1. We are critical.
We find flaws in
everything we see
because nobody
wants to write
about perfection,
even though sometimes
we wish we could just stay
staring into that
unblemished surface.
2. We are never satisfied.
We live our lives upon
mountains of
scrunched up
bits of refill and
ideas we gave up
trying to
express.
3. We never forget.
We write words about
eye contact made
three months ago
that we replay over
and over in our minds
even though it
stopped
being relevant.
4. We are fickle.
Our emotions flash
from one
to the other
like strobe lighting that
disorientates us
until we feel as if
the world
will never be still.
5. We are exposed.
We don't know how
to keep our feelings
to ourselves so
we'll write them
down for
you to find
'accidentally'.
6. We are vulnerable.
We wear our
hearts on our sleeves
and won't lift a
muscle to fight back
if somebody tries
to break it
because we thrive
from the pain.
7. We will never stop.
We will never stop
feeling and
we will never stop
hurting,
we will never stop
breaking and
bleeding and
loving
even though the cycle
is endless
and we know what's
coming next.
We are addicted
to agony,
but we agonise
for the art.
Jun 12, 2015
Jun 12, 2015 at 4:11 PM UTC
*Sensibly we talk and nonsense we go
Orthodox are the words uttered
Profane are the verses sang
Deceptive are the eyes buried
They appear pious and they are saints,
I speak sacrilegious and I am vindictive
How the flowers bloom is fate,
How the flowers bloom I hate
When kindled is the vigor
Ignited are these roses,
Of Vehemence we had a feel
Of Abhorrence we had to ****
My own path I have,
My own dreams I latch
A soul wandering at the prairies,
Gored yet numb with your poetries
Amorous is the depth inside making me drown,
Covetous is the realm outside wearing a crown
To which force will my heart listen,
Lost in labyrinth I am and fallen into warren
When left as memories are the stories,
And burnt into ashes are the memories
The sun had consumed the earth I know,
But not the world of artifice we had grow*
Jun 12, 2015
Jun 12, 2015 at 4:11 PM UTC
And now we see the singularity
of the artist, wrists spread bare on
mimed canvas, finally we see
his consistency.
Lazarus is dead on the first day.
Gold background, rocky outcrop,
sense of cluttered space.
Do you see the decay?
Can you sympathize, or do you notice?
I cannot sympathize with Duccio,
I am too vain to admit his Maestá
survives while my brain rots from
alcohol. But I remember Duccio is
at least fifty years old when his Maestá
preeminently destroys my career
as a visual artist. I do not mind.
Lazarus is dead on the second day.
Duccio had many pupils, among them
Simone Martini, whose Annunciation
is a cropped rehash of Byzantine/Gothic
flopped with Duccio's handy flair,
a pious reverence and virtue.
It sweeps and moves. Or attempts.
Lazarus is no longer sleeping.
I have never been to the city of Florence,
not now nor the 1300s, so I need not
explain my lack of comprehension.
Lazarus has risen now,
but it is different than I remember.
Lazarus is all alone, and
Lazarus is alive,
doomed to walk in mortal Hellfire
a second time over.
May 8, 2015
May 8, 2015 at 1:00 AM UTC
*A machine I am
And the salt from your dreary—
Eyes — is my fuel.*
May 8, 2015
May 8, 2015 at 12:59 AM UTC
"yas ***** I would say
Only to be dismissed away
Looking him in the eyes wondering
How dare you frown upon me
As if I'm the beast unseen
You came to my home stripped me of my joy
***** and killed my family
Holding me captive as a prison of war
How dare you frown upon me
As if I'm the beast unseen
You forced my daughter to cry
As you hauled off her last bit of hope
At least I have some dignity
Though it seems my pride has been lost deep within green
Where the blue skies don't feel darker than coal
How dare you frown upon me
As if I'm the beast unseen
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 1:31 AM UTC
*parallel
are the
P P
A A
T T
H H
we take,
we will never meet.*
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 11:18 AM UTC
I saw you in widow's eyes.
I heard you in her cries.
I smelt you in wood and fire.
I felt you in funeral pyre.
I saw you sitting on ground.
I heard you in violin's sound.
I smelt you in burning heart.
I felt you in man sitting apart.
I saw you within lost child.
I heard you in his heart wild.
I smelt you in anxious sweat.
I felt you on his cheeks wet.
Not sure if you searched me;
Or somehow I found thee;
Much love for me in you I see.
Now you ever reside in me.
Dec 3, 2014
Dec 3, 2014 at 6:27 AM UTC