucked up way.

donedonedone

turn yourself inside out.
make your sweet skin bitter,
tongues on tissue and organs

anger, again
instead of sorrow.
maybe you're defective

give up now
just like before
and, you're sure
just like the many times
that will follow.

you don't know
what he wants
and you'll never bother to ask

because you don't want
to know
but you do.

you're such a divided person
split, maybe.

you know you'll never
accept love where it's given.
every time it is
you give it away.

it's happened all but once
but it's never spoken of

and you're just a machine
on repeat
heart monitor for a
coma patient
or a child learning
a song.

maybe you have a lust for being destroyed.
you set yourself up
to be picked apart.
thrown around.

shut the fuck up.
let self hate engulf you.
all it ever did was better you

and that's pathetic
but also lovely.

in your head; a phrase
chanted over and over
a mix of
"give up and get out"

and you wish to live by it,
obey it,
but you know things will never change
and you'll always notice
in black and white
figures swimming in your peripheral
vision

soft face

at a loss.

who cares

they're disgusted with you
and make you feel
disgusted with yourself

someone cleared the sand out

a list of pros and cons,
or the anthem
of anything young
decaying in their mind.

to love everything
about a person
but one small thing

everyone sings it out
silently
through red rimmed mouths
and ones that are
sewed shut
or
lipsticked with lies

grapes floating in
grape juice.
as if to offset the concentrate
as if to re-flavor a flavor.

people say
never give up.
and it's funny,
because you're not.
unless you consider insanity
the cure for giving up;
the vaccine.

everyone wants what they can't have
and you can't have this
but you have it in your grasp.

it's true.
you know it.
because anyway it's going to go
you'll never have ill feelings for it
you'll just smile and
wish for the best.

the sandmand missed my eyes and filled my mind

look down.
you see dark things
and you're open.
you're a million pieces
scattered

but up,
in the light
you're condensed.
molecules in the cold.
a solid.

lately
you're not the same.
your vision skips
like before,
but so unlike before

and you feel imbalanced.
upside down,
like if you were made of
water in a bottle;
when turned inside out
or flipped around
the water would stay in place.

a constant rate
of falling
at 0 mph.
suspended but
weighed down.

wear your feelings,
not on your sleeve
or in your eyes
but around your neck
concealed
and heavy.

acronyms

10x older smiles
touch sensitive skin
shutters and
bright evening suns

empty minds
watchful eyes

metal
titanium
stainless
niobium

running
running
..water?

close

cut open your neck
shove the vinyl in
the plate full of
dreams
let it play through your mind
let the images flourish
the music blast
and the needle skip.

blast outside yourself
observe from
above and
behind

float inches away
shake your vision

hang on strings
controlled by those
who you love
you're their puppet
and they swing you around
and you hope a bone will break
to get you out of hell
free.

thoughts never make sense
when eyes
burn
dry.

one for every day

boiled up
someone dropped you in
to the new pot
the new cauldron
the cast iron cookware

you are mixed up
with the bubbles
pushed around
in a whirlwind

the simmering pot on the burner
next to you
cooks up contrasting colors
blues and oranges
yellows and purples

you leave it be to watch
the fireworks explode

in your own
mess
there's no one to
blame
but you

blushing

someone
stirred up the cauldron again
and you couldn't be
happier.
or
warmer
in the face.

vanilla

the girl
fell in love with dying
and loves
living

eliminate

inside the cage,
body motionless.
but inside
your head
is a top,
spinning and whizzing
lighting up with color
thrashing against the walls

it sounds fun
but in reality,
it's a mess.


you would participate,
but you're under circumstances
created by yourself
under the influence
of your mind

every orifice an open wound
because every opening
to you
is just another place
for someone to get in to.

enclosure

on display
caged beauty
lit up with golden lights
inside a glass box

thrashing against the sides
the glass doesn't even
smudge

people watch
the destruction
and the
creation

if you had taken the time
to lift your eyes
today
people would have seen
an ancient battle
of arrows and beasts
against a modern battle
of ships, tanks and
bombs.

maybe everyone
mistook the bombs exploding
for sparks
of joy and intellect
in your eyes.

you

just
don't
want
to
be
yourself

you
wanna
be
someone
else

what's going through your head?

nailed to a cross
you wish anyone
and maybe someone
specific
knew exactly how you were feeling

but hopes are just
empty wishes

one choice
is everything you ever wanted
and everything you should have

the other:
everything you don't want
everything you hate

and yet
you want the one
that will cause you the most
pain

.

curled up
you wish to talk to someone
anyone different

and in reality
you wish you could just
talk to yourself

but who listens
to a person who happily pleads
insanity?

destroy

in too deep
mistakes have been made

you're getting that feeling again
to light up your insides
burn yourself,
skin yourself

because you feel so fucking
uncomfortable in your own
body

today
thoughts pounding your head
like atoms
excited.
and a concentration
making your vision
multiply, divide, tunnel
making just your feet
and the path they were taking
visible

and yet
you don't remember
being any more tired.

backseat lovers

the scene:
three boys, three girls

two kiss: one in love and the other
in lies

a boy off to the side
gasps as his world is destroyed

two others fight
and the last
she feels a surge of hope
and yet
sadness

and in this moment
all the lights explode
and shower them in sparks

the road is clouded in mist

red room.
bright inside.
but the dark pounds at the windows
rain lashes
and winds howl.

you look up
to a light that isn't on
and your brain starts to shake,
vibrate.
you feel like you should be
answering a call.

you doubt yourself
more than anytime before
and you can't tell if it's
fear or
realization

it's truly ridiculous
to file things under
sections in your brain
but it happens

and though places are left forgotten,
crevices in your mind
not swept up
dust-covered
desolate.
there are things still hiding there
shadowed and quiet
they tip-toe to keep you asleep

but sometimes
they'll carry themselves too heavy
and they send a wave through your head.
your eyes open:
curtains in an open window
during late spring.
they flutter,
a spark lights them up

you think back to the past
to things you wish to forget
let go of,
but can't

there is still someone there,
who will always be there
to make your head shake
during the dark night

even though there's someone
right by your side, now
to quiet your tremors.

you chose a long time ago
whose path to take.
but there has always been a side road
winding along beside your current route,
much more dark and dangerous
and much more tempting

and everyday
when the trees part
and it comes into view,
you almost step a foot onto it

but don't.

sticky hands

maybe they would stick together

when blue lights flash
in blue eyes
you'll never see anything more
wonderful.

you sometimes evaporate outside yourself
and you can feel and see and hear
everything
and yet
your vision focuses on one thing

tonight
a glow
illuminating
just enough.

sticky mouths...

time

he makes you wish
time would just stop
and encase you
in a bubble
made of water and glass
where everyone was suspended
in cars
and in movement

where the wheel was in the backseat
and cars were backwards
but brought life back to full spin

everyone would float
midair
it would be sunset all the time
the sky covered
with yellow, orange, gold

and the light would catch
on your bubbles of time
to create lens flares
and make your world sparkle

because the moment you pop it
step out of it
you see the world
is really all gray and decaying
destroyed and horrible
and time is cruel

it ages infants
introduces them to responsibility
and a lack of innocence

time ends lives
creates fatigue and
hunger

and it never
ends.

pupil, iris, corneas, everything

everything reverts back to eyes
they show you everything

yours are dry
burning white hot
and red.
maybe the sandman
sprinkles too much sand
into your eyes when you sleep

you're still haunted by some
ones with deep circles

and the others you look into
you never want to stop
seeing

maybe you should just
drown yourself in them
to stop the madness

his eyes are your entire life
summarized

the paper

Maybe your bones are made of gunpowder
solidified
you'd crush them while inside
between bones and sinew
blood, capillaries
light it up.
burn a fire in you
destroy what was left
by him

you should be sad
but instead
you're pissed

you want to give up
but you think you never will

for now
you'll spend time
with a singular body
"pas deux"

it's the better choice

but you'll always be haunted
by dark eyes
hovering over
darker circles

words

the words that issue
from his mouth
make you gasp for breath
make your shoulders shake
your hear race.

you feel like
he says these things on purpose
to make you fall for him
but you know
it's just his nature

and that makes you fall more.

dry eyes

such a short time
since you've met
and yet
you believe his skin
must be made of chamomile:
green and clay-like
just one texture
as if it were all burned off
and new skin attached
more like a leather shirt
than soft protein::
you feel so calm around him
relaxed and comfortable

all you want is to touch him
feel his skin
his clothes and hair
every time you're together.

he cut you open tonight
dull scalpel down your front
Y-incision like a mortician
or an "I" like dissection.

he raises questions others don't
you hear it from his voice
but mostly
you see it through his eyes

a pause
to take a breath
or a break
but you didn't wait long enough:
a glance through his eyes
and then you left
like smoke sucked through a vacuum

and you fall deeper.

brown eyes

the want is intensified
by circles
tinted purple
stretched tight
cut, sliced
molded, chipped
indented, engraved
and carved
right under them
maybe its the way
your own are reflected in them

"you look so good in blue"
he looks so good in exhaustion and death.
everyone else sees a blank stare

you see what's underneath
and it makes you want to
stare forever

what are you thinking

we're always searching for perfect.

subjected to things unkind
things you wish to never endure
you'd rather skin yourself
hard cut across your abdomen
long slits up your sides
you'd shed your skin like a shirt
it's too tight anyway.

it stresses you
but the way it makes you think
your creativity thrive
is so worth it.

you're still unsure about
them.
maybe that will change
soon.

but chances are it will all fall through
and you'll be stuck here, still

one is such a clear choice
thoughts astray
and yet thoughts the same

but such a mystery is the other
with pretty words
that you're tethered
by guitar strings
unable to be cut


things in your life
changed to flimsy paper
with crayon drawn on
by the deaf, dumb and blind

and when the rain comes
it all washes
away.

fucking look

everyones eyes tell you something
blue screams questions and interest
brown show burning want
some hazel say "tell me everything"
while others whisper "self hate"

anyone can see it
they just have to pay attention

but no one does.

rest easy

sepia
black and white

pretty in two tones
horrid anywhere else

bloodshot eyes
red veins crawl in like vines

red rivers towards pupils
black hole.

let go

close enough to count the eyelashes:
too close.
bottoms stick to tops
corners fused.

a toe over the line
your mind shouts
"ne descends pas"
over and over

you look back
rethink
and retreat.

sapphire

they lay in heaps.
you are the conductor
the inventor
the operator.

the claw decends
attatches to their ribs as you pick
and they either
go home with you
or break in half

and eventually all bones
become brittle and bend
until they snap

and then what are you left with?


constantly ongoing
and switching left and right
between darkhairdarkeyesdarkcircles
and brightbrighthairand
eyes.
ice-filled eyes
if ice
were
blue.

yokoso

you suppose
you could drop one off
like the adjectives
and nouns they really are

and pretend to make it simpler
when it really only makes it
more complicated.

farther with one and
reconnection with the other.

bottled water

falling in love
isn't part of your
life plan.

makes you sick

the eerie,
white glow

makes your smooth hands
seem endless
and pale

makes your metallic nails
look robin blue

makes your eyes
tell lies

a loss for words [not yet]

it's horrible
but you wish to stay in limbo
so you could write forever

eventually
you'll have to pick
one way or another.

your life is only balanced
when it's imbalanced.

this tears away at you
but that's how its always been

and the moment you pick
the moment your life is balanced
or "perfect"

what will you write about then?

eyes

not enough capitals
and too many commas

sahara eyes
drooping like broken blinds
keep them down too long
and they'll never go back

slow mind
churning stomach
dread fills up your heart
as fast as molasses goes.

time is so unkind
slaps you in the face
runs away just out of reach
stronger than you; a faster runner
always gone before you know it.

coughing
peels away your skin
heightens your senses
aggravates and disgusts.

"i wasn't born to be a skeleton"
take it any way you wish
you're both skin and bones
and born to live and not
die.

even though each day you live
you're one step closer
to never waking again.

pessimist:
the only way you'll ever live.

self hate comes so late
you caress it in your arms
with your lips
on your hips
and tuck it in the folds of your
mind.

"baby" wont save you now
you wish it could
but it wont ever come anyway.

you want it so bad
because when you had it
it was the most beautiful thing.

you wish it was all out there
known at a subconscious basis
for these words never reach
the eyes of those you love

but for now you'll carve
beautiful creations into your soul
and onto your beige canvas
in hopes of one day glorifying them
to people just like you.

you could go on but your main focus:
love and how late nights makes you weary
make you a genius
make you insane.

but you'll always love how it makes
you feel.
not in the morning
but when living the moment.

the subject:
the main title:
the plot, the summary, the synopsis:

the Imbalanced only ever bites
at the corners of your cerebellum
and you like keeping it that way
and you wish to forever
and you hope to
but who knows what tomorrow will bring
sly smiles
calloused fingers and those
fucking goddamn eyes.


the Confusion
maybe you will always love.
filed under:
the one who got away
and you feel as though
this is you for someone else.
you miss the words he gave you
for you're always giving and never
receiving them.
the twice you ever touched
you barely remember and wish
to feel again and much more.
mostly you want
to memorize the warm slip
of hand to hand
or something of the like.
and maybe it's need more than want
at this point.
maybe you just need
to know the truth
or just need
his eyes to yours


and finally, the Unknown.
maybe more known now than before
you wish to pursue but can't
yet.
he is new to your life
and yet you love his personality
immediately you felt at ease
felt the need to be with him
always.
his eyes, too
they affect you
and every time you meet them with yours
something clicks in you
clicks into place
or to the right direction
and you just know.
know everything all at once.

and so from one's eyes
the knowledge

the other's,
emotion

and the last's
you don't get anything
at all.

endless well

everything about you is tired
but your mind.

classifying people
as emotions
nouns and adjectives
is so demeaning
and fitting.

the unknown grows more and more
known
and you fall deeper and deeper
and now you know
you cannot stop it.

easter

his love
is like cursing
jesus fucking christ
on easter sunday.

you think you still love
the Confusion
everything about him:
unknown.
touched maybe once
or twice

spoken words,
barely

and shared love
many times


the Unknown you've seen
spoken with
touched
often and
many times now.
sounds obscene, but it's
not.
it's ridiculous to speak of love
but every time you meet his eyes
you can't help it.


the Imbalanced
you have nothing with
maybe that one day
but now, you could grab out
to the dust filled winds
enclose your hand
and come out with nothing.

you could take a chance
but you know
it would end
in ashes.

choose

three-way:
busy intersections
and pronged sporks.

a tie.

you don't know which is right
the unknown
the imbalanced
or the confusion.

get over it

you wish there was a constant,
instead of
shooting up
-towards the sky, not in your veins
and falling down.

you decide: you'll give up
and you know soon
that will change
because that's how it went

and how it will always go.

written

trapped in silks
whites, mostly
some pinks and yellows
feather-light colors

they encase you in an orb
pull you down and back

like a bad trip

and you wonder if its guilt
or something else

if you try and escape
the silks become solid glass
and suffocate you dry

so how does one move forward
in a situation such as this?

with this:
one small connection of what you wished for
brown eyes to brown eyes
and two smiles.

shy bitch

your eyes have been opened
to the others around you
and all you want is to be with them
all of them
all of the time.

but you can't
because there is one
more perfect and more beautiful
than all the others
and you can't fuck this up
anymore.

painters with reds and blacks
paint what you feel onto your skin
and you know everyone can see

you just want to hold
and be held

you just want words passed between lips
hands to hands
and eyes connected by brown, imaginary strings

and the heavy lock holding you down
allows none of this

and you would tear off part of you
just to break free
because it meant something even better.

try, now.

living proof:
the bleach stains
show glow in the dark
on your throat.
scarred, soft flesh
he feels them when he
searches you with his tongue

the day you were about to
give up
a stone
or maybe a mere bird
changed a pattern in the wind
and everything went back to normal
and things were bright again

and yet you fucked up.
and you can't even articulate
how bad you feel or what you did.

but now that you know
what you needed to:

nails on marble floors
just to get one centimeter closer

because that's how much you want it.

marriage is so far off

the wise words of a fool:
"no one's perfect"

which imperfections
should you go with?

you have a choice:

heavy liquids
burning virgin throats
something that burns a fire
in your
stomach

or
in succession
every
fucking
day
cloud yourself with lies
and everything you're not
and everything you want to be

both are such evil
vile
things that you don't know
which is worse or
better.

and if it's true
"for better or for worse"
then it wouldn't matter in the end,
would it?

the two extremes

you're torn between two extremes
and there is no medium.

to become a caged box
a mystery, a lock
with no key
pandora couldn't open you
if she tried.

or
something expected
like an open fucking book
a ballot
a confession box in church
something to be scrutinized
under magnified eyes.

the first
brings you nothing at all
safety, yes
but nothing you thrive on

and the second
brings you misery
brings you yourself
[born wednesday, fill with woe]

you don't know which appeals more to
you
so you'll stick yourself
in the position that hurts the most
and that is

be nothing
and nowhere
at all.

tomorrow

you know you'll feel the same
you'll want to rip your skin
from your bones
sinew and muscle

it's almost like
this isn't you
it's something even more haunting
even more horrible, morbid
and sick.

this new skin you acquired
when, you don't know
nor where or how or why,
but it's too tight
and too heavy

like tissue paper
doused with oil
so tender and so


unwanted.

and pain seems endless and yet
fake
when you think of peeling your skin
and spreading your old, frayed wings

and tomorrow
every step closer you take
to that place
and him
will be one more beat of your heart
that hurts that much worse

and every step
brings you closer to what you
don't want to face
and what you don't want to know
or hear
and what you want more than anything
at all.

done for

"we are done for"
carved, cut, sewn and drawn.

you used to believe
in fate.
and now you're not sure
what you believe in at all.

you knew from the moment
the word 'love' popped into your head
not so slow
like flowers blooming
but more like
a child's dream dissipating
that you would be destroyed by this

and now
you sit and decay
uncomfortable in your own skin
nails digging
skin catching under them
red raw and still stressed
cliché and yet
it's you.

you may be eating your words
soon enough
bleached plates
hot, hot water
the memory burns your mouth
from plate to fork to tongue
the poison follows.

with photosynthesis
sunlight is turned into energy,
and with hatred
anger is turned into anything you want.

this is where it gets
you.

it's over and you know it
and you'd feel bad
because you brought this upon
so many others before.
but your heart is somewhere
hitching rides on trains
and ghost-town ferris wheels.

and just
gone.

for now

you've lost

it's late

it will always be
more one than the
other.

it's in the air
sweeter scents
and better tastes;
prettier words.

it's in the stars
and in you.

to sleep and to see him
and to wake to him;
things you can foresee.

before this,
you never thought of solidity, but:
rock eroded to an hourglass shape
the middle too thin;
about to break.

affairs are never fair,
and you know this well
and perhaps when you wished for it
it was a way to punish yourself
for what was exemplified to you.

but why should it be you
who is punished?

all you feel is,
this time you're open
and scared of what could happen.
always before you felt chained
or hidden.

scale-covered demon:
the children's mothers
hid their young from you.

but now you have someone
whose pretty words washed you,
cleansed away all the hate
and you feel as if you could curl up
with him forever

and not feel fake about it.

another

when his words come to you
you wish to trace his lips
with your fingertips
and
watch him as he sleeps;
observe if his eyelashes brush his
cheeks.

but
away from it all
when its down to reality,
it's another you find
in the dark.

many others in fact,
but one in particular
and it's wrong what you do
but you love it.

and you want this
like you wanted the other
but less so and more profound
all at once.

you should stop
but you know you never will
and you fear if he feels true
he'll hurt.

and that's all you were ever good at.

ch-ch. eat and her.

he knows
and you're not sure
if it makes you feel
comforted
or pathetic

the way you looked away
mumbled out
half-assed answers
and vague assumptions
they both knew

you think
sit back and breathe in
hold your head in such
small hands

it's the fact
that you didn't even have to tell him
he didn't read veiled words
just by your composure
he figured you out.

it keeps replaying in your head
that one word that wont stop
that replays like your life

it's the fear of being figured out
maybe
or the fear
of being known so well
and what the knowledge will bring
you both.

too high up

all of this is deja vous [not deja vu]
"already you."
you know you've done this before
you can foresee all that comes
you know their every word

it's all so familiar
it should be comforting.
yet it's not.

first, time skips, like every time
but after; your throat
it wants to rip itself from you
move on somewhere else

or maybe
it's the words that want out.
all of them held up
in your head
buzzing like mad bees on glass
the hard interior of your skull
nesting in cerebellums
and lobes and glands.

mouth partched
gum feels like hammers on your teeth
and no matter how horrid it sounds
you love it.

everything..
life, it seems to all start
from between thighs
and under abdomens
all the warmth in your body flows inward
to one spot, and you thrive there.
it seems like you're being sucked in
to the medium on your body
to the core where everything starts
where life starts
where you wish it would not
but it's all so warm
for a moment you're stuck in it
upside down
and unborn again.
but,

under the bright lights
and the boys and their sounds
you sit without movement
heaven is pounding not at your doorstep
but your ears
your head
you're pinned to the seat you're in.
everything is weighing down on you
you just wish to sleep.

at the same time
you're floating off somewhere
the outside of the infinite universe
looking in on all that inhabits
floating forwards and to the side
forever going, but never lifting off

you see the world and how it really is:
tiny humans in capsules
all reliving the same day
over and over again.
each assigned to their own scene
in someones life

for you, it's a peak you can't come down from
and for everyone:
they're all at the end of their scenes
when the scene ends, they end
yet
the deja vu kicks in
and it's all replayed back
from the back of a movie theater
films rollings and clicking
and they're all just living sometimes
feeling like they're at the end of their scene

and they feel like
this is it.

but it's not.

and when you finally lay to rest
not lay to rest
but to sleep, to start over
you feel all your past nightmares
nightmares as a child
all rise up, from your heart
to you eyes
and you should be scared, but you're not
you feel refreshed
born again, to face your fears.

and we're all just
reliving.

and what she found there

You lie when you say
you don't shove your face
too close to static-kissed t.v's

we're just trying to see
fireworks explode


he ran his fingers over her collarbone
rough, calloused fingers
pressing down hard
as if you break her apart;
destroy her

it's not...

with the moonlight so bright
mimicking dawn before daylight
or sunrise.
star speckled sky.
you want to fling yourself
into the cold, crisp air
birthing yourself anew
and screaming at the top
of your frost-filled lungs:
thoughts about love
and everything in between
even the hate you see
when you read between the lines
of l-o-v-e.

smoke

inhale.
white, gray
off white
eggshell
pure to the look
but evil.
these demons fill you
and you turn your head
slowly, to the right
it seems like a lifetime
but in only an instant
your lips touch
and all your breathe leaves you
along with those demons
"i took your breath away..."
and you smile
eyes shimmering as you watch it disperse.

warmth

fighting about
who should keep who warm
when really,
what should be passing your lips
instead of sighs
and presses to another's
is
"it is us who should keep each other warm"

black coffee

his intentions, unclear
does he wish
to serenade you into his arms
or his bed?

a small play in your life

it was the most vivid picture
you had ever seen in your mind
light, yellowed skin
just like yours
open mouthed and half lidded

then
it was the most vivid voice
you had ever heard in your mind
deep
half mumbling
and a small laugh

not even your dreams
could live up to that show.

sewn on

messages sent and received
and in queue
the t.v.s painted static black and white
are all broadcasting
you to us.

the boy with the dark hair,
on his lips are patches
that sew and glue on to denim
they say
"kiss me"

so you do.

grocery list

water, salt, skin, hair, teeth, brown eyes, body modification, one liners, tasteless pickup lines, laughter, pretty words and love.

stop it. stop it. stop it. stop it.

calloused fingers run over sharp collar bones
and too big ribs for such a small girl.
you breathe in
quick, deep.


the lights went out
seemingly years passed
each tick of the second
each slight move towards another number
went unnoticed
but painstakingly slow all at once.
and you sit there speaking with him
every detail about you laid out
on a table such as:
cold silver, blue cloth over.
sharps and dulls and rings.
and you figure it's the only table
you'd ever want yourself upon

and when lips touch
lights flicker back on

they're no fireworks
but they'll do.

lovely

every word you ever put here
has been taken
stripped raw from your mind
epidermis from dermis.
sometimes cleaned until pink
but mostly left red and spotted.

this is how your brain works
the way you see things
are in prose and pretty words

typed out for all the world to see
because none of the world will see.

goodnight.

eyes holding eyes in vice-like grips
fingers on fabric covering skin that stray
and stay too long
it's too fucking late
but the words never cease
and it's then ending all over again
every thought in your head
screams
and reverberates
until you never know
when you're sleeping or awake.

looking up

you got a dozen red roses.
but what you'd rather have
was a bouquet of dandelions,
buttercups and weeds.
or maybe
if it must be such an evil flower
as roses are

[sharp thorns that break
pale, perfect skin
red like the roses
too dark and harsh against such beauty]

you'd much rather get
a single black rose
to rest against your chest
as you sigh and sing in your red dress
in the darkness of night

the best thing that's happened to you is insanity

what he wants you to say
is "because i like you"
but you can't quite get it past your
... fingers.
he'll have to suck it out of you
his mouth on yours.
before you'll actually admit it.

you really don't want to change
you don't want this
and you can't help but feel
as if you're hurting people.
you want more self control that that other bitch
and you'll practice it if it kills you.

and maybe the part of you
that fills up with tar colored dread
like sand filing into an hourglass
[hot, dark sand on a warm beach]
you think maybe it's the thrill of
"not just love"
that makes you want it.

it's just like last time
whispered, silent words
just words, black text and white screens
in your grasp, but slippery wet
until, when you had it
a firm grasp of reality and dried out realism
it wasn't so
beautiful
anymore.

what to do.

they stand up
all of them, in that room
from where they had been sat
and you figure it's like
one huge wave
in one large, blue sea
you also figure
they way they all move; one way
then the next
juxtaposed, warm.
well, you figure that's almost like a current.
and maybe that's what we all are
just part of one huge sea
whenever we move.

and when you see such a face:
blank and yet...
the familiarity brightens it
the feelings sharpen it
and create something even more beautiful
you can't help but think
things are moving much too fast
and you love it, you adore it
and still they move
inches out of your grasp
the lovely dizziness you remember
from long ago
you wish for it and you turn it away

what the fuck to do?
chance it again like you had last time
just for it to turn out the same?
or will it be finally different.
the shattering of gold-tinged glass
can be heard from all corners
from each sense:
smell, taste, sight, feel
hear.
so many things now brighten before you
things that were gray
black and white.
now they're robin blue
hot pink and canary yellow
swirling together, these pastels
in your mind's eye.

and
what to do.