forgive me
you're why i am
and too beat
to be
me
so wrong to compete
i'm so lost
incomplete
and completely unclear
as to why i sit
upright
uptight
in this filthy seat
like i have
this past year
                    daddy
please
tell me
why won’t
my feet lead
to where they say
the heart beats

and help me see
how it is
that i can
count infinitely
the steps between
home and me
and simultaneously hear
in the depths
of my chest
this pounding  
when i am
as heartless
as i have been
made out to be
what then
could it
possibly be

- end

i don't know whose
firsthand reaction to the sight
of me crawling is worse

that of the man
that asks how i am
as he backtracks
in baby steps
or
those of the rest who
due to oversight
or indifference
are unconsumed
and unconcerned
by and with
futile breaths
nonetheless

but i sure as hell know
the answer
    doesn’t matter
    so long as i stay sat
    writing rhyming rants
    to hold my skull’s fracture captive
    and perhaps
    so i can have it massacred
    alongside its inner cats
    their joint force task of making contact
    with my meek heart also known as
    the meager muscle
  plasma-mad
      in vein
              and
                 collapsed.

- end

i can’t bear this silence
so i instigate
the flame distracts
i’m well aware
that though i often fall
there is a part of me
that never fails
and always grows

- end

this little heart of mine
i can't let it shine
only blind by passion
it ignites in desire.
let it live and catch fire
start riots and conspire
so together, in harmony
we can finally unite, fight

back and back
        
fire.

when i don’t pay attention
or smile at her every second
because my self, absorbed in her ways,
is fueled by fumes and preoccupation
with the remnants of my reflections
adversities in the shape of shattered fragments
at the hands of the menace who disparaged
with flying colors
my preconceived
notions of beauty
its existential crises
or lack thereof—
or extinction altogether
that day calamity
struck my ignorant mother
allowing me to stomach her
and with conviction
mimic a life-conviction-struck robber
and weasel my way out the tunnel


her presence never fails to tear
in parts unequal and unfair
my distraction her haughty air demands
******* mine but this time i have trained
or so i have dimwittedly led myself to believe
to maintain sanity soon to be by her relieved
i rapidly pray on my way to met her
in the needlepoint spot on the planet
marked by mere millimeters

but once again as i foolishly dismiss
simple common sense because haughtiness
has always far outweighed the myth
of other qualities we believe are bliss
running the same film strip i relive the same scene
and wonder astoundingly as to how i could be
so obscene
and ignorant
with no happy
to accompany
only misery
and consequential calamities

i only dream
in my wake some day
to see crocodile tears
of lizards’ deep green
as the envy they feel
and the currency they steal
and the grass underneath
which i will soon be at ease
one winter day when priests
sit, sympathize and believe
that anyone for me
could truly bereave

at her sight, i leave
and what’s left
knows what the other feared to hear
    we’re meant to be.
for her i ferociously fall
and the high as i soar in her presence
is far more potent
than the feeling of blackness
i saw back when i crawled out the tunnel
and suddenly saw nothing
unsure as to whether
my sight had abandoned me altogether
or the world was so devoid of light
making my eyes as likely to see
as the hope of those it had massacred
to come back once more and restore happiness

i only see in her vicinity
and no deity or creed decreed
feigned, fabricated, false, factual, fined or free
has or will be near me or nearly
as close to the tier of the invincibility
i currently perceive
i fall for her
and i fall for her again
and i never understand
how something so revolting
could be so coveted
and cunning
and contradictory
but such is you
and such is me

c’est la vie.

- end

everything won't be ok this time.

my favorite part of love
isn’t the moment you see a slippery street
and still decide to step on the concrete
knowing full well
the banana slippers
on your feet
will inevitably fail to succeed.

or even the transient—albeit seemingly ceaseless—ischemic attack that accompanies,
only to flee,
leaving your newfound morphine deficiency
all you never knew you’d ever need

it’s not the self-pity,
pain,
or sympathy you summon from stems, branches, buds, or fallen crispy sheets
that console you due to formalities
while deeply-seated loyally
in your freshly proclaimed enemy.

the slip
the trip
the consequential limp
are magic. enchanting. it’s sick.
but not nearly as diseased
as my favorite phase of this plague—
its terminal infirmity the second epiphany strikes me
simultaneously as my previously paralysis-ridden limbs
spring lively
and i cling onto the same steel anatomy
that had infected me
as viciously  
as it now
heals.

- end