A yellow converse tied securely to my left foot
A purple converse tied securely to my right foot
Dangle on the sharp edge of the moon facing the flickering side of the sun
-
His hands are turning to stone
Scaling up his arms grows the shards of unsung remarks
Branded by the markings of a comprehend-er
And not that of a creator
Signified by
a Turnover of the wrist
To reveal
Calloused palms scarring over worn ambitions
-
And as the her face turns away
All at once
She rounds the corner of a brick wall
The sun rotates to be unseen behind Venus
Her body is planets away - it seems
But there is a light that never goes out
-
For in the years to follow
Even in shadows her memory will glow
Lighting my face to varying degrees
Dependent upon the luna(r)cy of my mind
Oct 18, 2018
Oct 18, 2018 at 1:51 PM UTC
Spacial vacuums siphon oxygen from my lungs
This red, white, and blue suit is a temporal abode for a terminal body
My brain is gasping in a crevice devoid of musical vaccines
The veins of my neck are slowly turn grey to match a perceived
environment
Black dots blur-my-vision as I fumble with the radio to signal home
But the shadows of decaying light are pulling away from my fingertips
Electrical impulse has ceased to deliver sensation to my extremities
Cast upon me a lifebuoy - for the gold of my iris’s ring is unstable & therefore unsustainable
Fear strickens my body with the toxicity of a memory’s love widow
The poison of its chemical involuntarily punctures physical holes with rusted knife blade
And as the blood pools
-
my thoughts drown
Oct 11, 2018
Oct 11, 2018 at 9:49 AM UTC
breathing techniques cannot salvage my mentality
dry - cold - gales whisking shards of icicles
jet stream frozen oxygen into my pink lungs
and as nature’s razors draw red blood
my capacity for speaking matches the bleeding
of a headspace drowning in black ink
-
The quills of my fingertips have been continuously dipped
Into the reservoir of dye crested by the hole in my head
-
a yellow sun rises anew day to cast light on these visions
a red rose withers on concrete of unwalked opportunity
a orange three-pronged leaf exists in this dissension
ambition will either
flourish to match a perpetuating green
or
decompose to return compost the dirt of earth
Sep 28, 2018
Sep 28, 2018 at 8:39 PM UTC
A reflection - maybe that is what I see
A replication - maybe that is what I am trying to be
and as I sit on this back-deck
my left foot dangles over the left railing
and in this midnight the street-light beams with confidence
and
as my eyes adjust
The shadow grows
Mine or your’s? - I do not know.
A miniature volcano decays between my fingertips
A moment of false peace
- a vapor
come & gone
a memory shrouded in nicotine
lying within a bottomless ashtray
This is the back-yard landscape -
Aug 10, 2018
Aug 10, 2018 at 12:37 AM UTC
There are conversations in which my mental frame leaves the
parameters of my body.
No longer can I fathom the concept of ‘being in love’
I witness dates
and
feel as an apprentice of such a trade might
an inadequacy to replicate the models of those before me
Gone are my indefinite moments of sanity
Childhood is laced in linens of silk
Soft-spoken words
and
Finely crafted spontaneity lacking responsibility
Ceaseless are the times in which I must conceal the thoughts I abhor
Depravity seems to chain my soul
which leads to
a Resolution in pixelation
due to
a visual handicap which has left my eye blind to choosing right
My friends make me happy
but as a glass transforms back-&-forth between half-empty &
half-full
one glance across our wooden dinner is all it takes
for
My thoughts to liquidate into bars of gold
Telling myself I must exchange their conversation for my motivation
heavy on the mind
light keystrokes
Once i reawaken at 1 A.M. from my conscious-coma
i ask myself
What good is it?
To be thoughtful
Yet have no action
What good is it?
To fantasize
Yet refuse your own inclination for renovation
What good is it?
To be dramatic
Yet have no one at your performance
I do understand what it means to ‘be’
Watching Tuesday suns burn in loops of ongoing weeks
- lacking peaks -
As I continue to lay under clothes line
Wrapped in a melody of melancholy
But I do not understand what it means to be ‘me’
My mind feels as a lemon candy might,
sour at first bite -
hollow on the inside, then gone
Without ever truly knowing what it tastes like.
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 9:03 PM UTC
“You are not an artist.
You are not an artist.”
What photos must I shoot
How many cigarettes must I smoke
It is scary, but - I want to embody the things which destroy minds
Summer vibes feel like radiation
Use this alcohol to eradicate
The proposition - that I will be ‘okay’
My phone is on airplane mode
My ambition is floating - as a feather might -
Down to the depths
I cannot finish my own sentences
Bury my expectation with my religion
And it’s funny
Because I have resolved my mind to avoid romantic
confrontation
But, alas - I do day-dream
Of a girl’s face & hair - for it has appeared in my dreams four
times
And I awake to Deja-Vu as her face appears in conscious
frames
So…
I can imagine & I can see, but - they have become one in the same
Could not fantasize asking
Your hand in mine
Oh how I wish to cry
To sob in any light so long as you are in sight
Someone to reassure me, that - yes
“There is an end to the night.”
But I cannot. I suppress it in drives. In music videos. In writing. In self-speaking when I have only me to keep company.
Kick me off the team.
I do not know what I need.
If I could lead, as I once did.
But I have left concern in the refrigerator
With empty bottles & cans
Maybe I will return tomorrow to salvage the cents of my malleable integrity
Won’t you reliquinish me of it ?
For I have sipped the poison of honesty
Regretfully it tastes like honey
Lustful - Fleeting - Sugary - Intoxicating
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 12:38 AM UTC