what would be the last thing
you hear, you smell, you see?
you would probably not notice.
is it too cold? or a bit warm? or too hot?
or the window less open than yesterday?
will you see the mess of your tiny room
occupied by forgotten tasks or hobbies,
the 1000-piece puzzle left in the box,
remember that? trying to solve everything
on the floor, room not enough space, no?
you would probably not notice
the door locked, maybe unlocked, would it matter?
phone uncharged, again, would it matter?
you might smell a familiarity in the air
of course, you're inside your room; you've been here
you lied here, again and again -
above everything you own, would you remember
the last thing, will it matter
when you're on the last turn, on your last blink-
would your remember the last thing?
you would probably not notice.
I would probably not.
Apr 5, 2021
Apr 5, 2021 at 3:24 PM UTC
i can't stop it.
an addiction. i'm an addict.
no self discipline, no control
my hands, my fingers keep returning
and returning on
my chapped lips
it began last week. cold day,
caught a cold. breathing through my mouth.
sick and dry
dry lips.
there's an itch on my finger, i began to touch
my chapped lips
i thought it was a one time thing,
something reversible, something stoppable.
i was wrong, i was dumb, i was so wrong.
when my fingers stopped retaliating the blood,
it, the addiction, turned my teeth onto warriors
on the scrimmage on
my chapped lips
one night, i stopped
in the morning it was worse.
a wound hasn't healed, and another
on top of it. skin and flesh, on a rotating schedule
i'm scared but i don't stop. i'm scared
but my body just turned its back on
my chapped lips.
nothing has changed. blood and wound
scar and then wound,
i haven't stopped. and now i'm not scared.
i thought, i'm good at healing.
so, my chapped lips
will stay. scars may come,
but it's just my lips.
nothing good
has ever touched
my chapped lips.
Jul 31, 2015
Jul 31, 2015 at 2:13 PM UTC
breathing, still breathing,
*in and out,in and out, in and -------
out*
cliffhanging loud beats
*one, two, one,
two, one
and two*
pulsating pace, closing time
cold fingers, toes, neck
dried pale kisser
buried irises, fluttering lids
*in and
out, in and -------
out
one, two, one, one and two*
knocked out, shut down
paralyzed, stunned, running out
blood, there's blood
somewhere, everywhere, all around
open skin, trembling wrist
blood, there's blood
*in and
out, in and out, in and ------
out
one, two, one,
two, one and two*
lights out, lights back on,
phone ringing, door slamming
sirens coming
mother, screaming
diluted sounds, distant thoughts
*in and out,
in and out, in and ------*
still alive, still alive
still alive
still -
i smile
Jul 29, 2015
Jul 29, 2015 at 1:53 PM UTC
i consume the continuous days without nighttime
and greater shadows afflict mine. towards the edge
a body without mass they had no power
to gravitate towards the ground. In my throat
there's a soundless scream and an abyss of burials
no one attended. and in case the mindless tongues,
the senseless sensates, and the human brainiacs, cared
the sky would be my dance floor, and the atmosphere would still
drive me breathing it in. a mismatch of socks,
a counterclockwise swing, a cold cup of coffee,
a bullet sans its gun, and a gun with the imaginary trigger -
i am no good. i am no good.
Jul 28, 2015
Jul 28, 2015 at 3:36 PM UTC
I have got this idea,
a stupid wish, a nonsensical desire
of being in a car accident.
Hear me, I want you to.
I prefer to be in the backseat,
seat belt on, and a frequent mannerism
of looking down, in front
on the driver's dashboard. I do that,
I always want to know the speed
and how fast the others outside this space
of metal and cushion. I don't want to be the driver,
knowing myself, I would not get myself into one.
I am a safe ***** that is all.
Then, here goes nothing -
I want the car to crash. I still haven't made my mind
on where or what are we going to crash.
Maybe a wall. Maybe another car. Maybe a post.
I want it to be something solid, but not alive.
Trees are the exceptions. I want the car
to kiss that solid thing, head on.
I don't want the pain that may come along,
I don't want to call it a near death experience,
I want that instant where -
everything seems unreal
or too real my head would not be able to
understand. I want that portion of time
where I decide do I close my eyes or not,
that moment that I will have my life question itself.
And I don't wish death I don't wish to live, either.
Just that moment, where I could think
how instantaneous life can be.
I want that tick of the clock
the clashing of realities and dimensions..
I want that moment,
I need to feel that moment of being just between death and life
where everything doesn't matter anymore, but I still know
they exist.
I have this stupid idea,
nothing so important, nothing so surreal
but to wish this
is the demand I am willing
to pursue.
Jul 6, 2015
Jul 6, 2015 at 11:24 AM UTC
I long for the time,
when you are not “you”,
or “she” or “he”, or any
of the words I write. Not a hint,
not sign of you being “you”,
in each line “you” appears, it will not be you.
And I have found a new definition
of “she” or “he”, not even
the shadows of my words
would tell you that it’s “you”.
And in that day that it’ll come,
I’ll look back at this piece
of prayer, that my “you”,
will not be you
Jul 3, 2015
Jul 3, 2015 at 3:04 PM UTC
Was I wrong?
My mind fails me
and to conjure the right words
the answers embraced nothingness
I always think
you flawed my reasoning
you were what was missing
over and over, I say
I am not mistaken or fooled
dressed in my fantasies
the idea of you and i
we will be alive
until our bones get tired
I promise.
You are a vagabond, you always were
like a migrating flock on a foreign land
again and again,
amongst all those wanders
I begin to carve on my skin.
You will find warmth in me
and you will erase all your hues
you will begin to love me
Apr 11, 2015
Apr 11, 2015 at 5:36 AM UTC
I condemn all these spiritualities
that claim to accept me
but I am not theirs
all these justified critics when
they will not shut their mouths
I condemn your faith
when I followed you
all I was and all I am became
close to whatever has been left on
your places
I condemn all your empty
disgusting and full of filthy tragic
words
they do not own me,
you do not own me.
I condemn all these stories
that you tell that it’s worth
all these sacrifices you talk about
are those who win
I condemn you all for telling me what
is not to do
for all my dings are the wrong things
for me to even think about
I condemn everything you have been painting my brain
you needed me not
and I do not
all I do is make your mistakes
for you to feel all high and
built
but I condemn you for condemning me
for stealing from me
from what I was
for wrecking what I thought was me
I cannot bring them back
but I swear to all your gods
that I will be more than what you told me I cannot be
all my words will be written in more than
what you have written
and you will see me
in every direction
for when you have condemned me
you did not own me
I owned you
Apr 5, 2015
Apr 5, 2015 at 1:53 AM UTC
We were once tide -
An anticipated push and pull,
Rushes into the shores, and withdraws of the seas.
Written in squares of today and tomorrow,
The way, today is low
And tonight is high.
There were no uncertainties
Or questions – we always
Know, what to move
And when to go.
Stringed by orbits of
The Sun, The Moon, The Earth.
May it be Sunday but
The waves will praise only sand
Touching, like a morning greeting,
And a kiss of illusion – and these?
Were memories, of how you and I
Were only once tide.
Apr 4, 2015
Apr 4, 2015 at 8:59 AM UTC