Is fate a myth
Or simply history
In the making?
Time has no control,
Humanity can alter in many ways,
Change is inevitable,
It eventually possesses species
To age and exist,
Change is a chain cycle,
Like repeated life and endless death,
Every time
A new creature is born,
A human is modified
Into an improved being,
Fictional characters attract
Later relations
Becoming real friends,
Emotions rain
Upon nothing,
Carelessness listens,
Rusted persons remain,
Fascination of naive substitutions,
Dissimilar appearance is shown,
It is humor,
A parody act of an individual,
Copycats are role models
Also reversed,
Prototype is modernized,
A flash realization,
Attire is just costumes,
Halloween is every day,
It is bitter
To join a daily moment
Without forgetting happiness,
An original reemerges alone,
Continuous trial and error,
Cancelled plans,
Prevention of bail,
Focus on detachment,
Enemies enhance friends,
Vice versa,
Ignorance, selfishness, and obstinacy
Play important roles
For imminent loneliness,
Layers peel off,
Phases reattach,
Advanced coating,
Flesh is fresh,
Advantage is taken
Before it rots,
Practice makes perfect,
But nobody is flawless,
So why rehearse?
Conversion is harder
Once an escape is made,
Easier to turn back to habits,
Longed antique people
Update to mainstream
For the familiar fame
Causing personal depression,
Difficulty in translation,
One false move,
One mistake
Can shape everything,
Change is for better or worse,
It is neutral,
Trust is a dare,
It shall be a risk if so,
Life is not sacred anymore,
Beautiful opportunities,
Immortal lessons,
Unfulfilled difference,
Generation increases,
Veneration decreases,
A drifter or a breather
From a mundane reality
Lived in today,
Buried childhood,
Alive adulthood,
Until skin wrinkles,
Life becomes dull,
Change is the only regret,
Eyes analyze nouns,
Burn from mutation,
Melt out of sockets,
Now fluid, now tears,
Due to Change
In this planet,
Lips are blankets,
Teeth forever hidden,
Numb dumb face,
No-expression,
Distressful internal scream,
Thanks to Change,
Influence should disappear,
Good or bad,
Abnormal transformation
Is inner and outer,
Every living period,
The topics,
The only events,
Violence will never change
But progress,
*** will never change
But process,
Suicide will never change
But build deaths,
Down to the physique of Earth,
Its decay,
**** sapien extinction,
Change occurs,
Past blurs out,
Present is happening,
Future will shout,
What is not needed
Is pleaded,
What is not wanted
Is taunted,
Creating temptation
To shift self,
Society ripens into rumors
Always developing
Over infinite time,
Civilization is the tumors
Of the world divine,
Of course
Looks mature,
Genes mix,
Still adjusting,
From a caterpillar
To a butterfly,
When insects die,
Old selves perish,
Where there is dead
There is still transition,
Not by action or choice,
Soul disintegrates,
Spiritual decomposition,
Sprouts regenerated seeds,
Change is sane and insane,
It is humane and inhumane,
Keeping some youth
In the heavy heart,
Offspring morph into aliens
Proving Darwin wrong,
What stays human
Is what stays pure
To hinder their contagion,
No matter what at first,
As it grows and grows,
Change is unexpected,
Social morality
Evolves into
Singular morality
Unless hate enters love,
Love is reduced
And produced,
The amount varies,
True passion figures out,
Full respect notices disguise,
Isolation underneath,
Distinct memories
Soon fade obsolete,
Exception of fragile organs,
Mind is psychologically sadden,
Recollection is to function,
If consciousness is missed,
Recreate remembrance,
Reincarnation
For an everlasting current
Since time fluctuates eternally.

Health reflects plateaus,
Thick tears running like rivers,
Arthritic mountains,
Wrinkles ripple at beaches,
Plains welcome the exhausted,

Suburbs look peaceful,
Rural childhood decomposed,
Urban amnesia,
Roads outline the senile brain,
Destination: nostalgia.

Moons fall,
Eggshell snow,
Blurred illumination,
Dreary lights,
Twinkles disintegrate,
Blazed sparks fade,
Faint complexion,
Awkward tree,
Ornament shadows,
Fuses burn out,
Connection lost,
Spirit dies out,
Yuletide lie,
Imperfection.

My eyes are dark as Halloween night.

Suns shine,
White angel,
Luminous site,
Multicolored pigments,
Rosy cheeks glow,
Rays seep through,
Vivid hue,
Elegant she,
Majestic gleams,
Beams strike around,
Fascination found,
Neon dyes around,
Joyful cry,
Pulchritude.

Her eyes are bright as Christmas morning.

We never think about the little details, which began our journey to this instant.
We cannot see the threads that have connected us all along from the beginning.
We have been slowly braiding these strings since we were born without noticing it.
We take for granted the hearts and minds of society, which mold us into today’s being.
We ignore the domino effect of one past event, even though it could have led us elsewhere if different.
We won’t ever know that one person could have altered everything in never-ending time.
We wonder how long and far our destiny goes back to when we finally met that specific human.
We don’t stop to thank the friends who leave and stay for making us open our eyes toward fate.
We forget the grieving of the beloved buried when you and I try to commemorate everyone.
We share a childhood flashback together, a memory once unaware of one another’s existence.
We fast-forward our documentaries expecting tight knots, unplanned outcomes, and made amends.
We experience normal behaviors and are left unsatisfied craving lucidity and astral projection.
We agree on being the original kids cast out with real issues and phobias who nonsensical teens mimic nowadays.
We will only ever hear a few stories out of billions of walking narratives in this loud and silent world.
We are shocked when we conclude that we have more stories with our friends than we ever did with our lovers.
We seek independence to do what we want and have to do unlike our old friends who sacrificed and settled early.
We remember everybody we didn’t get to say goodbye to and wish we can make-up one for each of them.
We want to succeed for ourselves and for our families who are unfortunately stuck with what they got.
We realize things are only getting harder as we get older, but in our youth, we were able to handle anything.
We observe the simplicity of firework explosions because we want to be neon bright and high on happiness.
We try, try, try to remain ourselves when euphoria is lost and give something new a chance for a first opportunity.
We balance out our emotions when we determine that whatever happens, it’s meant to be for self-improvement.
We are caught off guard when all memories, good or bad, are suddenly bittersweet at last.
We decide in the end that it is better to have closure and tie loose ends rather than live as strangers and dwell unfastened.
We hope to discover an entity or someone emotional and understandable like us to end the loneliness.
We continue to strive, to witness the ghosts of morals and lessons and defeat our demons of all sorts of flaws and mistakes.
We do not regret a single choice because the idea of freedom relieves us to arrive at the junctions.
We are tested with our best and worst days to show ourselves we are worthy enough to accept reality.
We keep growing bolder, stronger, and wiser, even when we feel the opposite, to know we are still alive.
We are grateful for the past, the pain and joy, because it guided us here to the forgiving present.
We allow ourselves to become untangled for vulnerability to trust again with the right, relatable bond.
We love and hate from start to finish, from the strands of the cosmos down to the fibers of our bodies.
We think it is strange when a lifetime collapses into a moment with an image but not necessarily.
We found peace in the morning night limbo above the void and life on a place where people find the answer to death.
We ultimately unearth ourselves from acting like fragments of the universe because we come to terms that we are the universe.

I’m a failed musician
Broken
On the side of the street
Against the curb
Just like my guitar
And its useless strings.
At least, I feel I still exist.

I’m a monotonous teacher
Depressed
In a silent, spacious classroom
Behind a podium
Just like my lecture
And its empty words.
At least, I feel I still exist.

I’m a desperate ***
Insane
In a smelly, cold alleyway
Between scraped Dumpsters
Just like my self-made house
And its ***** bed.
At least, I feel I still exist.

I’m a trapped housewife
Alone
In a deteriorating home
Beside unchanged relatives
Just like my furniture
And its absurd point.
At least, I feel I still exist.

I’m a bored adventurer
Hopeless
Out somewhere upon the sea
On this old, worn sailboat
Just like my journey
And its careless end.
At least, I feel I still exist.

I’m a dead poet
Thoughtless
In my lonely, dim room
At my unstable desk
Just like my manuscript
And its blank pages.
At least, I feel I still exist.

Exist, exist, exist!
Through liberty or slavery,
Through love or hate,
Through energy or matter,
Through life or death,
Like Whitman or me.
Just exist for your legacy!

Is it acceptable to **** anyone and everyone you want,
Be mysteriously exposed in your photographs,
Act carelessly with people and friends drunk and drugged and dicked out of your mind,
Forget the hurtful and blissful past for a reputation,
Exist in a way the girl you were never thought you could be the girl you are,
Because you’re in your 20s?

You remind me of the characters Greta Gerwig plays in some of her films,
But not Gerwig herself,
Although you do look an awful like her Hispanic version if there was one;
I guess that’s you.

I bet when I was placing the edge of the razorblade against my wrist,
You were getting penetrated and plowed by a **** between the legs.

Your innocence was smothered by your lust and
Our history got erased by your fears and flaws.

I just wanted you,
But then again, everyone already had you,
And it was not my fault;
It was your choice.

He kept more memories than her.

I knew the sad truth but still chose to hope.

My mother served me food on a plate branded “Hope”,

The gift you gave her that one Christmas,

When I was sober and you were kinder;

It was the life span of a neon light letter.

Isn’t that ironic?

I saw a girl today
As I rode passed her
In the backseat
With Sunny Day Real Estate,
I stared at her
Through the raindrop-stained window
As she just sat there
On her torn lawn chair
In uncut grass and faded pajamas
Doing absolutely nothing
But getting fat and old
And picking at her shirt,
The logo on it was Superman
And all I could do was wonder
Was she ever super before?
Was she related to Clark Kent?
Was she with the Man of Steel?
Was she the decisive or deceived?
Or was it a call for help?
She looked at me
For a split second,
I suddenly knew
Expectations are ruins
Existence only lingers,
The symbol symbolized
A human truth,
Like car lights caught in traffic
On a bridge
Like your being ingurgitated
By the sky
Like the lonely sea passed the waves
For a moment,
Not forever,
No one is special,
Nothing is superb,
Except maybe fiction
Scribbled on dead trees,

Then the car crashes,
My family is compelled to fly,
And I join my friends in death,
As the girl continued sitting,
Being un-super.

Inevitably,
Hearts die without any rest;
Without love, we’re dead.

Symmetrical duplication,
Sphere stained with plasma,
Planet stitched by scars.

Typical introduction,
Sport tossed down for clone,
World thrown curved to teach.

Negligent abandonment,
Phase grown out of claim,
Life passed short in bloom.

I miss the inventive, lost boy who used to live with all of his innocent, free friends playing in Neverland.

The Village was nearly swallowed by darkness,
Until I stumbled upon a fresh fluorescent light,
Emitting an eerie glow out of a subtle all-night diner.
Suddenly, eyeballs projected a noir-style movie.
This unique heaven lit a cemented pathway,
Which led toward nowhere but American desolation.
Exploration of blank stores was not an option;
A disconnected joint across the open street was obvious.
The cornered beacon called to me as if dreams lived,
Though the seamless wedge of glass deflected observation,
Onto the viewer I represented, isolated from the anonymous.
Lungs were not interested in Phillies, only graveyard shift.
The scene held four strangers shut in spacious congregation.
The figures filled in the white void with physical presence,
While each owl was remotely lost in their own thoughts.
Was it the tragedy that occurred at Pearl Harbor,
Possibly the hopelessness World War II offered?
Could it have been the disappearance of happy innocence in ’42?
Hopper alone can probably discover a whole to the loss of words.
Somehow the constructed simplicity was overwhelming:
When late night minds meet morosity yet still produces beauty.
Subjected into one, the loneliness of a large city can exist too.

Every day, except on the week’s tail,
We’d reunite afresh for the ninth time,
This period away from campus,
Behind this small, lonely brick house,
An outcast beside the field of active childhood,
Shielding ourselves within a concrete square
At the edge of the earth,
Where a new world always awaited
For its only population’s arrival
With a train still resting and rusting on old tracks.

I get caught in the moment of happiness.
Your back is up against the wall,
And I am your reflection.
My fingers are warm and moist
As your cold breath is beating on my neck.
“This is what love feels like,” you said surely,
With your cute high-pitched voice,
Adjusting your physique out of self-consciousness,
To attract my shy, indirect eyes for enhancement
When you were more than enough at that point in time.

Glistening sludgy flesh covered with soaked material
Clothed over your bewildered mind
As my heart tried pacing along with yours,
Aching to be one harmonization.
Your excitement was interrupted as you reached the ******,
Still craving for repeated relief and desired euphoria.
Cradling with naivety and no weight to carry,
It was easy to slowly sway like friendly fish at first,
Only a pile of shaky bones rocking back and forth in unison,
Just like the last dance you saved for me four years later.

Then two having the option:
To sit and recite sharp words and hide from selfish society, where promises would imminently be broken
Or lie and make blades dull and stare straight at the blue screen, where judgment would subsequently be found.
Those imaginative and nonfictional stories we told carelessly,
Seeking the sound of our comforting voices,
Just to create conversation and an entertaining impression,
Embodying our lives back into the kids we used to enjoy being.
After the parade, we knew we’d eventually sell out to a cliché.
Laughter would become closure after your departure with the bees,
And our sacred place would transform into any other ghetto by one of us.

At the end of the adventures of Lovita and Stopacho,
I couldn’t resist inhaling missed, edible hope,
As I perpetually did of poetic infatuation,
Near the spot which changed my life alone with you.
I must keep this setting alive for both adolescents,
So we’ll never die like your presence did,
Most importantly, because there was truth in all of that.
Maybe an alternate universe is reserved for us at the same disfigured location.
Those were the most delicious slush floats ever though.
Now they’ll never taste ideal again. Never again.

Is it too much to save a person
And continually be enough forever?

Irregular shapes and acute angles round out the world;
These forms of trash and literature are constantly changing.
An original birth of earth perseveres and colors over disaster.

Satisfaction is mythical,
But from an oyster emerges a pearl.

My existence hunches on the surge of homeostasis,
Peeking through botany and paralyzed life.
These skeletons are coated with flesh, fluid, and cells,
An integument the size of my being in spitting distance,
Admitting natural flaws with debeaked drains and
Demonstrating actual emotion with rearranging face.
Narrow wings without sails are flapping noodled,
Desperately escaping living reality into paradise
In the black eyes which can travel with no hesitation,
Development always unfulfilled at clipped appendages.
An ordinary watcher devours the ghost souls in limbo;

Gravity      allows a wallflower               to soar away                         through                                              diverse emptiness.

I stare into the mother’s eyes
From a never-ending distance.
A barrier breaks the tension
But doesn’t guarantee freedom.

Her environment is pretense:
Three deceiving walls, one exit,
A path to another painting
To live more than forced settling.

An exhibit to real monsters,
Where I, an individual, stand
Yet want to jump into landscapes
And end it, the trapped loneliness.

Time ceases; all animals fuse,
Adapting to fake habitat.
It’s not enough forming routine
Until you discover Love’s zone.

Creature comfort is supportive.
The joey looks like a Joey,
Given warmth in mammal blanket.
My label shall change to Joey.

Life’s surroundings are family.
Since true home is away from here,
That’s all that matters; we are one.
We’re the same. We are not alone.

A tree was planted.
Your heart was the seed.
It created the deepest roots
And sprouted the tallest of leaves.
For many generations,
Sap running through its spine,
Resembled The Giving Tree,
A tradition was left behind.
You’re being more forgotten
As descendants ascend from branches.
Memories still grow in the back of my mind
When a pebble is what a picture catches.

Without you, we wouldn’t be here reuniting,
Playing this game called Life.

All independence is lost
In contradictory
With our fathers on bills,
Portraits with no rights.

Your legs are open vividly.
Your thighs still lie spread needing it.
You’re waiting for *******
With desperate anticipation
To anxiously end temptation
In warm blood, cold sweat, more sleek ***;
And bruises, scratches, rashes, lust.

My legs are standing parallel.
My feet flat grounded wanting it.
I’m waiting for that enchantment
With nothing but hopeful patience
To finally end loneliness
In warm sweat, cold tears, more sleek blood;
And bruises, slashes, deep wounds, love.

Heart is a cocoon,
Revealing emotion slow;
Time makes a human.

I am a dragonfly,
An individual predator to parasites,
Harmless to others,
Gorgeous in spitting distance.
A demon’s saliva is phlegm,
Not the devil’s darning needle,
Strong like rock,
Courageous in summer,
Happy as butterflies,
A symbolic haiku.

I take advantage of Nature’s breath,
Infinite oxygen.
Breathe in deeply.
Notice the pulchritudinous colors everywhere.
Exhale the black and white within.
Yearn for pure silence.
The wind is a timeless whoosh,
Like a transparent soul,
Relieving as it flows through,
Exposure to freedom.

I share this calm scenery
With railroad tracks
And endless meadows,
Left for the feeling of living,
Though pollution contaminates beauty,
Formed wastelands,
Gardens of cacti,
Terrain of mines,
Many holes in Earth,
Ragged scars in us.

I see the fluff of treetop fields,
Look softer than cotton,
No uncomfortable ground.
Buoy above the blue green sphere,
A stroll across clouds,
Walking on water,
Travel over plains,
Wet trees and grass,
Possibly a neglected heaven,
Created gentle dimness.

I pass the eerie black shadows
As if they were people.
Keep heading towards brightness.
The only light to shine,
Connected with character.
Slowly turn around.
Capture the clouds with vision.
Divide sunlight and darkness,
Standing in between okay.
Both elements clothe a being.

I stare up at a blocked void
Into the covered sky,
Squinting sharpened sight
To reduce holy light.
Eyes repetitively flinch
From precipitated raindrops,
A drug on my whole tongue,
Refreshingly cold,
Purified euphoria,
Lovely side of weather.

I let the sun hit washed face.
Hide flooded eyeballs.
Faintly perceive radiance
Through burning eyelids.
An ambient song in mind.
Warm skin reflects heat,
Absorbing vitamin D,
This ray of effulgence,
Brightest star now my shade,
Caught up in it all.

I will miss rainy mass and Sun,
November environment,
Magnificent sunsets,
Illuminate past strands of hair,
Autumn brown view enough.
After Moon comes and goes,
Rise upon us again so we won’t die,
Long-lasting inspiration.
Alive is all I feel now and later,
Together as one with God.

I lay here in silence,
But it is not silent,
A ringing in my ear,
A high-pitched scream,
For it to be quiet.

I lay here in silence,
But there’s still no silence,
A screaming of my fear,
A high-pitched frequency,
For me to not wince.

I lay here in silence,
But it’s never quiet,
Always ringing,
Always screaming,
For silence to be silent.

No sleep,
No silence,
No thing.

Hearts beat silently,
Unnoticeable in chests,
Blood and love hidden.

I miss my childhood.
I miss my innocence and child-like imagination.
I miss the people I still love who used to love me.
Now, people disappoint me.
They’ve always let me down somehow, one way or another,
Abandoning me in the past where I’m stuck in
Where the memories still live and matter,
Stored in my blur forever.
I miss everything and anyone I ever encountered for even just a moment
Whether the situation was good or bad or neutral.
At least, I experienced something and felt something and learned something.
People live in this society where the truth is hidden
Because they know if they ever thought about the truth,
It’d **** them inside,
And we’d all be dead.

You don’t know me; it’s a good thing you don’t.
If you did, you’d be corrupted for your benefits.
What I’m implying is: I’m insane, a genius.
The norm is psychotic; the sane are idiots.
Insanity is the only sane reaction
To understand the people contaminating the world.
I can literally sit here and write you an entire book,
Everything I have to say about the disgusting world existing now.

I’m just boring and depressing and a downer.
Why should you like me? I’m a loser
When everyone else has forgotten about me.
My family doesn’t understand me; they never do, like my friends who are strangers.
I’m incapable to find someone with the same suffering.
I ramble on about my misery knowing you’ve heard similar stories from others,
But you have different pathways as everybody else, not a rarity.
It’s a **** oxymoron: We’re all the same in a different way.

I’m just a ****** up person.