Let’s cut away the ******* for once.
Honesty may not have it’s reward but it sure as hell feels good to the ears it falls on.
More often than not, we’re selfish for others.
And more so for ourselves.
It’s not as though we find the day when all cheery bright things would miraculously weave their way into our dull lives something to look forward to.
But paper cuts and medical buffs might take you there sooner.
We’re professional liars for our own companies.
We get paid with insolence and envy, which we spend on the ones we truly love.
Look, laugh and pity the fool who gripes and moans.
But let’s not forgive him for being wretched and miserable, and not completely insensitive.
Don’t ever realize how much mass ****** has helped you balance your daily routine or how easy your life has become since the fall of justice.
Cherish these moments of obstinacy and revel in the fall of man to mere beast, you might never know such disgrace, cloaked in pride, again.
The definitions given to our own villainous deeds are such elaborate deceptions that sometimes I wonder if the one they call God was just a man who thought to prank this world with a promise of salvation so that other men could **** each other over a system of faith that has no foundation.
I would bake a cake for that guy.
So, these long sentences putting you to sleep yet,
or am I too pig headed to get through to your blooming pride?
Maybe you find this funny, maybe you’re a terrible friend.
Maybe I don’t care about you and your perfect life.
There’s a chance none of that is true and you think we’re all good of heart inside.
Ahh, that mystical hidden power within everyone!
Makes me wish I was a non-gay looking He-Man.
Makes me wish for a lot of things that you would find offensive (so I’d hope) and enthralling (so I’d doubt it).
You collect high horses for prancing ponies and jewellery boxes full of ring fingers, alongside cushions and compliments so tight that not even gangsta-wrapped truth could split open.
Minds full of right wing liberalism and perks full of questions that exonerate reason, lead you to believe that ending friendship is a walk in the park.
Years of trust and respect lost in an instant, but that doesn’t affect you. It won’t now, nor ever.
This will all be forgotten like a really bad book that reminded you of your child abuse days.
Because, accepting hardship is a waste of time.
Acknowledging pain and moving past it is a bad decision.
Let’s keep one day apart from our indifferently vehement, opportunistically coherent and beautifully disconcerting lives to make all the bad decisions we love to.
At least on that day, no madman would feel alone.

day time disaster drifting
disdainfully into nights dark-lit
by only the protrusion of the sky

skinned till thin
in pieces at my feet, once, I mourned
and now again before mystique fails mystery

I grow tall and directed
shifted and perfected
incomplete

do they trim the *****
after doing your chin?
doing that to me is not a sin?

I am a woman, in a man’s body
with a ***** that doesn’t work
I have ****** the vineyards and the haystacks
grown a beard as long as a pine tree
the beard is downstairs
and it is joined to my hair
which is also long, flowing from my shiny head
I speak 500 languages
I cant read
I once slept outside my own house
in the blizzard of 93’ I fingered somebody’s sister
I even slapped a judge for being too **** ugly
but seriously, I’m currently jacking off to everybody’s mom
no no no, I’ll be honest for old time’s sake
my greatest lie is that I am/have-done none of these things.

I’ve forgotten the taste of love. The cherished threads that tie people together.
The feelings they profess in supposed honesty, the joy and ecstasy.
I’ve missed opportunities, naturally. Nature played me.
Distraught, I ran from a thought.
I ran a lot.

At the gates of responsibility’s exit, I had another thought. One without definition or reason.
Another ego maniacal ***** fit. A watered down vintage. Faked antique.
Off balance in a world out of balance, yet fools think they cancel each other out.
Sometimes it’s enough to lighten the load — fill the hole.
Usually not.

Escaping reality has its perks. You don’t feel bludgeoned by your actions or burdened by their consequences.
I think of the past as a mirror, when it’s really just a sprightly melancholic, yet gut wrenching, novel awaiting a squeal.
And I’m the only one who can write it. Expecting anyone else to would make the end predictable.
This is how all sad ironies of life must end.
Off the top of my head.

I’ve forgotten myself. I sometimes can’t recognize the person inside this shell.
These actions, thoughts, this ego — I am more than I know or understand.
Not necessarily a bad thing. Most definitely not a good thing either.
Come out guns blazing and paint the town only to apologize profusely — to each and every rotten corpse thereafter — to each and every ***** **** and dripping ****.
I am not your savior.

I make my own hell. I made this bed the day I claimed my throne.
And all your dreams flew into my **** ready to be ****** and multiplied. Progenies of your inner war. The cruelty of your being made thought, sin made flesh, hate made speech.
A victim of the false promise, the martyr of a hollow conscience. I am the end result of my own intentions.
I hate this.

I'll tell you why I don't deserve to win
because I really don't deserve to win
I am the alpha and omega of failure
seriously
because if I've won, it means that someone, who was actually supposed to win,
didn't
If you think that I am the king of losers then you are wrong
I lose even there
it's true, losers have champions
I'm not one of them
I am the key to my downfall
when clouds in summer pass by over head, it only rains on me
even in the company of others with me
this is the glory of my being,
to deposit checks only to watch them bounce
do not grow sympathetic towards my words,
the fallacies of sophists are all the fad these days
my poetry is quite literally a fluke,
meant to soothe the boorish eyes and ears
of those who don't know better
simply, a child's rant to whoever is listening
A tantrum unchecked
fodder for credulous cattle,
you will not buy
my victory here would mean my destruction
most certainly, the heartbreak of someone who has hoped for the opposite
I, the tragic son of fate and loss, am destined to wed grief
I beg you to see truth,
not reason
for if I deserve to lose and I don't, then let me win so I don't.

Like a pin cushion I wait for the next edge to serrate,
it's been months since I've felt such hate
The metal will not yield
It refuses to bend and spill; lashing obscenely, obstinately adamant
The screws which drive this hastened race have failed to open
And the cold is ever vigilant, lurking in the sinuses of apathy

Forlorn attempts to reconciliate have piled consistently
And further ones will also fail inevitably
The need for a past is much greater than the search for a future
Knowing what has been matters more than what will come
For dying knowing what could have been is easier,
than to die not knowing what was.

capture this fleeting joy
and bind them in memories.
not knowing what despair awaits
this morose forthcoming dependency.
condition my cold shell.

twas freedom that ached
for another day of rest.
lolling to the minutes of apathy,
sanctioned sadness ensues.

now. here. the voices play tricks.

ferrying me beyond sanctity
without appetite or stomach.
phantasm; blinding apprehension
with wisps of blackness.

hardened by sorrow
the tinker’s bells are mimed in spite
upon me, ceasing feeling.
Below, the sands drain wildly
into oceans roaring. still,
the screams of drowning souls
can be heard, similar to my own
cries, swallowing suffering
with hopes to be rid of it,
no one cares.

resigning to defeat
the weight of memories bearing heavy,
in these final few moments of quiet,
sink; down to the bottom patiently

I will not refrain from making this personal
You have dwelled in me long enough
To force my hand
This hand, that now, won’t stop shaking
Because of you
Scribbling ink upon paper-
Smudged with sweat from my brow

Inside
The fires of your hell,
Outside
The tundra of your stare,
Rattle my brain
And from me you drain
My strength and my patience
I retain only adamancy
To rival your vexation

You, who have crippled me so
I pray you know, how much I loathe
Your pestilent touch
But I beg you still,
To keep my hands,
To keep my head,
To leave me this much.

the world is ablaze
with useless ****
I watched road signs for hours
like an angry nerve ready to pop
28 days later I judged perception
acutely tuned to the jargon of fools
******* away at the inklings of their soul
same **** different day
everything is a road sign.

Methodical apathy, with exquisite precision.
It’s a sin if done intentionally, one of the deadliest.
If only the mind ran the body, inability would become a parody.
Gunpoint motivation.
If you fail that then you are truly exceptional.
You are the impossibility of reason, the magna carta of indolence.
Dust moves faster.

Synapses die, process is distress.
You may wittily reply, but your improvisation is a mess.
Follow through becomes a sporting term.
Creativity hopes to crash and burn.
Rhyming schemes fail to rhyme.
Like so.

Once a writer, now not.
Once unstoppable, now caught
Once an ocean, now a drought
Once a poet, now naught
Level of lethargy: A **** lot.

She is sweetness untasted,
by the likes of the deserving
though for some,
love is merely a mistake of judgement
until something better comes along
to subtly replace a misplaced heart.

She is forgiveness unfelt,
a bleeding heart of amore
so they drink,
and play and fall,
until choice is lost,
yielding to fatal attraction.

She is kindness unseen,
not wounded love could defeat
from the bounty of the wasted
we count,
moments until she turns sour
but she never does.

She is sanguine addiction,
of words that melt stone
with a fire that breathes
from her will,
burning in virtue
that makes me sing.

Hopelessly dependent on your heads and hands
were the pieces of me strewn on your platters
spinning wildly, correcting, dissecting my faces
praying for movement of the allegro, sans.

{An insidious little fox with her naughty tail
came to wrap around my being and close
never you mind what transpired next,
a shattering soul was no longer frail.}

But back and forth the fugue swings
never fulfilling the adagio's haste
the remnants of me are long since lost
scrambling for nothing, my madness sings.

Now I am left with no memory or past
now there's naught to look forward to
now I can die a regretful death
now the scherzo, can take flight, at last.

No tears shall fill this olive grove
the sorrows of a few grace its arches
the final movement is now at hand
slump, lively, into the irony of the allegro.

alcohol tears away at the soul
we’re bound to its discrepancies
but alas! we are materialistic creatures
if not, then we are simply animals.

One day, life stopped by to play a hand

I pondered, he glazed; through - slipped the sand

Things would have been so much easier, if I were sober

I would have gained priorities; game over.

Here we are, out of control  
eating our lips to keep us tame  
lodged in crevices  
waiting for the dark  
there are eyes spying from the skies  
when we look up they cry  

So now we are beyond control  
tying our wrists to keep us sane  
lest our hands play tricks again  
despite our frivolity, we are remembered  
as spineless worms of the under-world  
squirming here, in our own filth  

See, how we cradle hope  
sawing our ears to keep us dumb  
only lies fuel this furnace  
and yet, the congregation thrives  
lo witness, the second coming  
still only coming  

Finally control is lost
burning our legs to keep us here
in prisons with no steel or mortar
no guards or ghosts to haunt
yet we are gaunt when hope fails
nailing our knees to feed disgrace.

Under this ruthless azure
you return, crawling to me
cloaked in black, where sight is drawn
holding my wants, wrecking my tidings
your bleeding lips, your flaming hair
woo me splendid, fill me brimmed.
Caressed by your touch
forgiveness ensues
a yearning grows
revived again
by your wanton lust.
In the cold you are rigid
aching for comfort
clinging, to what I have,
to what you think of me
as you entwine
your sinuous wines
into my being and forge love,
a desire for your discourse.

In this cold I am frozen,
and here only to watch you shiver.

'What ifs' and 'why nots' why do you exist?
You’ve grown ever so cumbersome
Please cease and desist.
Your wants, no more virtuous than your promises, superfluous
Enslaved by your whims
We’d never be remiss.
Dancing in the shadows, stepping on toes
A million different reasons to watch ambitions run.
Depriving, contriving, playing with hope
Becoming the moon of a forlorn sun.
Fueling contrition, admonished shame
Created an ego unlike none
Alive beneath despondent veins
Ruining what’s left, and then some.

Your abhorrent fallacies, your coherent lies
Bending truths that seem hopelessly divine
Spurring tongues to whats and whys.
Still, silence speaks louder than the wine.
Doubt destroys everything it clings to
And therefore, so will you.
Simplify our misery into love and hate, we insist
Scribbled upon a clean slate, why do you persist?
Running short of derision for your provision
Regrets live as apparitions
Behind the veil of your cajoling voice.
Convince me that joy is merely mistaken sorrow,
That everything I’ve said up till now is hollow,
And maybe your words just won’t be errant noise.

I cried into oceans terrible and mysteries ravaging,
all speechless - mute.
A time to become aware, too late
where words might as well have been nails to step on,
if they can ever be called words.

The shivers don’t stop
the biting cold grips, clinging to my layers like a parasite
what is to be felt,
cant be.
There is no clear way I can explain this conundrum
this is happening because it just is
all the aches remind,
you belong here.

Remind the conscience that there’s more to this game
than mere words and images
it is something not even poetry can capture.
True art is truly fleeting,
just like this moment you’re in.

This is a rant, a whine, a lackadaisical, lackluster, lamentable account of the mind’s log.
Past the brick wall of restraint, beyond the fields of tolerance, on the banks of instinct and affection, it erases itself every 2 weeks.
Rewrites memories and feelings as fickle as capricious rain.
Makes people sad, makes people happy. Leaves them unsatisfied, unwanted. Makes them whole.
Here, where troubles are also accounted for, heartbreaks, trials, emotional noise, psychological inconsistencies, all live under one roof. Imagine a chain reaction inside your head that won’t stop exploding.
Beautiful yet devastating.
But depression is the worst. Like a virus it infects all moods and modes.
Coax and calm are pins and needles. Persuasion is desertion and truths are lies.
Liberality becomes morbid and grim, while conservation craves death.
Breaking continuity for a moment of weakness, purging will and doubting strength.
Cling to the vines, their hands keep you afloat.
Above the sea of screams and cries the mind inflicts upon itself.
The damnation, the lunacy of being alone in your head when everything inside you is falling apart is worse than any prison.
Friends become enemies and goals become shackles.
Up is a little to the left of center’s right and down is where you are.
Welcome to capsized reality, where pain is exalted and peace is taboo.
Where the hands don’t reach to save but drown.
Then you know it is time to restart, until the system fails again.
Till the next time the levee breaks.

Don’t misunderstand, I still douse my senses with alcohol from time to time.
It’s only the green and black that have been phased out of my daily routine.
I have a mental drug problem. I can’t stop over-thinking or even over-smoking, in fact, and I let it get to my head in a way nothing ever has.
Imagine living a life based solely on the acquisition and consumption of a drug you claim to have complete control over.
Sounds like a ******’s ******* to me.
Every action is governed by the need for a spliff and nothing gets done after a spliff.
As much as I love it. I hate it.
The grass isn’t entirely to blame. I’ve started hating cigarettes too.
Can’t stand those little *****. Now, I know there was a time when my love for them was eternal.
Poems, confessions and pneumonic reasoning were customary to express the profound admiration, but it has finally waned on me.
And I’m not trying to sell you on this, but it actually feels good to wake up not feeling like granny ****.
Back to the mental fray.
It cost me my memories, my judgment, my focus and confidence. Bare in mind, this only pertains to me.
It probably affects you differently.
If so, then this must be entertaining for you to read.

Since I parted ways with THC, I’ve gotten more work done in a month than I have all year. I’m clearer. I’m certain. I’m a *****.
There is no fog. But my memories are still lost. That damage seems to be permanent.
But my sense of wonder hasn’t waned at all. The fascinations have actually intensified since.
I think that’s because I have forgotten what it means to be sober.
If there’s anything that can change your world. It’s grass.
Not by much. But you’ll know the difference when you’ve lived with it for as long as I have.
Once again, not threatening your love for it (rests gun at your temple) only speaking my (sober) mind.

Now, I’m going to go get hammered, and be a bigger ****** than I ever was, before the dry week starts.

We all want certain things to last forever.

An un-cupped delight in a crowded bus—Spirit of fury rendering you unstoppable—A flash of lightning in your step—A loving embrace—The ocean air—Admiration, unchecked—The fall with no end.
Breakfast… Certain things….

She told me that she liked the way my lips used to taste.
They’re alive now, sadly.
I guess I’m just missing death.

reading his work always puts me in a good mood  

reminds me  
of how simple words  
can bear  
complex meanings  

how insignificant  
ambitions  
in the grand  
yet not  
scheme of things  
mean nothing  

the endless cycle  
repeating  
mistake after mistake  
until the lesson  
eradicates itself  

making excuses  
telling lies  
self medicating  
as though  
vitality depends on it  
/it doesn’t/

leaving
infectious afterthoughts  
before you can draw conclusions  
but not after  
you have already submitted  
to the beautiful mind  
that made you wonder  
why nobody listened  
not enough, anyway.