Prickly cactus pins,
flurried toward my skin.
sinking down on sheets of lies,
my epidermis falsified.

Cells of blood like moss-covered bricks,
pierced right through by cactus ******.
The places where it stings,
lie deeper than I’ve ever been into my own flesh and bones,
and my heart would never condone,
but tonight I let it bleed,
to know myself a little more.

These prickly cactus pins,
dotted all over my skin,
I dare not try ever again,
to hide the contours of my brain.

Reams of envelopes lie in wait,
to say a few words to my mates.
The lies – they saw, although much of it they forgot,
and some were never for them to understand,
but now cactus ****** have serrated my heart,
only and only the truth pours out,
as the tissues of life, are ripped apart.

Beneath the embrace of our hands, ran a silver lining;
We walked along it, purposefully.
A gloomy late afternoon, a half-lit street;
We passed by dainty shops that seemed strangely uninteresting.
The dying afterglow of a summer spent together in New York,
summed up in a nervous kiss and a flurry of downward glances
— you’re leaving.

I yearn for love that is blind,
but I long to hear that my
eyes and lips are pretty

I champion love that is mind over matter,
but I cannot help but trace the shape of your body
and be happy that it is beautiful

A towering wooden frame
Lined with fake lotuses  
Written all over

Here Lovers' promises
Sit unscathed, untested

Words etched
In just a single moment of love
Live forever
As love elsewhere dies away

In this world,
there are some of us who get left behind
because we don’t fit the bill.
A bill that is arbitrarily in place and which
makes some magnificent, many perfectly normal,
and some of us a bunch of unworthy f*s who don’t
deserve affection, attention, and any of your time.

Go on, erase us from your narrative, from this world’s narrative,
erase us completely because our bodies are a certain way,
because it would require you to change your perspective slightly
to accommodate us into your view,
because there’s a billion to choose from who are perfectly normal

We might as well be not human because some of us don’t get to
experience human joys strictly because of how we look.
The least you could do is understand very clearly this fact
that for whatever reason, not all of us are able to experience being a human in the sense that most of you are able to

Fall has crumbled with grace,
and it looks like the end of our chase
for the elusive statuette of love,
and the sparks lovers dream of

No longer do I see the imperfections in your face,
it looks quite shallow I must say,
but only because a stranger sits in its place,
and our world full of details lie in its grave

I don’t love you
I love a reflection of you
a version of you
that appears to be you
but is not you

I don’t know you
not anymore
I knew you
when you knew me
when you cared to know me
but that is not you

Let me take a page out of the book that gave you every look you passed me when I went about my life the way that I was taught

If you had only gone as far as lit my cigarette and smiled I would have given up the world for you and your trials

When you find your rhythm let me know, but I feel that you were never searching for truths not in your bestseller book

I’m sitting here still waiting for a turn to speak, but you’ve stuffed your ears with amnesia of history; it makes you free

I’m here looking at the sky; it’s my way to feel free for a bit of time, and it doesn’t hurt anyone, unlike yours

We were never in line, and it’s all fine, until you cup my mouth with all the force you gained from never having to think twice

Now let me take a lie out of your book and make it choke on all the tears that could have drowned your pages and made you realize

Shy and soft-spoken though I might be, there are ways to talk without speaking a single word and it’s worth a thousand photographs

Lying inside my bed,
floating in hell,
trying to burn my boots off
this unearthly smell

Thank you for caring about me,
but I can only hear myself

All your voices
sound like construction noises,
I'm trying to talk with the devil

Just give me a second,
I'll come back to the table,
to eat with you all,
so that life's all good and stable

Take me somewhere
Where I can fold your clothes
And sing a song for you

If I could know
The sorrows and dreams
that bring you to your knees

I would sit back
Take your stack
And fold it right down the middle

It's all I could do for you
Put a crease
In your sad dreams

What do you say?
Should I keep trying my luck at the human condition?
I'm struggling to believe the human condition is for all of us;
Because of the way we humans are hardwired to think and judge,
and as a result, the way we have constructed meanings and standards in our societies,
many of us are left with an appalling serving of the human condition,
with little other than pain, misery, and humiliation on our plates

So what do you say?
Should I abandon the human condition and maybe seek more transcendental avenues of living?
(it's not as exciting as it sounds because I'm compelled to consider it)
Or, do you think the human condition can still accommodate for the joys of every one of us?

The characters I have sired over the years,
Are layers of a ground that still isn't mine

Time runs,
Rupturing the shells as the days crumble.
And I stumble,
over and over,
over myself

Love is a raging wind that blows gently,
but it leaves behind a storm when it goes off the wrong way,
and acid rain when it leaves for another

a flowery curtain adorns my room
      I look at it from time to time
   the flower is a blood red
but the leaves are a bit dead

  dead leaves
      crackling as I walk
         it’s a dream I know
            but I cannot stop
    perhaps I’m alone
        among dead leaves and stones
           staring at a bright little spot

BUT IT'S A LONG SHOT

I’m not a crackpot
not inside my room at least,
my door opens from time to time
but on the curtain beside my bed,
the leaves look a bit dead
...or so I said

In between the blinking of your eyes,
and in between catching your sweet smiles,
I've seen love, felt love, tasted it perhaps

Let us gaze into each other a bit more,
Let us speak in silent ways,
Let us know that when we search for peace,
here is where we find it.

Bird with serrated leather jacket collar
When you sip that drink and hit yourself with a mauler
Drop a sigh, with your eyes toward the sky
but don’t fly,
it’s alright to sit low, cry, stay back home in July,
and just standby.
There is no need to commodify

You’re not a lousy fly stuck in a rut
nor a feather helplessly swinging into dirt
You’re a singer singing each note
with your unbuttoned white shirt
and a chain of daisies around your throat

And remember the melodies your senses wrote?
There are places you will go,
when you follow the lilts in your heart’s own flow,
and when into resonance the murmur grows,
there can be no better show
there can be no better show

Her eyes ostensibly dreary,
her melancholy stride
fell as gently as a dead leaf in fall.
To me, it is no surprise,
There was no way I could know her mind,
but I never thought to try

I'm a run of the mill guy,
waiting for rain to sedate
this blistering heat of a midday in summer.
My nerves rattle my calm,
and later today when I have my lonely supper,
I will remember to unhinge myself,
for it has been a busy day,
full of bickering and monotone machinery

No I don't hope anyone was by my side,
least of all her,
What would I even say?

I do not want to ask about her day,
If anything, I would sink into a pool of shame
Screaming for the drowning jingle jangle of cafes,
the silent companionship of an ashtray,
but a silent person like her is anything but.

These evenings go by with relative ease,
I slip under the rug thoughts that should cease to exist,
although I think about her sometimes when I sleep,
I've found there is a comforting distance, between life and fantasy.

When the night begins to fall,
You look at me – for a brief moment – with drowsy eyes,
A moment so short as to not be present.
If you left your heart in my embrace,
I could have held you even when you were away in your dreams;
The short, pale gaze would have lasted, confessed love.

But sleep had embraced you much before I could,
You were in sleep already, when you looked at me
– your eyes just about to leave at last.
I'm not hurt, but a little upset that I couldn't
catch you for a little longer.

Who says I'm done with my story?
it's not over yet.

I tried to cry out my pain,
but you shut me down,
straightened my frown,
and pinned me down motionless - voiceless

Now that you're gone,
I've written a song,
and I hope that you'll hear it

When the time is right,
when you've had more to fight,
the melody will strike your ears,
and I will have finally sung

The cold did not chill my bones
it ripped my heart,
which reeks anyway
of rotting thoughts
that could shoot me in the head
without leaving a **** spot

And the final word you said
is like a rod up my spine
when was the last time I cried?
my body's locked in null space
and I can't even move my eyes