i guess i
find it strange
the way
people i d e n t i f y
and q u a n t i f y
their existence
according to
a version of
a brand of
the divine,

greatly chosen b y
influenced b y
geography and
  family ties.

and i'm sorry, but,
it cannot be
that everyone is
simply describing
the same
phenomena with
different w o r d s
      like a version
           or an update
   or an accent,

because although life
is grey, some things are,
and some things
are not.

there is but one
merriam-webster
dictionary.

dictionary.com also
defines words,
even the
same words
but they are
distinct entities.

they live under
the umbrella of
    a bigger concept
about words
   and language,

they are versions of
explanations of
a more
e l u s i v e
construct -

the word.

and you cannot even grasp
exactly what
  the word is,
because it
depends on
so many factors.

yet most
grab onto and cling to
the first dictionary
thrown at them.

others might exist
and even be
similar,

but you know
you have your favorite,

you are a
brand loyalist.

and the product
is

reality.

which is fine,
i guess,
in and of
itself

as long as
you can admit
that Kleenex is
the best and
Puffs is for
losers.

sure, you might smile at
the Puffs users and
even bring them
a meal,

but deep down inside
you know that
   you are right

**and they are wrong.

She has no mirror
but where flirt the leaves with the pond
she comes in the cool of noon
mixing the dark of her hair
with the summer shade
dipping into glass green water
her toes and far above
and all the pond sees
encrypts within the bubbles of rainbow
that only her clothes
swelled in awe
can read.

'you're such a good girl'
beep beep beep

unfamiliar breathing, followed by
silence. my naked body is
alone on my bed sheets.
loneliness breaks my own hand and
morals for a way to get
off but i don't. i sit there and
conjure up sweet whisperings
of how i want you. *******,
deep and hard and cold.

if i'm such a good girl, then
tell me. why do i wish my flesh
will melt away like the leaves?
masochistic idiosyncrasies
wrap my vanilla heart up in
a pretty little bow. your fingers
beg to scratch off my humanity;
they have to wait their turn.

Having Depression is like finding out that mermaids are real
It doesn’t make sense to you until you’re getting dragged to the bottom of the ocean
And then you think
Oh
That’s what this is
And I’m drowning now,
That’s just……… great
And eventually, with your last vestiges of breath left
You float back to the surface
And you’re fine.
And that’s it.
Mermaids stop existing again.
Because you never actually saw what grabbed you
You only felt the claws around your leg
The cold, clammy hands tugging
With a force that you could never fight against
But you never saw her
So it was all a dream
Right?
And it happens again and again
You are drowning again and again
Until the water begins to feel like home
And the only thing reminding you that you are alive
Is the burning in your lungs
And when everything you had balanced so very carefully starts falling
Off the shelves of your life
When your “mild” depression starts deciding it wants to be more
When being alone makes you feel dead inside
And when losing your cool for one ******* second makes you contemplate your own demise
When do you admit to yourself that you are slipping
You are sinking and just because you can slow your descent
Does not mean that you’re not still drowning
And at the end of the day just because it took you longer to get there this time
Doesn’t mean you aren’t still lying on the ocean floor
Devoid of light and sound
And if you had just climbed onto that now distant boat and sailed away
You’d be fine.
But climbing was too hard
And sinking is so much easier
And you’re scared that if you reach out
Your hands will feel clammy and cold
As they wrap around your friends throats
And drag them down with you
And you would rather rot at the bottom of an endless sea
Than let that happen
So you lie in darkness and wait
For a sound
The singular resounding sound
Of failure
And you slowly float back to the surface
Take a deep breath
And you’re fine.
Because mermaids aren’t real
It’s all in your head

I wanna have lunch with Poe,
at Burger King,

because I'm sure he would appreciate how ghoulish that King in their commercial is

I don't want him to recite verse
while we fill our medium cups with corn syrup nectar--a giant leap
down from laudanum

I do want to ask about the Cask of Amontillado and being walled in slowly, for eternity

for to me that is creepier than all the crimson cream in the Masque of the Red Death

I want to know if he likes the fries--will he dare to dip them in scarlet paste we call catsup

mostly I want to know if he remembers the alley where he was found,

not yet a legend, consumed by consumption and delirium in equal measure

and if there were rodents privileged to hear his last whispered words--or even a gasp

I am buying, Ed, so grab that Whopper with both bony paws and tell me terrible tales, evermore

imagine
how good it would feel to give up on society
no longer follow the bis rules and regulations the human race has demised
leave all the judgement and hate behind and retreat
to an island in the middle of the pacific
or the dead center of the amazon
just you, a loved one and a lifetimes worth of art supplies
youd no longer have to suffice in this demented world
where guilty rapists lies are believed and they are let free to walk the streets
where the police that are quote unquote there to protect us
**** the innocent and abuse materialistic a badge now gives them
a world where every country is divided by color and ruled by one person that is given so much power
this leaves me speechless as why one man can have so much influence even though he is no better than the rest of us
im getting carried away in modern days many flaws
anyway its a nice thought
a peaceful life ha
a thought thats all itll ever be

The chair is sighing
The walls walking
The mirror feeling sick of my ugly face
That curtains are annoying too
I don't see the window in the
silence that chocks the sparrow
The trees has made me a prison
My dreams are long
Longer than the shadows and
with their lappets I'll sew a dress
Its buttons up to my eyes
An afraid balloon may be plays
with the hands of a child in the
distance
And the victim would be a lady
tomorrow letting go all her
childhood in hands of the wind
I look at my future
1- I love to be in the arms of a man
In the hands has not touched any
woman's *******
2- I see a pregnant lady coming
down the stairs not thinking of
her tomorrow
lullabying for the dolls
-I've forgotten all the names of my dolls-
3- I have a child
tying her shoelaces
Taking her warm hands
I can't say how much I love her even in my eyes
Backing home from a daily shopping,
she sings with her childish voice passing through
the alleys
4- I'm old
Mum and dad are not with me anymore
They had to go
The photo frames, just excuses
for touching my memories
The chair is still sighing
The walls walking and
It's just me
Dead this time

صندلی آه می کشد
دیوارها راه می روند
آینه
از زشتی صورتم
استفراغ می کند
پرده ها هم مزاحم اند
پنجره را نمی دیدم
در آن سکوتی که گنجشک را خفه کرد
درختان
زندان را برایم ساخته اند
مدتیست
خواب هایم از سایه ها
بلند تر می شوند
با دنباله اش
لباسی خواهم دوخت
که دکمه هایش از چشمانم
بسته شوند
از دور
شاید
بادبادکی
-هراسان-
در دستان دختر بچه ای همبازی می شد
فردا
قربانی خانمی خواهد بود
که تمام کودکی هایش را با باد
رها می سازد
به آینده ام نگاه می کنم
1- دوست دارم
در آغوش مردی باشم
که دستانش
سینه های زنی را لمس نکرده اند
2- زنی باردار را می دیدم
که از پله ها پایین می آمد
بی آنکه به فردایش بیندیشد
برای عروسک ها لالایی می خواند
-من اسم تمام عروسک هایم را فراموش کرده ام-
3- کودکی دارم
بند کفش هایش را می بندم
دستان گرمش را می گیرم
حتی با چشمانم هم
نمی توانم بگویم
چقدر دوستش دارم
از کوچه ها می گذریم
با صدای بچه گانه اش
شعر می خواند و
از خرید روزانه
به خانه برمی گردیم
4- پیر شده ام
دیگر پدرومادرم در کنارم نیستند
آن ها هم باید می رفتند
قاب عکس ها بهانه اند
تا خاطراتم را نوازش کنم
هنوز
صندلی آه می کشد
دیوارها راه می روند
فقط منم
که این بار مرده بودم