i write about the days we determine what is to be thought in a system of opulent transgression.
This Halloween I’m going as a bad joke,
I’m going to enunciate every breath
Until my rib-cage explodes.
This eve my words are lubricated,
Like a clan of degenerates from
The midst of your all-consuming filth.
This eve, I have arrived at my destination
And I realize now that our common senses
Collective – have been brought to the light
By our mutual appreciation of bullshit.
This Halloween I’m going as the killing joke.
I’m going to let my claws breath,
And oh, I’m going to gorge on
The purest of your infant thoughts.
This eve, I’m going running in the emporium of
Your disillusioned euphoria.
I’m going to look you in the face
Like I’ve never seen the revelation
In the blackest of your eyes.
This Halloween, I’m going as an inside joke
I’m going to engrave the laughter
On the back of your head –
Then I’m setting out in my decked
Out camp of,
Waiting to confide in an apparition,
Of all that should’ve been.
A while ago, I turned a table around
I stabbed a fork into its crooked leg,
And stood up for all the mice.
And, ever since then –
Everytime I walk into a room all the carrots would disappear
It’s like being in a bubble of tyres burning
And you’re trying not to scream
And you won’t be able to scream
Because you’re slowly suffocating under all the toxins.
One day I decided that I liked the rabbits more than the figs
And figs never smiled back at me.
And that was alright, because every fig I’ve met since then
Has had its heart rotten.
And who likes rotten figs?
I’ve had a mouthful of you, and your sister just last night
And, I think I’m not into the aftertaste
Of your plastic life.
I know that my memory's shortcomings
are directly proportionate to all the colorful vitamins
you've been shoving up my retina.
But, I think I just vomited half a stiletto
That’s been stabbing the inner cavities of my chest.
And, let me tell you – you’re a fool for not realizing
That I can’t help but hold your hands
And guide your never ending dwellings to the grave.
All I do is sit here and wait for the
Lightning to strike me down.
Not suicidal and just frazzled.
A bolt of electricity is all I need
To shake it up from the inside out
Through the frozen veins and these
Waves of sound.
Sounds on mute and mumbled words
Derived from the pits of our collective
Strike me down, like I’m in trance of
A religious hallucination
Wake me up, now – from the midst of this thought
Tyranny – I’ve lain down upon my organs.
There’s a song within my lungs trying
Its best to sail and not drown
In this fabulous flesh.
Everything is a sweaty mess
Moving in abnormal directions and seeping into
The pores of the tiny imperfections
Between you and I.
It’s a good day to be enamored
It’s a good day to distill all of the fears
And just occupy these engraved spaces
With all that is subliminal and grand
It’s a good day to get lost in the alleys
Of all that is rugged and real.
All I hear is a rush of noise
Going up at a speed which I cannot comprehend
And all I see is a haze of burn victims
In sterilized spaces.
So darn bright.
A blinding brightness so unreal
And numbing in multi dimensions.
When are we going to realize,
That it’s all a game?
A lucky hand of plastic waste.
When are we going to antagonize,
The sheer disobedience of everything that
Is laid down upon our sensual existence?
A stimulating fantasy of an experience
Of being swallowed whole
And in parts of distinct order.
These words and sounds of these words
And the way we chew on
And on, until the bottom of our
Everything is going astray
On this rowdy night
I’ve decided not to succumb into
The belly of my monstrous feelings.
I’ve decided not to let go of all that’s real
All that’s what at the basis
Of my loathing
For your flawless diction.
You’re perfect. You’re perfectly perfect in your demurely
Why is it so?
On this long and windy night
I’ve fought the urge
To run into the arms of a bottomless pit.
Who wants to jump off a cliff, anyway?
We are not race horses, straddled in fear
Sweating with desire to cross the finish line
Sweating with a pain to finally breath.
I am who I am,
And what’s going to be is probably
Going to be.
I am a dreadful mess,
A creative outlet for your inhibitions.
I’m a loud, piercing shriek
In a sea of muddled screams.
On this lonely, warm night –
When my keys can’t find the way to your door
I’ll wander outside your steps
I’ll dig in your backyard,
I’ll bring down your proud trees.
On this night of all nights
I will make my piece about us
And the peace will finally travel
The shrinking space between my exhales
And your silence.
Don’t you think it’s about time
We take a minute and stop
Pretending like everything’s alright?
You’re walking lines
And squares of chaotic affairs
Leading to nowhere and
When you’re in a daze
Can’t find your place
In this enigmatic craze
What is it that you’re going to do?
The lipstick stains are on your heels
A blind spot for luxurious feelings
And your frivolous resentment
For your beautiful mother.
Let’s have a blunt conversation
Behind the fog you’ve left on this glass
Let’s have a blunt – and dance,
There is no fire exit
So why don’t we burn this place to the ground?
Let’s pretend that this space is big enough
For the both of us.
What’s it your afraid of,
This doom into something
Let’s race then erase
I want you
I want you to illuminate and dedicate
I want you
To procreate all of those delightful dreams
I want you
I want you to win from the inside out –
Hey woman –
It’s all going to be just okay.
Youngin's wisdom in spades
idiots hoping and hopping over
i always knew
this heart was fragile
in metallic ice
melting the romance
burning shreds of dreaming
all over your bleeding skin.
where everything began
within your desperate loins
of belief and
underneath these useless sheets
i'm shivering in my teeth
i'm marveling in the
glimpses of your novice
and about to break
this listless charm
and daydreamin' of heavenly explosions
within dreadful tunnels.
i've ruptured my lungs
trying to reach through
dance and intoxicate.
and i can't seem to speak.
It’s in the wind.
The only times I ever feel
Always coincide with some semblance of a
I think I’m in shaking in my boots
Eventhough it feels like 40 degrees in this shade.
Am I supposed to feel comfort in this
Cause all I feel is a detachment
From you from me
From the ground, up.
My roots are not existent.
All i want to do
Is burn the shit out
Of my eyes.
I’ve had enough of feeling
Like I’m walking on air
I’ve had enough of feeling
Like I always need to breath.
Nearing the cusp of dawn
an armor of pain-killers
in a really nice box
and all the thoughts
i never thought
would drizzle on my
conscience - are weighing
I hold my breath
as the bright ink
spells out, All I've done
Sometimes, I wonder -
I get lost on a route
of monstrous trucks.
I sweat, I fret
I dedicate, I menstruate
I pretend, as I burn
the tender cells of
my guilt-ridden lungs.
What if, I couldn't feel -
like a can of condensed air
where all the frigid molecules.
what if, i would
explode as I breathe
as i open my eyes
from a sleepless sleep -
as i inhale this fluid town.
in my being
in the bones of my core.
What if a prick of a
on the surface of
would facilitate a pathway
to my fantastic salvation.
what if the screws and the brooms
and the dust on my shoes
and the sparkle atop of these
what if the gloom
and the drones and the discomfort
were all my belongings
were all my wealth
what if the last Drop of color
in this tube was my heaven.
what if the last stain
on this glass
was my truth --
It is hard to listen intently to the planet revolving
While your thoughts are dissolving into fragments
Of hyper reality.
And all that you can see --
When you close your eyes, when you try to blend in with a couple of --
All you can see when you get dizzy holding your breath
When you try to count all of the ways
Your Mother has taught you to behave
When you cannot contain your joy.
All you can picture is your hands with four thumbs
Crawling up surfaces and making a scene
Like a little doll show with bad balance,
It dwindles down at the lightest sneeze.
When your suspension is liquid --
And your movement is all in your head.
When you are just a head-collision away from falling asleep.
When your weary body is blue.
And that carousel in the horizon is all dim and crooked.
All you can manage to see,
Through your vein-y lids –
Is a never-ending dissection of memories
You cannot even bother to remember.
Tonight, I felt like
peeling my skin
from the top of my head.
take it really slow
making sure it's
all forming a bloody
within my tight
Tonight, I feel like
hindering my conscience
going out senseless -
driving this tractor
down & further
down on my knees - picking
these scabs. disfiguring
all of your perfect portraits.
If my soul
surely, a bunch of flesh
and fine lines
beneath my sunken eyes
won't define the edges
of why what how and where
i begin and cease
Don't you think
when you are in a corner
fending for the life of your
stale & weary reflection.
Crying out for help
perhaps, a dash of perception?
Didn't you think that
I would smell it on you?
Your fear is fantastic -
but then - you have always been
so full of it.
Sometimes when I dream of this city,
this city of several uncanny
severely disjointed dreams --
sometimes I get chills. I get frills.
I can't start to think
of simple procedures,
like wanting to take a breath.
Sometimes when I think about
the city - I agree that
I'm in a schizophrenic love affair
with the callous road that
lead to the gates
of your fragile city.
I get so angry in the face
with veins appearing
in three dimensional ways
all over my discarded skull - when I drink
to the city.
Sometimes I like to sit myself
and pat on backs
and stand on shoulders
and defeat purposes
of trying really hard
to crawl or slide
to capture these affected smiles -
within a series of dim photographs --
falling in a flawless line
telling the affable tale of
a static life.
Sometimes, in the city,
I like to take long walks
watching people -
watching me, inside out.
And sometimes in this city -- in this goddamned
particular city. All I ever want is
to look at imperfectly descending
dreaming a fairy-tale
for him & for her
& for anyone - who's ever dared to dance
on the lonesome streets of the city.
I lost the top of my head in an upward motion
Against the wind
And against the wills of everyone who wanted to explain to me
Just how I felt about this somewhat gloomy night
I’m not tired and I’m not sick,
Even when I’m hung downwards like pain is seeping through my dirtied eyes
I’m not hanging by a thread
trying hard not to touch the surface of this rough, needy tale
I’m walking barefoot upon open wounds and ice cold shriveled pieces
of every thought I had about driving this dowdy truck
Across the Country
I must be floating when I look down to whiff the smoke
Coming out of your tediously minuscule home
I think the light inside my throat is flickering - tickling
Making it quite silly to speak
So I think; why does my spleen taste so sweet?
I was writhing upon fading nails – patiently waiting for the moon
To break in half and for the birds to sway waltzing their way
Out of these exploding stars
I lost the bottom of my heart trying on this grim notion
But I can’t apologize
Today I learnt that my thoughts of
Intimidate your balance –
And I’m so intimidated by
This life of utter indulgence
I’m not looking to identify
With the patterns of trying to bury
A love for decadence
All I ask is to run along and not say too much
Within this hallucination of tripping on my insides
I like it dry.
I want you to crack your perfect skin.
Spill the thick of this fume into your rigid eyes.
I like it slow.
A repulsive movement in the semblance of a beating heart –
I want your ghost – this holy shit - -
bright hollow deafening and certain
You say I’m faking --
These shivers in my perfect spine
Faking the warmth beneath my belief
Of convoluted doors where your accidents
Fight for gold medals and blue ribbons.
But I’m not doing this anymore –
I’m a fever, frivolous and perhaps a little hasty
Turned on inside of sickening layers of mousse
And moods – and halos taking my hands
Asking if maybe I should just pray?
I just wanted to let you know – that
I’m not a number.
I’m not a shade.
I'm not your motionless debate.
Tainted. With ideas and a verbal philosophy
Boxed, and gifted through sacred hymns.
My freaking nature is not in the stars
Is not in your blood.
I’m not a religion.
I’m not a hope.
I’m just trying to communicate
The air to my brain.
I’m just trying to suffocate
This delusion of being and breathing.
I’m not a country.
I’m not a ship.
Abstractly living within an inch
Of your picturesque life - &
Intricate ambitions of death.
I’m not a law.
I’m not a consequence.
I’m dissolving to my core
Bones lighting up in fear.
i trip my life on turpentine.
i smoked my wife, she's clandestine.
i woke up to a wall, of dust
and a mirror shattered by these
everything is three --
i thought myself a pool of doubt,
he bought my ego, cut in halves.
i walked behind his flawless steps,
covered in sweat.
i read a tale of the disintegration
of a rowdy generation.
a touch of a glimpse of her bare
and a single gray hair,
coming out of her neck -
trying to speak.
i might've screamed.
apples and oranges
and almonds on a one
i read about the disintegration,
of a vibration -
i think you're dead.
protesting my funeral,
of a glimpse of your skin.
i've lived on a fleet,
of preachers and secret fighters --
dressed like ninjas and decaying in an
seiged by truth -
and one correct turn
amongst shivers and loud moans
& dirt loans
creases and a handful of drones.
i tripped my life on fastened seats.
i smoked your hair,
you're fast asleep.
In some corner;
I hid you.
Or what I thought
was your face.
Just around the corner.
From your corner.
I dug up a hole;
burnt three hundred
and thirty three
I used to laugh;
three past midnight -
Oh, I thought -
I used to love.
It's easy -
like taking a breath;
to forget -
three hundred and thirty
within a puddle
of white smoke.
It's a foggy day,
in July -
Like faking your
to remember -
three hundred and
knocks on your door.
I just can’t take this anymore.
A killing headache.
I promise I’ll ruin those shoes.
Every last one.
To amaze your senses.
Not so conscious.
It’s only a lie,
But it’s true.
A processed gem.
Rejoice in your misery;
Is what I’m told.
I've walked into the dream of a stranger.
because I heard your dim voice over
the silly noises
I make on my bass guitar.
why are you crawling?
why are you quiet?
it's so cold out here.
I thought that was strange.
how you you don't like the rain
I just made eye contact with a picture
but I don't think you've seen me smile.
why are you sleeping?
why are you naked?
I'll stand still,
until you talk to me.
you've shaved your head!
is that blood, I smell?
I'm lost in those three thousand memories
I'm lost, and I'm lonely.
And I forgot how your hands look like.
I'm lost, and I'm fragile.
And I thought you've already left.
This corpse twirling
underneath my nightmare,
is telling me things.
of your bald head,
your bloody bald head.
your eyes no longer
Why are you here?
I thought you've left yesterday.
You've even seen me cry.
You said; we never talk anymore.
And, I laughed when I saw
your bald head.
Walk lines of vapor
Thinning thoughts; the sound of rainbow-colored
Dive years of light
And crystal balls.
Of dead cowboys.
Cringe the skin
Blood and nicotine.
Pseudo-faces in tuxedos
And frowning echoes
Of frozen suns.
Behold the deceased
The falling lives,
Of drunken mice –
Across the globe.