We were short lived
But ******* we were beautiful

though equipped with
an open heart and
pursuing mind
we still struggle to find the time
before we knew that
these striking hues
only made us blind.
to when white teeth glistened
through genuine grins
and whole, hearty chuckles
instead of only imprinting lines.

i can feel the change
surging through my bones.
a sharp, electric current
igniting and destroying
sour cells and lies
(apathy is not strength).
igniting and creating
new creeds and new bones
that can withstand the occasional
jolts and grits.

though a remedial renewal
of soul came through,
seeing the change and
being the change
will not come quite as easy.

I desire warmth and
Despise the void,
Despite convincing myself that
I was not missing anything
And just dissatisfied with the "completeness".
Realizations travel the more gentle current
And you find them on shore in a
slow succession.
Picking up these messages,
My hands do not feel frigid-
A sensation my heart envies;
It longs to outshine the sun.
Now days will pass in a frenzy
Searching for an embrace.
A rendezvous with redamancy.
(Beginning with myself.)

Porous asphalt,
And bandaged, quilt
Homes puncture the
Neighborhood,
Which reads like a tattered
American flag; all
Coke Ads and weight loss
Billboards,

Half-burnt houses slant,
Like the hills of San Francisco—
Our own makeshift cable
Carts, limping up
And down the inclines.

We are slowly being burned
By our once golden sun—
Having been taught to
Bleach ourselves
Pale, tucked shamefully
In the shade.

Makeshift shanty towns
Which smell of mildew
And processed laundry soap,
Flimsy tin roofs
Tied with Kleenex and
Pizza Hut tarpaulins.

The fact that this neighborhood
Was christened "Freedom"
Strikes an empty pang.

but i will.
i will write it and it may take me
five minutes
or it may take me fifty.
and neither of the two is an absurdly long amount of time,
unless you really think about it.
because five measly minutes
is just the same
as three hundred seconds.
and three hundred seconds
is just the same
as three hundred thousand milliseconds.

we've only just covered one-tenth of an entire fifty minutes,
yet already we have before us
three hundred thousand intricate units of time,
each lasting for the blink of an eye -- no, less --
then vanishing,
like the evanescent remains of a flame
that has been reduced
to first sparks,
then dull embers,
then ashes.

the funny part about it is that you never know
what each tiny little bubble of time might hold,
what might happen when it forms,
or when it pops.

a millisecond is incredibly short,
almost unfairly so.

but three hundred thousand milliseconds?

it can't be said what could happen as those fleeting fractions
slip away.

we may try to grab hold of them,
to catch them in our palms.

but time stops for no one.

so you may find yourself
with empty, bleeding palms,
as a reminder that time is harsh, cruel,
tyrannical.

and as you wrap bandages around your wounds
(or maybe not),
those fleeting milliseconds
will laugh with sudden bursts of cynicism,
like fireworks,
deafeningly silent.

they will laugh
at what a fool you were,
thinking you could catch time
in the palms of your hands.

(a.m.)