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A B Perales Aug 2014
Sharp pains
and deep
imbedded
red wine
stains
are all
I
can
picture
while
lost in
thoughts
of you.
A B Perales Aug 2014
These journeys
to my days
ago,  in the dark
death of night
or the blinding
shine of a life
giving cloudless
day.

All are but
cheap attempts
to **** the moment
of this day away.

And postpone the
problems that
always come
along with
the next.
A B Perales Aug 2014
Sleepless nights
when I've
laid in
the thick darkness
listening to the
sirens scream
throughout
the city.

Drawn out sleepless
nights ,
nights that I spent
conjuring up
images of better
times.

Sleep deprived
lonely nights,
nights  I spent
counting
someone else's
legless sheep.

Nights I spent
wasting hours
by thinking of
nothing but
the past.
A B Perales Jul 2014
Death which has been
cast upon one by
a sober hand is
indeed the most
intimate of the act
that is ******.

Death in the seeds
of the castor plant.

Death in the barrel
of a dulling syringe.

Death in the growth inside
of you,the one you
never knew you had.

Death of the Love that took
all  we had  to **** .

The Death of reasoning
and reality.

Death of all that we
kept hidden inside of us.

Death in the dancing
girls eyes.

Death on the prison yards
where no one forgives.

Death in the terms of
the ways of our world.

Up close Death ,
just as death by the
knife is personal.

The Death in you
as you pass a beggar
without the least bit
of charity even
crossing your mind.

The Death of our
Heroes.
D.Boons Death.
A Death by
misadventure.

Holy Death
my vengeful
mother
my heart bleeds
red for you.

The Death of
that smiling face
in the
photograph,
that face who
looks too much like
me.

Her promises
reeked
of the Death
of me.

The Death of
the flames
when there's
so much left
to burn.

There is no repulsiveness
in the promise of Death,
it's a tender helping of
frivolity which helps
to ease the unimportant
and minute details that
only you can and
do cast upon this.

The life you're forced
to wait through.
Mi Santa Muerte
que me cuida y cuyo
amor me protege
de mi enemigos
cuyo amor
es todo lo que necesito.
             A.B.P
       San Pedro   Ca .
             7/2014
A B Perales Jul 2014
I found her
drunk and
shoeless,
ankle deep
in the sand
screaming
curses into the
sea.
She called the
circling Gulls her
guardians,
the bottle she
held a
sword.

I asked her
for a reason
and all she
spoke of was
the past.

She reached
to me and took
my arm,
made me
promise not
to ever leave.

I gave her
my word
which she
had already had.

These thoughts
we shared became
magic.

She opened her
arms to me
and I stepped
into her hug.
She smelled of
sweet sweat and
salt water,
a citrus scent
lingered from her
golden sun
blessed  hair.

Dismissing all
the heartache
I took in what she
had to offer.
Sandy kisses,
drunken promises
and all.
I held her tight
and quietly
begged the
Gods to never
let her go.

I placed
soft kisses along
her sand littered
deep tanned
shoulders.
She ran her
bitten down nails
along the back
of my neck.

Somewhere behind
us the world
cast judgement upon
our Love.

We sat as one
watching the children
chase the tide away.
Both of us
quietly wondering how
long this moment
would last.
Our time was now
but our time was
always ending 
as another
version of the
sun burned deep
into the sea.
July 23 2013.
A B Perales Jul 2014
The doubt and
the uneasiness
reverberates all through
my aching bones.
Bounces off
my stained lungs,
sore muscles.
Tears through
my broken heart
and comes to
rest against
my dying kidney.

The skepticism
and uncertainty
brings about a chill.
Like a strong
gust of Arctic wind
against nerve
exposed rotting teeth.

There's so many
masters of this craft,
so many who are far more
greater than I could
ever hope to become.
So many whose words
and whose ability to
get it all out and down
causes me to second
guess my own path.

I don't have what
it takes to turn these
angry questions
and troubling thoughts
into something more
than just drink and
drug induced ramblings
of a man who has set
himself so far apart.

Times like these
I'm afraid.

It's times like
these that I find it
easier to turn
to the
poppy.

These things trouble
me.
Why isn't everyone else
so concerned,
why is it I'm so
unhappy with the way
of our world.
Why is it they
are so easily satisfied
while I'm still so incomplete.

If I stare at the
clock hard enough
this doubt filled
time will
pass.
Just like the
cars full of smiling
clueless ones
pass me by on
Gaffey street.

This time will pass,
as the man in the
brown pants
contemplates a better place
before throwing himself from
the deep green span into a
polluted sea of dish water blue.

This here will
pass like all the other times
I've felt the empty.

This time will
pass, just as the
ages have passed leaving
anwserless questions
within its troubling wake.

This time will pass.
But not until
death brushes its
coldness against my
shoulder before
whispering
a line by Nietzsche
into my ringing ear,
will this time truly end.
A B Perales Jul 2014
Those youth
kissed drunken
nights
when it all
loved you
better than
anything
ever since.

Will there ever
be another
moment like
the first.
Spend our lives
comparing it
all to what
has already
passed.

See those living
in their
Diamond years,
with their
bodies still
like stone and
their minds
yet still
a flower.

Soon
you feel the
resentment slowly
rising up your
aching spine like
mercury.

You know
this feeling
it shouldn't be
there.

Unlike them
you know
of the trials and
disappointments
that lay ahead.

Wish them
well and praise
their youth.
For a bit
of your
yesterdays
will soon be
a bit of their
tomorrows.
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