Sometimes you make feel like complete garbage.
I hate it so much.
Its always been hard for me to open up.
I never really did it.
But with you I'm trying and it may not even be recognizable to you, but I am.
You're paranoid about me being un loyal
and I'm terrified about the same thing.
I never mention it to you because I know you'll get mad.
This is all monotonous.
Just going at it because you think I'm screwing you over.
Sometimes I feel so stupid because I'm letting you in and you just don't believe me.
So I'm done arguing against that.
I'll let you believe what you want because you'll never believe me.
But I believe in us and I am hoping that one day we can maybe love each other in peace.
hear the thunder atop the city towers
some say if you wait under them long enough
you could get lucky one day
and catch a drop of nectar
or some miniscule crumb of ambrosia
yes, some say that.
see the mighty river of red wine flow through the heart of our city
under a tunnel of bulletproof glass it waits
it waits like the bell in the city closest to my heart
waits like that bell needs a good ringing
one day somebody will
and the whole thing will shatter into a million little pieces
"the illusion is a necessary one
the hearts of young men need a revolution to attend"
it's allegedly a moral machine
but i guess i'm too young to tell.
Why do people get so mad when I tell them I want to die.
We all end up dying.
But it so happens that I'd rather go sooner than later.
I'd rather rot now than rot later.
The pain triggers my heart.
Like an untreated wound.
I thought we had so much spark
Until you left me right there in the dark.
Everyone had so much to say.
Like why did I lose my virginity so young.
I lost two of the most important things to me.
My virginity and the boy who took it.
I sat eye to eye with a counselor who told me everything was going to be just fine.
It never was and in my heart I truly believed it would never be fine.
So I stopped going and I stopped writing.
Instead I made bracelets out of rope hoping it would hide the scars on my wrist that I would soon create.
Then I remembered how abusive my father was and how many scars he left.
So I began to hate scars.
The pain was tearing me apart so I wrote a couple of poems.
The pain got worse and my thoughts got radical.
I always went to the bathroom every time I had a suicide thought.
I would cry my eyes out and look in the mirror and wonder how did I become so broken and dumb.
I never told my parents about this because I knew they would worry.
I didn't want them to think I was a joke.
A sick messed up joke.
I wanted to take my life.
Damn, let me just say it.
I wanted to commit suicide.
I thought of it as picking every petal of every flower in this world.
I came to the conclusion that flowers are beautiful.
And so am I.
Wait, so is my life.
So I even though I still have these thoughts.
Im strong enough.
Im stronger than a
im stronger than death.
You may say that misery is
That it is evil
it leaves you weary and thin
You may also say that sadness leads to death
That it will strip you down
and leave you with nothing left
You may say that depression is deprivation
It removes any hope, any happiness
but you have no consideration
For the people like me
Whose lives revolve around
I can never escape
It stays with me every day
and worsens in the night
It leaves me hurting, bleeding and breathless
It has become me
and I wouldn't be me at all without it
So you sit there and tell me
that misery is a sin
That I must forgive
and give in
But once you've sat here
and felt what I've felt
You'll be waiting, hoping
For the next time you feel
and the blood
Running down your skin
Scarring your wrists
Emptying your veins
It will make you feel alive
A surreal flash
of invisible glass and powder
sprays the ground surrounding!
Atop piles of brick and lumber,
where play was commonplace,
our feet gave way;
we flew like the breeze
inside the hurricane of debris,
watching as the sun's light
was slowly expiring.
that would aid excited hurdles
o'er bushes now ablaze,
boiled and fused to my shoes
in air as hot as lava,
seemingly for days.
Ousted from Eden,
for no humane reason,
my hands were reduced in an instant
to that of ash!
In the abysmal stew
of burnt flesh draped on pyres,
I threw my busted stumps
and trailing whips of shredded muscle
to the sky with alarm
out of instinct's need so dire!
my first day in Hell on Earth
started with an ungodly flash!
Height had once made ants
of friends, turned zombies,
and leaking now
like our town's fountain
built as a show of peace.
that used to call my name
and shout silly phrases
were now erased and removed,
chunked in dark puddles
alongside the smallest of feet
and torn breasts and knees!
who made little sense
to even close friends,
were playing "God" again,
liquifying my playmates
in unusual poses!
Brought to absent tears
and that inevitable death
by monsters married to their lunacy,
we took to suffering quickly
in hateful doses!
at the start of World War 2,
had in attendance
the future soldiers ready to fight
for the pride of Poland's allegiance.
Souls litter the playground;
we, ones forced to remember,
get to meet the ghosts
and the terror it presents!
Even on the coldest days of winter, there is a much colder creature who lives in the caverns and chambers of the rocky cliffs by the shore line. His name is Palytrus, he resembles what most believe would be a devil. Palytrus is the only of his kind that he knows of. He has searched ocean floors and dug through grains of sand searching for anything that resembled what he sees in the reflection of the water. He feeds recklessly. His darkened emotions drive him to leave his meals soulless, countless, and dead. Palytrus believes by getting rid of others, he'll find what he's looking for. He thinks if he can clear the land, he’s bound to find someone like him. And he does.
While hunting under the waves for the few birds and fish that feed on the bones he leaves, he sees his reflection above him. He knows it is not him though. He has swum this way for as long as he can remember and when he sees this, he panics. He shoots up and startles the other creature. He exclaims he's been so lonely and he's so happy to find another. She speaks, she says her name is Galo and that she came to see if there was any shelter in the area but notices that there is not much food. "Something has been eating everything and the birds and fish are becoming so rare here." Palytrus knows this because he has had a hard time looking for food as well but he cannot tell her he's responsible for the greedy extinction of food he caused because of his anger.
But his anger is lifted, all he wants is for her to live so he spends days and nights hunting. He shows her the cavern he calls home and she stays while he hunts. He brings her as many animals as he can find and every time he watches her with a smile, content that he has found someone relatable.
Galo awakes one morning and finds Palytrus is dead. He starved himself for her, he gave every ounce of food he found to her. She wept by his side as she ate him, not because she was hungry, but because she wanted him to be a part of her forever and not picked off by whatever other animals remained. She left the cavern to find food. She found the place he lived and pried very lonely, much like Palytrus but what she failed to tell him was behind the caves and the ledges he had been living, lied another beach, full of food and others just like him. She was so flattered by his hospitality, she never thought to tell him.
Galo went back to her home and told the others she had found safety from the harshly cold nights they had been familiar with. The others were thrilled to know they had a home and traveled to Palytrus’ cave. Realizing there was no food, they would send packs out to the other side during the day to gather and come back to the cave to feast together at night.
Galo told everyone about Palytrus but told them a slightly different story. Instead of telling them he had starved to death after depleting the food supply for her, she told them he was a selfless being who left his home because he was contagiously and deathly ill. She told them that he wanted the others to survive and grow and for them to live fulfilled and bright lives. This was true, he didn’t want anyone to feel like he felt for so long. Galo, aware of the truth, never told a soul she fed on the one who saved them, but never let anyone forget his name or kindness either.
a) i am the mortar incurring blow after blow
from the abrasive quality of your negligence.
no, i am herb between pestle and mortar
the full realization of 'rock and a hard place'
b) i am the mortar between each brick you lay,
in blue collar glory, or rock star slumming,
to bind shaky corridors of past serenity
and bear indiscretions on my limestone shoulders
c) i am the mortar you fire before crawling under covers
for inexpensive sex and trashier beer
by a lake on a camping trip where tents trump love
like the queen of spades in a hand of hearts
d) in fact, these are false, merely possibilities --
actuality: you were never enough
to make me spew homonyms in metaphor
because you were nothing like them,
always appearing changed but monotonous in meaning,
and if you're so into contraposition, aren't we still
Cascade along the midnight street
Allow your feet to lead the way
Past shuttered shops and lowered blinds
And let your mind be led astray
Although some time meandering
And wandering bereft of cares
You find you've stopped and there you stand
Beneath a strand of marble stairs
You brush your hand along the rail
As you assail the stony flight
There, at the top a door of brass
And crystal glass reflects the night
A counter cut of fretted oak
Unique, bespoke and petrified
Encroaches on the lobby floor
With doorways on its either side
Within them dwells an ailing stage
All worn with age and polished black
And facing this are rows of seats
With velvet pleats and to the back
Resides a heavy curtained box
With silver locks and tapestry
Scenes of the earth and all above
Of love and whimsicality
Inside the hall, the lights are out
Yet all about an echo bounds
Of lost applause and orchestras
And raucous, energetic sounds
It's here and now, upon the boards
The darkness hoards a pool of light
Where mingling in motes of dust
And arm is thrust from out of site
A quiet amid the hush befalls
Along the stalls, a faceless glare
As set in shades of darkest dim
She glimmers like a solitaire
Her dance describes a careful tone
Each every bone at her command
Her feet tattoo a silent beat
The rhythm meets her open hand
Her features null and desolate
Her lips yet to convey a smile
She draws a story with her grace
With shapeless face and all the while
She skips across the empty floor
A dead score from an vacant pit
And through a haze of burning lime
From distant times her dance is lit
A swan song of a life cut short
A fable wrought in liquid gloom
Lamenting talent never proved
A bud removed before it's bloom
Its loss a crime against the world
A shadow hurled towards the sun
For such a life slip the hands
As dry sands through the fingers run
And now she stands at center stage
A gilded cage she'll never slip
A single tear is seen to leak
about her cheek, across her lip
She stoops a solitary bow
And dips her brow to those unseen
A cacophony of aphony
For her, the girl who's never been
A ghostly veil wavers free
As slowly she dissolves in light
Her sparkle spreads and dissipates
Evaporates from empty sight
She never takes a curtain call
No flowers fall about her toes
But still she dances for the dark
A tiny spark of spirit froze
reposted because I'd forgotten all about it
My lounges burn.
My body shakes.
My eyes are
But no longers do my eyes sting from salty tears.
Say goodbye to trembling from neverending nightmares.
Sweet dreams. Sleep tight. Don't let the bedbugs bite.
why can’t I howl like you?
like the wild dogs un-muzzled
in the karmic night?
why can’t I have honesty,
like well earned sweat,
ooze from every pore
like you, Bukowski?
why can’t I enter the river
against the flow, like the steamer
which juggernauted you, Joseph
into the black jungle, where scarlet pulses
of your dark heart spoke the language
of the sword, but
words cut more savagely than
the sharpened steel?
words, so viciously true
they had to be silenced
by the light of day
before they could blind others
like I, who would slash and burn
you for seeing, and speaking
the horror of truth