My arms are infinite extensions of the universe within my breath. My eyes smudged telescopic kaleidoscopes tinted with the shade of reality. My lungs are pretending to move with the harmony of Om and the balance of stars. Stars. Stars that often imagine themselves as warriors and bears, clocking in infinite time for the job of  "Inspiration", contractual every few million years. And then they rotate, revolve, imitate and dissipate into new configurations of dead lights. And over a backdrop of pitch black voids of offices after hours, stars are the friendly, warm glowing windows at the next block, in heavy rains. Stars will remain though our own species retains our blood-lust for fellow brothers and sisters and Gaia. Stars that can only be seen through infinite extensions of vision, and only reached by the arms that strive to thrive in kaleidoscope waters viewed from smudged telescopes.

against the currents of regret and forgetting
i have learned to dive into myself
but when i regret forgetting
i must dive deeper





                                

                                                      and i fear i may have


                                                                                     drowned.

listen to the vibrations.
do you feel the resignation
of your destination
leaving you under trance
of the illusion of sound
in the air?
that, my dear friend,
is a hallucination.

barbed wire inside my lungs
and fingertips
accented in irony of the
white picket fence
around my chest

i imagined,
vividly,
that this new year would bring
forgiveness and
now i see,
vividly,
it has not.
not completely.
not for you,
not for me.

on the edge of the blade of a dying year
that cuts dull and burns gray,
i abandon all abandons
and commend all amends.
thank you dear,
i'm sorry fear,
let us get together soon confusion
and water down wine
with our blood.
outshine all shine
lit until two seconds before yesterday of now,
i will abandon all abandons
and commend all amends.

Number One
Tell your roommate to hide all the knives
because you will carve her name on all pieces of furniture.
Number Two
Cut your nails
because you will still try to carve her name on all pieces of furniture.
Number Three
Give away your furniture
because carvings of her name will remind you of her.
Number Four
Carve her name on everything
until her name looks more like vandalism
and less like the name of someone who carved something out of you.
Carve her name until it looks less than the war cry
that you will lay your heart for,
less than the title of the song that keeps you up at night,
less than the poem that makes you get up every morning.
Though she is
was
is
your everything and nothing,
carve her name.
You have to.

the skin is an *****
but you have a piano
with music between every
black eye
and
white scars
of cigarette burns

mourn the dead
for their final white light
was stolen by flames
and metal pellets.

mourn the living
for our long forgotten unity
was stolen by terror
and prejudice.

uni-prejudice-ty
should be a word
to describe the world
of us, humanity

stargazing tonight
i promised her this night sky
but what if it rains?

underneath the understanding to agree
to disagree
there itches a singular itch
which
******* about how you
or quite possibly me
wasn't quite ready
for any
and all
forms of understanding.

in the beginning
she was sad.
she looked over the vast expanse of emptiness
inside her chest
and said to herself;
"i am sad"
so there was light.
every corner of her void
lit up with the haste of a light switch
flicking every bit of shadow outward
and revealing all the dark that light could not touch
and she saw this darkness that remained still
and said to herself;
"i am sad"
and so came the horizon.
a single line that divides drowning and flying
often blurred by sunrise and sunset
always gazed upon and set as a destination
but never quite reached
because she never learned how to swim
and so she made land.
she made contact with her feet
walking among the trees
that fell her dreams in forests with only her to hear
them
and she heard them all.
calling her either too thin
or too thick
or too willing
or too undecided whether to gasp for air or grasp his hair for more
so she became the moon.
surveying every shore and valley
shining light on those that would dare to look up
beyond their own realities and insecurities.
but as she looked around herself
she saw that the sky was bare
so she found her birds.
friends that would share the air around her
and let her breathe
with the wind from their wings
lifting her up beyond all that she thought she was
and she smiled a crescent moon and became what she forgot she was, beautiful.

when i looked up at the moon
i saw no moon
i only saw the craters in her heart
contrasting the brightness of her soul
beautiful.
when i landed on the moon
i gazed upon the earth and saw a planet
and not seven point one billion people
not seven point one billion reasons to be disappointed
in the advances of new ways we can hurt each other.
no, while i was on the moon,
as far as i was concerned,
out of seven point one billion people living,
only one exists;
her.
she was my moon
and i was her's
but that was then
and this is now
and it's time to face present;
on the seventh day, god rested
on the fourth week, she attested to the proof around her
and she saw all
and said to herself;
"i am glad"
and we felt how we felt
and we did what we did
and it was wonderful
and spectacular
speaking only in vernacular
familiar
only to our minds
that synchronized
speaking words we never spoke
and made promises we never swore
and we knew how we felt about each other.
it was beautiful.
we were beautiful.
but that was then
and this is now.
we built too high too soon
giving each other all the bricks
that composed the walls of our broken hearts
and so the tower of babel collapsed
and we spoke in different tongues
left trying to guess what every gesture
and word could possibly mean
and i was desperate.
she looked at me and said;
"i am scared"
and so we became what we used to be
in the time when we felt no doubt about each other
because we didn't know one another back then
we became strangers.
passing each other in crowded hallways
trying to avoid each other's existence
and in the test of togetherness
we dropped from a perfect score of one hundred
to zero.
we sank in the ocean we made of our melted selves
and she took the last lifeboat to the horizon
and left me gasping for the air
that used to be between our lips
shivering in the cold of the lack of her embrace.
but i know how to swim.
i reached the shore.
looking for shelter i found that every door
that leads to her has locks with her name on them
and for the life of me
i could not remember the combination
or if she even gave it to me.
so i built my own house.
it's crooked
leans a bit to the left
with four walls, a roof, a floor
and a door
that i'm leaving open.
you don't have to knock
or find a key
feel free
come in again.
and if ever you don't
i'm not staying here
i'm not giving up.
i'll go out
and for the first time in five years
i'll knock on your door first.
i'll ask if i can come in,
i'll reintroduce myself
and ask permission
to know you again.
and i hope
that when we meet once more,
you'll say to yourself;
"i am glad."

-ends
in the dark of the endless light
we watch the ****** bleed
blood flows and floods
drowning death’s eternal reign
in the light of the eternal dark
we see the sons of man
beheading, murdering and destroying
drowning in the lake of tears
and it shall be until it-

-i can’t stop looking at you

-i love you

-i barely know you, tell me more

-i will never leave you

-sometimes i feel lonely

-please forgive me. if you still can

-anything you want, tell me; i owe you a lot

-you of all people know i can’t keep my word

-i’m gonna be honest, i like you

-why didn’t you walk away?

-i miss you

-does it really have to be like this?

-it’s hard to forget you

-i never realised you could be like this

-old habits die hard, sorry

-i wish we could just start over

-i owe this all to you

-you know i’m trying to change for you

-hi! i don’t think we’ve met, what’s your name?

The Evil

in the depths of the woods of Forest Dark
lies Evil as old as Time
waiting
waiting
to ****
destroy
devour.
the end is near.

The Man

in the depths of the concrete jungles of City Light
in his home lives Man of Knife
walking
talking
standing in dark corners.
sometimes he wipes the blood from Knife.

The Children

inside the remembered mind of Forgotten Nobody
lies the Forgotten Children
as they were
dead
cold
pale
buried.
sometimes Nobody remembers them scream.

The Unborn

inside the warm womb of Woman
sleeps Messiah Unborn
resting to redeem
and save
a world prepared
to lock Him up with Insane.
or **** Him.

The Druid

on the far mountains of Distant
lives Druid reading
books
runes
prophecies.
he knows of Evil.
but nobody hears him
at Distant.

The Sky

once there was a sky.
now there is none.

The Evil**

is now awake.

the noise.
inside my head.
inside me.
the breathing.
my breathing.
i can't think over the sound of my own breathing.
it's loud.
i can't hear it.
i can't think over the sound of my own breathing.

in the beginning
she was sad.
she looked over the vast expanse of emptiness
inside her chest
and said to herself,
"i am sad"
so there was light.
every corner of her void
lit up with the haste of a light switch
flicking every bit of shadow outward
and revealing all the dark that light could not touch
and she saw this darkness that remained still
and said to herself,
"i am sad"
and so came the horizon.
a single line that divides drowning and flying
often blurred by sunrise and sunset
always gazed upon and set as a destination
but never quite reached
because she never learned how to swim
and so she made land.
she made contact with her feet
walking among the trees
that fell dreams in their forests with only her to hear them
and she heard them all.
calling her either too thin
or too thick
or too willing
or too undecided whether to gasp for air or grasp his hair
so she became the moon.
she orbited his world from above
surveying every shore and valley
shining light on those that would dare to look
up beyond their own realities and insecurities.
but as she looked around herself
she saw that the sky was bare
so she found her birds.
friends that would share the air around her
and let her breathe
with the wind from their wings
lifting her up beyond all that she thought she was
and she smiled a crescent moon and became what she forgot she was,
beautiful.
and finally,
she said to herself,
"i am glad."

it's three in the morning
and i'm wanting
nothing
but
to feel
something
that's unfamiliar
like the heat of december.

how do we start?
which ***** should we ****?
shall we start with the heart
or begin with the brain?
which emotion should we tackle first;
the painful ones
or the happy ones
that serve as reference points
and reasons to be angry
about being sad?
how shall we begin?

§

you are a rock.
a stone
uncarved
deeply scratched.
under the heat
of ice
cold
people
and the heavy weight
of downing
gravity,
you transform
into marble.
reflective
unmoving
hard
immobile.
but as with all things,
there is an equal and opposite
reaction
deduction
of a solution;
fly.
be the philosopher within the scientist
and exclaim
"it's gravity that's been dragging us down!"
be the child inside the old, grounded pilot
and look up
fly.
the impact of a planet's worth of gravity
is enough force to eject you out,
soar.
view the world
and survey the oceans and beaches.
start becoming the dreamer dreamers turn to to dream.
fly.
and be the moon.
you already are.

You
Are
No
Pseudo-*******-omni-paleo-poly-di-auto-uni-contradicto­ry
Idea.
Be
You.

i may have pushed you too far.
i may have pushed me too far.
this is me
desperate
half awake
half hoping you'd never hear what i did
half believing that is dishonesty
fully conflicted by internal misconduct.
but there's still a fraction
not a null, but a significant portion
that believes it has to get much worse
before it gets much better.
and i'm getting much worse.
so hang on until sunrise, i say
to you
and me.

step 1
breathe. calm down as much as you can. this could get difficult so don't let your breathing be another problem. breathe.

step 2
face fact. you are not well so stop pretending to be. you are not well so start trying to be.

step 3
state what you know about yourself. your brain isn't good with memories, and your heart isn't as strong a muscle as you hope it is. so write.

step 4
remember. you made her promise to make you remember her. you said that you will forget her. you said you will be depressed. you said that you do not want to do this, but know that you must.

step 5
double check. i promise i will do all i can to remember her. i will not let myself forget her as simply as i stated it. i will fight. this has to happen, but it's to be alone and not to feel numb and forgetful.

step 6
remember. remember all you can about her. write it all down.

step 7
write.

step 8
remember

step 9
**repeat from 1

the first time i tasted your lips
i regretted smoking too much that night.
my lips were cracked
and the only thing i tasted was menthol cigarettes.
took me a few hours to realize
i wasn't the one who smokes menthol.

we didn't just kiss, we held a competition
for dry lips and we are the only contestants
and each other's judges
performing on the stage of the mattress
horizontal
under the lights turned off.

kissing you is evolution in reverse
having two independent and capable persons
downgraded to having to rely on each other for breath
and even through the eons we have grown to walk upright
we curved our backs into question marks
asking each other why
and replying with nonspeaking lips.

kissing you moves from chapped lips grasping each other with gentle sandpaper caress
to gliding across one another with glimpses of tongues and teeth
breathing one another in
ragged
rasping
panting
deep breaths.

and it was wonderful.

remember when I told you
burning ice, frozen fire
remember when I used those words to describe you?
Well it's true, that's how far back I knew
I honestly thought you'd have a clue
that the ice is you
you are cold
I say again, you are cold
i'm not even going to withhold
a third time; you are cold
but the kind of cold I look for
after spending a couple of hours
walking around in the midday heat
looking for that one place that has good air conditioning
you are cold
the kind of cold I try to look for
when it's two past boiling outside
and the air feels like two inches from a car exhaust
you are cold, and I kind of like that
then again, you are fire
you are warm
like a candle flame you flicker
causing odd shadows to be cast
and causing odd shadows to disappear
and hell yes you're a horrible person
really really horrible at seeing you from my point of view
because then you'd understand the answer to your question
you won't even know, because I don't either
but you'd understand
that you're asking me why blue is blue
and why one isn't two
the answer can be stated simply as
“that's just how it is”
and it'll take more than a few headaches to properly explain
the science behind the color spectrum
and the mathematics behind the identity of numbers
and even those combined
can't hope to come close to answering your question
because no amount of science and no amount of math can explain
why you are such a wonderful person
because you are
that's just how you are
you are like that silence between an inhale and an exhale
a breath but the absence of
that bit of a straight line in a circle
a snowman built on the equator
a contradiction beyond recognition
and the only thing I see in this simulation
is that no matter what avatar you use
no matter what ruse
you are a wonderful person
you are wonderfully complex
and if I try hard enough
the complexity can become a singularity
running on transitivity like a machine
a machine that creates nothing but contradiction
like the contradiction of ice that is burning
and of fire that is freezing
and that's you
this is a short poem, but if I try and use all the words
to try and tell you why I trust you
alien civilizations would rise and fall
and their languages combined in a summation
would not even cover one half of why I put my trust in you
I just do

i want to take you home
even just for a night
we can eat pizza i ordered
and you can have the last slice

we can watch a movie
but i won't follow the plot
i'll just be watching you
and every scene of your body

maybe we can kiss for a bit
and i'll do my very best
but i won't tell you
that i don't know where my toungue goes

how about we sleep together?
i'll try to make you happy
i'll just pretend
that i know what i'm doing

and in the morning
i'll compliment your eyes
and i hope my words aren't stale
like the pizza we had

what is that?
how do you do that?
mona lisa’s got an enigma
but like da vinci
you painted a mystery
and that mystery
is a smile.
how do you do that?
that’s not an enigmatic smirk
that is ecstatic
with erratic curiosity
looking for pragmatic explanations
behind what is there
and most possibly isn’t.
but unlike mona lisa
it’s not a question of
smiling or the presence of anti-smile,
there is emphatic unspoken
rhetoric
that states
indeed it is a smile
and I might be sounding dogmatic
but it is irrefutably,
monochromatically,
a smile.
and a nice one at that.
but how do you do that?
it’s still mysterious.
like looking at something
that’s obviously there
but having a gut feeling
that it’s an iceberg
and you can only see the very tip top
and there’s an entire glacier
hidden under
how do you do that?
i don't meet many craftsmen
but one i'd like to greet
is the one who crafted your mask
that makes me doubt;
what is perfection?
am i simply mesmerized
by the curl of your mouth
and the squint of your eyes
when you smile?
or is there, somewhere outside my field of knowing
a master mask maker
toiling on endless tasks
designing masks that look like faces?
or is that really your face
and if so
were you first in line
when the angels were painting?
all this from a smile.
there’s this feeling of unknowing
like seeing a veil
and knowing that there’s something under
but the very thought
seems distorted by water
that dampens ideas
until you aren’t really sure
is it a veil or is it a goblet?
a goblet filled to the brim with wine
that’s been aged with years of stories
and of jokes and bad puns
and hands held and tiny whispers
that end in a smile.
that smile.
what is that?
how do you do that?
while I could keep asking these questions
I believe it is beyond courtesy to do so
and so here, shortened by the policy
of being polite and proper, I’ll say;
nice smile.