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.