polka dot pillows in your place
a chair without a frame, bound in frazzled black thread
a sad staple or two on the upper legs
holding together what little there is left
filthy pillows smelling of rancid feet
weeks without showers
podiatry pads littered with cluster warts
and tv dinners
patchwork quilts with no meaning behind their fading pictures
knobs hanging leisurely on the cabinetry
buttons coated in bacteria on the ages old tv
rocking loveseat soothes no one
not even the infancy in me
the disorganized half ass efforts
to write a paper on things i once found interesting
wearing tattered sweatshirt
of a friend i once "wronged"
her fiance forced a slutty facade, some would call rape
bulging black sweatpants from walmart for asinine comfort
worn out sweater socks for the sad circulation flowing awkwardly to my inconsequential toes
vs bra, dd, "sex appeal"
i don't want to fix my hair
or put on euphoria
i don't want to do my makeup like a cat
winged licks to the edges of my eyes
i don't care if my teeth are clean or white or cut
i don't even care that you're not here
or that i'll never let you be
i don't even care that you're sharing your bed and your head and your heart with some
take a few more anti-depressants
a few more to leave around me as i sleep
so my nightmares will be surrounded by numbness
my little hypothalamus knowing they mean nothing
as does the world to me, now
freedom is a double edged, dull knife
poke and poke until the wound festers and i bleed out
to the sound of my own feet fucking dust and losing balance
i don't care that i'm still alive
it's really all such a waste of goddamn time
I discern obsession
like warm blood
in the back of my throat,
rising with the choking bile
of what I can’t be for you.
I will always listen
while you rant
and lick your wounds.
When I said it,
I was not lying.
Still, I feel like crying
when I can tell you’re trying
to give me what I yearn for;
but by now I’ve learned
you can’t make someone
Tell me your dreams
The desires for which you are so
Tell me so I can see the burning passion
in your piercing eyes
The sparkles that shine so prominently
Tell me your fears
The nightmares where dreaded creatures lurk in the
darkness, attempting to penetrate your mind
Tell me so I can prevent those dark creatures
before they befuddle that striking mind of yours
The worst thing I could possibly do, is fail you
Tell me how your mind works
The intricate way for which those wonderful
thoughts of yours flow
Tell me how to be so magically profound about
life, time, and death
The way your magnificent mind may stray
away from reality to catch a glimpse of paradise
Tell me the hard truth about my unfortunate path
The cold, naked, and abandoned road I have traveled down
Tell me the location of everlasting hope
For the last trace of hope I have to be content
shall be there
That nefarious disorder that usurps my sleep every night holds the anchors above my head
And once the looming presence creates an unyielding uncomfortable feeling within me-
The anchors are dropped at once as I clutch my heart and watch my life flash by in intense but short clips reflecting off of my irises
Drowning in a waking nightmare consisting of life-altering decisions yet to be made and a ubiquitous, haunting past that never fails to ascertain me, despite the innumerable heat runs I've taken to escape it's chokehold
Wistful versus Wishful thinking keeps an insomniac busy at night- contemplating the universe's unhealthy obsession with showering sullen loads upon my already feeble stature and yearning for a change to form like how the leaves just fled the trees they were accustomed to for so long
Ruminative habits that not even the toughest of diamonds could scratch to erase them from my routine nightly thinking
But I am constantly torn between resenting every constant and vowel meant for you and all of my feckless attempts at achieving perfection
And optimistically hoping for a banishment from all negativity, and acceptance of the elation spreading faster through the airwaves of people open to recognition and reversal
But my anchors are breaking through the floor boards as my weary but restless eyes scan the page for errors and I am cautious in giving them a tug out of fear of a perpetual fall that insists on torturing me through an insomnia-flavored death-to-be
What is to ensue after countless hours of wistful and wishful thinking?
Am I to write until the moisture leaves my fingertips and the blood rushes to my head because my amygdala is housing all of my aggressions and fears, close to explosions upon anything in my vicinity?
Or am I to close my eyes and daydream of better, happier times to arrive at my front doorstep sometime in the near future?
But my overactive thoughts stimulate several situations that could play out, and the ones I decide on making permanent effects in the future are the ones that end with me crying and hopeless
Maybe the life of an insomniac is even worse than people think- it is not the fact that we do not sleep that unnerves us, it is the fact that when we do not sleep, we overthink, and when we overthink, we depress ourselves with all of the outcomes and possibilities that can arise from the most trivial decisions to the most climactic ones
My anchors act as my comforter and hold me tight during my REM sleep when the vivid and electrifying dreams and nightmares play simultaneously like a horror film I am entrapped in
I hone in on the conflict and I am taken away in shackles into dreamland, a world worse than reality
And I cannot lucid dream, so my control, my grip on the direction of the thoughts slips away and the fabrication of my unconscious takes over until I wake up every hour on the hour breathless and sweating
I awake at all the wrong times, on all wrong sides of the bed
And falling back asleep is a difficult task to carry out each time, because of the lack of melatonin that seemed to be crossed of the checklist of necessities of being born
And so the cycle ensues for the next 5 hours
And I continue this routine day in, and day out
This is the life of an Insomniac.
Most nightmares involve a shooting or a some kind of realistic event. My nightmare is living a life where I'm barley floating, the anchor to my ship never sunk. The shackles on my wrist prevent me from my best and tell me I'll never be good enough. This man with a suit tells me I will never get there, my life will be full of lies and torment. My nightmare shows my mother dying a slow and painful death, the feeling is watching a beautiful flower try to blossom but can never find the sun. I'm trapped in these white walls that scream of the hatred words that fill my mind with the thought of never waking. These nightmares are the same, they never stop and I never seem to wake up.
I placed a bet earlier on
In the spirit of the spring that
I, or should I say, you
Would still be here - not moving
Staying as stale as a couch dorito.
And to think that
I placed this bounty on your head
While you sat still and slowly spun in reverse
Then raised the stakes
One hundred stacks.
To the last verse in the old King James;
You really made your mother proud.
You took the hammer and made two.
You stole the sunshine in hopes of a better view
Of your "holier" nightmares.
You made the one drop lock up so tight
That not a n'er not a sheep could slip through.
You wore that sweater that stole at least
One hundred hearts
Right out of the chests of the sunken treasure
That I fought so hard for,
But they were all for you.
I bet you never guessed that
You were always right when
You never guessed and I bet
You never guessed that
You should have guessed wrong
I was the one that dropped the screwdriver in your mind.
I never stopped to visit, I just didn't get the time.
I used to always cut the cactus off just a little too soon.
I remember I once left the moon in a hopeful wish that
I could go home too.
I guess I guessed a mess of a mess
Thus ends this insanity, thus ends this madness.
You can hear the voices of our peers being silenced, ignored, shunned and distorted.
Staggering out of their bedroom doorways to the street corner to score a dime bag.
Bright, insightful kandi kids freezing in search of warmth from something to believe in that will make them look forward to see another day.
Where our economy has made financial prudence clear when talking about education, yet price tags of university tuitions skyrocket.
The refused, the ones with hope but no money or scholarships; tread the streets with the echoes of electro house pulsing in their skulls.
Those who strip themselves down and shred their own morals to scraps just to find themselves and to see their own limitations.
Searching for answers to the unknown, to ascertain what they are, who they are and why.
Timid in high school, pushed along with nothing and no one to put their creative vigor into.
The squeakiest wheels that were never even considered to be given a good greasing.
Faculties giving them lethargic hellos on the first day of school, bestowing celebrated goodbyes to them on graduation day, diplomas in hand.
Now are the ones slumped over in a lackadaisical position contemplating how they can afford an education.
They work eight to ten at seven twenty five an hour Monday to Friday and weekends staying in as not to blow their earnings.
Those who commute to university and balance a job with it, I applaud you.
The bewilderment of adulthood, the abundance of pressure and responsibility.
Awakened from nightmares of lost opportunities, missed trains and lost contacts.
To step out of bed and splash water onto a severely distressed face and staring into a mirror with a despairing look.
Then hoping a bus to Garfield to bring back weight for all the embryonic smokers not yet at the point of make or break, just save up enough to pave my own way.
Gazing at the town on a roof top, chugging down the tenth…no…twelfth beer of the night wondering how this all happened.
Wild sensations of kissing an attractive stranger, the rush of touching on things never felt, tasting pleasures only the lucky have known.
The passionate, yet dissolute yearning for that ever eluding orgasmic adrenaline. Pounding, Pounding, Pounding until the culmination of energy has come.
Flip sided to those dizzying, tear jerking thoughts of suicide, annihilation of ones being, the contradictions of their faith in themselves and the people around them.
Unexplainable waves of anxiety crashing onto the shore of a diminutive island of optimism
Striving to look past the panic, the gloominess and fury that may or may not be present. But to remain composed and press forward to what awaits them.
Coffee keeps them going. Cup after cup, late night cramming every bit they can; into their caffeine driven psyches until the indisputable crash and failure.
Packs and packs of menthol cigarettes to calm their rattling nerves but at the same time killing them slowly. Their lives will seem shorter than the time it took to finish one bogey when death is near.
Marijuana induced ventures to run down burger shacks, laughing hysterical in the car ride, eyes heavy with a most ridiculous elastic grim extending from ear to ear. While inside millions of thoughts and realizations of consciously simple thoughts and troubles become clear and unproblematic. So the joy is mirrored outside in.
LSD trips in Petruska dancing and singing in the rain! Making music, making love; playing pretend and creating art. Becoming a family while kicking back under the warmth of an illuminated tree.
MDMA streaming through the body, everything is as it should be, beautiful, lovely to touch, wondrous to stroke, marvelous to move. To contact and connect, converse and converge with the dwelling desire to share what you feel with everyone for it would be selfish and unpleasant to keep it in.
Mushrooms oh the emotional overflow I need not say more but damn.
The there are over the counter candies, oxycodone, oxycotin and codone. Xanax, painkillers and antidepressants. Ups, downs, side ways and backwards.
Selling addiction and dependency legally to kids. Making heroine, cocaine and speed easily obtainable to kids. Changing the names and giving out prescriptions so that the kids parents can feel like their actually helping their children but are subconsciously making it easier on them because they cannot handle they way their children actually are. Some parents actually do want help their kids and feel it is the only way, I wish it wasn’t so. Becoming zombies, mindless addicts before they even start to mature into puberty.
Oh, the monotonous, mundane rituals and agendas of our lives. School, work, sleep eat, the sluggish schedules and repetitions of yesterdays conversations and redundancy of itineraries we had plotted months prior.
Same people, the constant faces of boredom, groans of apathy and the fear of complacency.
We talk about how hum drum out lives have become and what we could to put some color in our world but don’t.
We speak of how unfair the system us but ultimately confuse ourselves and everyone else due to lack or organization and detcation so nothing is changed.
We speak of breath taking women we want to share sexual fantasies with but can’t even muster enough courage to send a trivial friend request.
Texting away for hours trying to court those who now occupy our minds and possess our hearts hoping they may allow us to acquire their attention and affection. Calling them only to receive futile dial tones knowing they are being evaded.
Weeping on and on for seemingly endless time frames of a dilapidated relationship that was so strained that a miniscule breeze could cause it to collapse but still clinging to every memory as if they were vital hieroglyphics depicting your very essence.
Brilliant theories blurted out in a drunken stupor.
Ingenious hypothesis shrouded in marijuana smoked out room.
Remembrance of friends long gone.
The marines, the navy.
The casualties of drug addiction.
The conquerors or their afflictions.
The insane locked away on the flight deck never to be seen again.
Teenage mothers unsure of themselves, abandoned by their families for they believe that they brought fictional shame upon the family’s name. The fate of the child is unclear but the mother’s everlasting love shines through any obscurities in its way.
Dear mother of the new born winter’s moon may the aura of life protect you and your baby.
The father gone without a trace.
He will never know his daughter.
And it will haunt him forever.
Parents bringing up their kids with values and morals, god fearing, devil worshiping, mantras and meditation. Psalms, the Holy Quran, The Bhagavad Gita. Islamic anecdotes and Jewish parables.
The names all different
The message the same
The stories unlike
Kabala, scientology and wiccans
Amish and Mormons
All spate paths that intertwine and runoff each other then pool into the plateau of eternal life.
But do we have faith in our country, our government?
They do not have faith in us. Cameras on every street corner, FBI agents staling social media, recordings of our personal lives. 4th amendment where have you gone?
We say farewell to Oresko the last veteran of the last great war. And revisit the Arab spring, Al-Assad’s soldiers opening fire on innocent protester, one hundred fifteen thousand lay dead. Bin laden dead, Hussein hanged, Gaddafi received every ounce of his comeuppance. War, terrorism, the fear of being attacked or is it an excuse to deplete these countries of their natural resources like we’ve done our own? Throwing trillions of dollars to keep the murder machine cranking away, taxes, pensions, credit scores, insurance and annuities all cogs in the convoluted contraptions plight.
My dear friend contemplates this every night laying in bed, fetal position; the anxiety if having to be a part of this.
Falling apart on the inside but on the outside, an Adonis, playboy, Casanova wanna be. Who worshiped the almighty dollar, gripping it so tightly until it made change, drank until he had his fill falling face first into the snow. The guy who lead on legions of clueless girls wearing their hearts on their sleeves not knowing he had a girlfriend the entire time. Arranging secret meetings in hidden gardens, streaking into the early morning. Driving to Ewing in his yellow Mustang to woo a sado masochistic girl. The chains and whips do nothing to him he is already numbed by the thrill. Then he comes home, lays in bed until one, with no job and having people pay for his meals.
He knows what he does and who he is wrong. He recites and regurgitates excuses endlessly. He cries because he knows he is weak, he knows he must fix himself. I sit on the edge of myself with my fingers crossed hoping maybe, maybe he will set himself straight.
My chum who can talk his way out of any confrontation and into a woman’s panties. Multitudes of amorous affairs in backrooms, backseats, front rows of movies theaters. Selfish, boastful and ignorant, yet woman fling themselves at him like catapulted boulders over a medieval battle field just to say hello. These girls blind to see what going on, for their eyes were taken by low self esteem. A need to be accepted, to feel wanted even only for fifteen minutes. Poor self image, daddy issues, anorexic razor blade slicing sirens screaming on about counted calories and social status. Their uncontrollable mental breakdowns and emotional collapse. Their uncles who raped them, their parents who split up and confusing their definition of love and loyalty for the rest of their lives. Broken homes, domestic abuse and raised voices, sending jolts of fright into the young girl’s fragile minds. I send my sorrows to you ladies, to see such beautiful creatures suffer then be used and thrown away with the condom that was just thrust deep into their loins.
Then I see women and men of marvelous stature, romantic in the streets holding everyone and everything in high regards. Finding beauty in anything and anyone. Enjoying every second as if the rapture was over head eating exotic foods from unheard of countries and cultures. Bouncing to the sound of whimsical , reverb ricochets and sense stimulating music. Huffing inspiration to creative something out of thin air. Dancing to retired jazz and swing albums as if no time had past since their conception. Wearing bold colors and patterns, thrifty leather shoes or suede.
Dawning pre-owned blazers because why spend hundreds of dollars on new clothes just to look good but feel uncomfortable with a hole in your pocket. Dressing up but dressing down, so class yet urban I love it, chino, pea coats and flannels so simple but chic.
At night they go to underground dens, sweaty bodies, loud music and freedom. Expressive manifestations glowing fueled with MDMA and other substances to further their enjoyment of the dark glorious occasion. Sporting colorful bracelets, not watches for time is of no concern to them, they have all eternity they know that.
Going to book stores, coffee shops just to have some peace of mind and a moment of silence to themselves so that can weave the tapestry of imaginative innovation. Writing their own versions of the same story, endless doors of perception, reading news papers and taking it with a grain of salt. Watching the news on TV with a hand full of salt. Searching for the real story so they can know if the world they all live in is actually safe.
She who made her own way breaking hearts, rolling blunts and making deals. The flower child of the modern age, left the Rainey days in search of radiant sunshine, idealistic. Reality was subjective, purple dyed hair, multicolored sweater with sandals on her feet. A ten inch bowl with bud from California packed in tightly. Coming from Dumont to Bergenfeild then on to Philly to Mount Vernon. Off to Astoria and the Heights. Now to Sweden laying in the grassy plains below the mountains. Good for you my friend whom I have loved, may fortunes of unsullied joy come to you and all you meet.
Since you’ve left I have encountered drunken burley firemen just trying to have a good time. Pounding down Pabst Blue Ribbon as if it were water; as if it were good tasting beer. But heroes none the less.
EMTs, young eighteen years old high school graduates, saving lives reviving people who are a mere one inch close to death.
Sport stars getting scholarships thanks to their superior skills and strength.
Striking beauty school students who are into making the people of this world a little bit more beautiful on the outside.
All these people, successful, doing things. Departing to their desired destinations. I see inside them, they carry baggage, loneliness and insecurities. I can feel their guilt slowing them down. All have their loads but it’s the way they carry them that shows who they really are. And to me their all gems.
Not far in Paterson I watch the junkies limping across busy winding street, perusing a severely needed fix. “Diesel!” they shout to no one, asking for spare change and if bold enough a ride to a shady sketchy place. I give them a dollar and politely decline. They’ll die without it, it’s like eating glass it does no good for any of us anyway. Vomiting up bile and blood, twitches and shivers are all you feel when it’s not in you. They cannot stop, they need help. Why not help them instead of “assisting” those who are homosexual? Cleansing so they can be granted entry to the kingdom of God. Looking down on people who have found love and understanding and a deep attraction to others who just so happen to share alike genitals.
Narrow minded uproars about the spread of AIDS, nonsense! The puritanical onslaught of those who want nothing more than the rest of us, love. Gay, homo, faggot, queer, how about kind, funny, genuine human being? The right to be married and divorce should be an option for everyone to enjoy. The strains and hardships of matrimony are yours if you want them. If you don’t agree don’t hate or harm just allow them to be peacefully. Same goes for anything for that matter, Jehovahs going door to door, Mormons from Burbanks. New ideas are never a bad thing, they’re not a waste of time. On average you have about eighty years to mull over your options.
Some people don’t live long enough to do so, cancer is on the rise, blood diseases, sexual diseases, natural disasters coming right out of left field and blindsiding the innocent bystanders of both hemispheres. Some go through life handicapped, autism is apparent these days. Schizophrenia, asperburgers, ADD and ADHD. Some lose their golden memories of their many valuable years or some cant remember whatever transpired only a few moments ago. Some go through life delusional or bipolar. Some cant even sleep at night but they still carry one. And if assistance is needed it is our job as a race to help our brothers and sisters, no one deserves to be excluded from the gala of life. The be denied by society and pumped with brightly colored pills from doctors promising a cure but prescribing a crutch.
Finding solace in sincerity.
The serendipity of it all hasn’t been uncovered and that keeps me going.
“Radiate boundless love towards the entire world above, below and across. Un hindered without ill will without enmity.” Oh Buddha the truth as it ever was.
Who is he who keeps these thoughts from the conscious minds of the population?
Who is it that distracts us from the humbling beauty and overwhelming devastation of this place of existence we’re in?
It’s they who do under the table parlor trick behind our backs.
Those who broadcast mind numbing so called reality TV shows without an underlying value or meaning.
Those who produce music, proclaiming extravagance to be the end all be all gluttonous goal we all should aim to achieve.
And those who turn noble causes into money making scams and defile pure ideas.
And of course those who give false promises of easily obtained bright futures, those who don’t care, those who steal, kill, curse, bad mouth and lie. But still manage to get elected into positions that more or less decide out fates. Monsters, demons, banshees howling inconsequential worries and leaving us deaf to hear the real issues.
The heartless selfish people who make the thoughtless decision to have abortions because they lacked the self control to take the time to get protection and do not want to deal with their consequences, feeling no guilt throwing away what is the very make up of life and love they had created themselves! Although there are those who do so for they cannot support what they have created and give it a life they deserve, I can understand but I still weep but I empathize with such tragic forked road decisions.
Mystery men raping innocent home walkers and killing them or leaving them to live their lives in pain and shame. We can make our own trouble but we can also undo them. No one has a right o put hardships upon us and if so at least I will fight.
Who are the ones to look for when guidance and facts are needed? Look to the poor, the unfortunate poverty stricken open eyed weary ones. They’ll tell you how things look at from t he bottom of the hill. Ask the ravers and hipsters, college students they tell you how it is when climbing the hill. Joyous, miraculous realizations illuminating the visions of the mind. Growing fields of love and dreams. Weeding out the falsehoods with ease.
Ask the children, so innocent and naïve, giving a simple yet meaningful perspective. Same as the geriatric wise ones who time wears thin. Both have intrinsic values and wants.
Talk to the lustful lovers they can tell you how in one moment a tangent can be created in one foul swoop. Or the leathered whip weilding, dominant/submissive practitioners of pain. They’ll show you the exquisiteness of pain and bondage, domination and twisted, alternative pleasures. The nine to fivers commuting as if their lives depend on it…and it does! They’ll tell you how precious every minute of every day is. The drug dealers, the drunks have outlandish perspectives, yes but they have merit all their own.
The mentally unstable, chemically unbalanced children of the sun.
The soldiers, parents of struggle. Or go to the metaphysical; God, Ganesh, Vishnu, Shiva, Gahandi, the Dali Llama. Ancient prophecies shed light on your darkest days.
Travelers have been to many places, come across many persons, seen many things. Interview a man from Munich, see what he has to say.
Confront a delinquent or a deviant, they have voices too.
We all come together in this wild weird universe where everything is relative. Where everything happens for a reason but without a single motive. A place where explanations and ambiguity go hand in hand. To achieve balance, understanding, self awareness, self confidence and control of emotion and thought; endless unconditional love and the notion to stand up for ones self must be acquired. Equality and tranquility flowing effervescently across the cosmos. No separation or bigotry no thought of color, race or creed, color and background. With all our senses heightened to see all the truth in the world, to smell the sweet aroma of familiar places, to feel the cool wind on a warm day, to taste the sweet and sour flavors that make up a day. And to hear all the wondrous sounds around us music, laughter, crying, honesty, lies and to distinguish between them without having to look.
The ability to articulate all you’ve seen and heard. Everything you’ve tasted and smelled and touched. The emotions felt, the thoughts you’ve gone over and over time after time. The eradication of grief and suffering. Heartbreak, loss and demolishing surprise. All the memories and people you’ve met there. The places you’ve traveled to, the relationships built and destroyed. The lessons learned or forgotten or maybe the ones haven’t grasped just yet they are you! They are us! All the same yet different to create a mixture of assorted frequencies and combinations of destines and the trails that take us their! So rise my friends Rise! RISE!
I'm watching burning flowers,
For the flames and for the symbols,
The purest colours burnt to black,
As the burning of old idols,
This place is searing my heart strings,
And burning my soul,
I can't breath from the smoke,
As my lungs are the coals,
Tears flow out like fountains,
But even they cannot douse these fumes,
That blur out all my vision,
And eventually consumes,
Walking outside the threshold,
Is like the pouring rain,
Putting out all the hatred,
That turns itself into flames,
But her look is lighter fluid,
No mothers acceptance in her eyes,
And with every word she lights the match,
Burns all things her daughter holds inside,
As venom drips from every tongue,
I feel it searing through my heart,
As the world's opinion brands its words,
And tears my skin apart,
There are few in which I find comfort,
Find a temporary breeze,
That my heart starts to cool down from,
And my spirit begins to breath,
Who's ice removes my fire,
And the steam creates our sighs,
Of syncopated heart beats,
And kills the flames behind my eyes,
My heat can melt your frozen veins,
Turning each breath into tears,
Because we are not eachother's nightmares,
Even though we know eachother's fears,
So as I breath into your presence,
Keep your promise and I'll keep mine,
Be there during the thunder,
And I'll make sure you always shine
So I'll keep watching flaming flowers,
As you play across my mind,
And cool over the worst burning,
As we lose track of time…
Can't I just sleep for now
Pages and pages of words
Nightmares and fallen shapes
This state of dreaming has left me numb
I lie here miserable
Why did god fail to improve us?
Maybe I'm just sleepwalking?
Visions of better times
Ascending hills and mountain tops
Watching the teardrops and acid rain
What if I'm the one that's awake?
You are all just sleepwalking
Can't we all just sleep for now?
i know i'm the kind you hate.
the quiet one, with eyes like charred lightbulbs,
and a voice so low even the walls need to reach out to take it in.
i'm still trying to make sense of the way my
fear hasn't collapsed with every visit.
reminding myself it was your wife, and not my mother who held me
the entire december night i was born doesn't really help these days.
my lungs still hold my heart like my mother would hold me
when i cried out from nightmares, every time i try to
draw up a list of things that could help me brave you.
it's odd. all my cousins seem to have grown out of it.
but last night i saw the cigarette ashes in the sink in your bathroom.
i could steal my first smoke, wash the ashes down the sink
and no one would even know.
just like no one in this house would ever know
of the way i bleed poems at the computer.
although even if they did,
that wouldn't make me something more in your eyes.