I still wait for the phone to ring
so that I may hear your voice again
but I'm left with wishes only.

Some nights I'll keep it close, passing
it nervously from hand to hand for
no reason at all. It stays quiet.

Tossing and turning on the bed,
sleepless I'll stare up at the ceiling
and pretend it's a lit night sky.

I'll talk to the spot that was yours
as the illusion of comets glide
down to imaginary fields.

And though I'm alone it'll feel right,
the way nothing ever does now days,
Your shadow accompanying me.

My room will turn into those nights
you have probably forgotten,
the ones in which we shared happiness.

I wonder
If you miss
that at all.

In a dreamlike state
I submerge into the
Deep, deep waters of your
Eyes. Mystic portals so
Intense that by my throat
I’m strangled forward.
Images strange yet
Sweet, but it’s not right,
I believe, just isn’t,
When I’m near they
Appear. Leave me in
Peace! At first it was
some infatuation
but now it is a
sickness, obsession.
As I put pen to
Paper and letter
After letter graved,
Tears of blood splatter
Across; because of
You, because of you.

for not writing anything humorous in a while.
it's been a tough week but i'm now ready to pretend
that i'm actually funny and write some lines that are
not completely lame pieces about heartbreak. i ain't
over it yet but i soon will be. **** happens and
people leave  but there are few choices: i gotta deal.

**[writing about my night time conversations with plush
Jack Skellington a few moons ago intensifies]

There's a million surprises
hidden in a magician's hat.

Million and one:
we hid her body inside.

I was six:

On the steps
Of the small
Carousel

Stood the old,
Greying haired
And mustached

Man in a
Ratty suit
Smiling and

Anxiously
Peering out,
Waited for

Me.

"He is your
Father, say
Hello please"

"Hello" I'd
Said to the
Stranger who'd

Introduced
As father
Yet I hadn't

Met or seen
Before or
After and

That's where it
Ends.
The one,
The only,
Memory
Of him.

Good riddance
I suppose.

Metal orbs
spheres of light
heavenly
guides do not
abandon
travelers
at any
time in their
eternal
quest
and burning
withering
away to
golden dust
carried then
by the winds
withstanding
every
pain struggle
arriving
then
by carriage
at ancient
palace gates.

“"The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown" –HP Lovecraft*

I stood in what I examined to be an ancient and forgotten shrine, to what god or devilish soul, I did not know, but it surrendered a sinister sensation. Its ruined ****** walls lay with some sections long collapsed on the ground, while texts and runes, in dead languages decorated some of the still upright rock. The roof itself was alarming, seen as if it were hanging reluctantly and willing to fall at any moment. A dispiriting, cold wind began blowing upon my face. The air became thick, difficult to breathe, turning every inhalation into a hard fought one and forcing me to continue onwards with this unwanted journey. I slowly crept out of the temple and found myself in complete darkness. There was no sun, moon or stars above, only a great barrier of pitch black nothingness. I studied the veil trying to make sense of this but surrendered and commenced following a wrecked trail carved on the earth.

The scene caused a sudden sorrow to spellbind me. Few trees remained in root, dry and dead, with branches pointed up at the heavens they appeared to be praying for mercy from a god that refused to answer. The ground was littered by branches and the grass was so withered that it was ash more than anything. This dim path that I found myself walking through warned me and all other unfortunate travelers, sending a clear, terrifying message: All hope and joy were gone, completely disappeared in this abduction of the mind. This domain was a plagued one. I heard in the distance howls of suffering and pain, savage and demented laughter; I assumed that these were emanated from whatever tormented and diseased creatures that resided here in this unholy place. These sounds, these horrid songs would’ve made even the strongest adventurers, quiver and cower. Evil permeated the region.

As I walked, a sickening green mist with the presence of death rose from the soot drenched soil surrounding and covering everything ‘neath my knees. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw something shift in the dirt; a shadow now lurked hidden. I hoped that it were nothing but a mirage produced by my disturbed and weakened senses. Signs that my state of mind was slowly driving itself into mental insanity, yet lunacy at this point was bettered desired than a confrontation with any beast of cosmic horror that slithered through this wasteland.

Quickly, I discarded such an idea; it terrified me, the presence of a monster did. Gripped and strangled by panic I began to gently ease myself forward when again a shade dashed through the mist, this time, the sound of hooves accompanied it. I staggered back in fright and tripped ******* a branch, falling and hurting. I whimpered, feeling something wet, most likely blood, seeping from my now wounded left leg. “Please! No!” I yelled at the mysterious specter. Pleading to the unknown being, my vision was blurred by the sick fog, my lungs drowned with the stench of otherworldly dread and a fit of coughing possessed me.

The shadow stepped closer becoming distinguishable but not yet fully visible. It was humanoid in form and stood hunched, breathing heavily, on two legs. The fog dispersed for a few seconds. Pale skin, hair black as the ground, malevolent blood red eyes; those dead, revolting eyes glaring! Staring! The most shocking thing I then discovered: The beasts face, ‘twas mine!

such a greasy pan.
mornin' bacon sizzlin' - our
cholesterol high.

The key was lost
among the books
and
crumpled papers.

The phone rang loud
through the empty
house
but no answer.

The fan above
would spin and spin
like
a dark whirlpool.

The bottle slept on
the wooden floor
boards
spilling slowly.

Somewhere in that
mess, pills scattered
on
the bathroom sink.

A fly explored
the planet that
kept
it prisoner.

And
quietly
the
breathing
stopped.

there's a shadow
in the coffee shop,
at the back of
the coffee shop,
on the wobbly
chair, table,
resting on
peach walls
taking slow seeps
from a large cup.

there's someone
attached to
said shadow but
it holds no
emotion,
it holds no
expression,
it's not
alive,
it's not
willing,
it's trapped.

poor thing,
it is
nothing
more than
a shadow
on a coffee shop
wall.

I have eaten the last of the Corn Pops
and I feel like life no longer holds meaning .
Perhaps the calcium overdose from eating
a cereal box with a gallon of whole milk in 1 hour
will **** me and soon enough I'll never have
this empty lost feeling ever again.  
In other words... I'm still hungry.

There once was
A coward
Who lived in
Hiding from
Others but
Not because
He wanted
To but that
He was scared
To open
Up the doors
Of outside
And be a
Part of the
World that slept
But how he
Wept longing
For outside
And contact
And for friends
But he couldn't
Do it and
Every
Time he was
Sure convinced
That he would
Do it and
Go outside
The fear crept
Near him forced
Him to stay
Inside closed
Doors shaded
Windows dark
And he cried
And he cried
Because he
Couldn't do it
And it was
So very
Cold inside
Warmth remained
Out of his
Arm stretched reach
He was but
A coward

our nearest Dennys
was shut down and we were drunk
so we crashed our car.

"Spend your life behind bars"
big companies whisper
in your ear
while standing on your shoulder.
"Spend your life behind
the bar codes",
prison of the consumer.
there is no escape
in such a society,
addicts stand
nervously at the prison yard
ready for their next fix,
the guards open the doors
to the mall
and like cattle
the consumers follow.
Behind the bar codes
trapped
forever.

I'm sobbing into an empty cereal bowl of broken dreams

I think about packing my clothes in a guitar case,
drinking enough cans of some energy drink to not **** me ,
                               and catching the first bird outta here.

"Fly me into the open mouth of the horizon
And let it swallow me whole until I become nothing,
                               Maybe then i'll be smiling".

What a **** joke.

Stone and stone
and black street
of these concrete
paths.
a laugh
from burning man,
the bloated veined man,
that stands on his kingdom,
that stands on stone and stone.
the yellow teeth,
gold like his withered kingdom,
that both host refusal,
refusal
to shine under
sun or thunder's
roar,
for
he's a king,
the king
of stone and stone
and the needle his queen.
oh gentle queen!
caress him with a kiss,
a last cold kiss,
"goodnight
goodnight".

Alt-Title:Prince of  the Street/ Filth and his Highness

Alarm - 7:30AM
Gonna cook.
Eggs. Bacon.
Read the paper.
Jog in the park.
Be productive.
I'll... I'll...
***** it.
Alarm - Off.
Gonna sleep.

the ocean isn't majestic,
it's just a huge salty toilet!

Failing to comprehend
The idea painted
In colors gray and white
Dull and sad
Not a smile
Among it
The picture spoke
In foreign tongues
Flashing its surreal
Blood
A chalice was brought
So that it'd flow
And then ‘d drink
Absorbing the
Terrifying truths
Scattered upon
The canvas yard

Morning newspaper
Greets you with a smile
“Thank you paperboy”
Swallowing tablets
At the sunny ball
Watching the faces
Shape shift into rabbits
Morphing
Into who knows what
Feel like Alice
Explosions of color
And grandeur
Overwhelming voices
Lead the game
“I am God” shouted
They laugh eternally
Though it’s only
Temporally
And clouds devour
The yellow sun
Raindrop suicide
With their mile high jump
Tambourine and guitar
And the dancing
So much dancing
That summer is lost
Among the headbands
And shirtless kids
A blur
A blur
But what a swell time!

I turned the radio on
again for the first time
in months.
terrible thing,
to turn on the radio;
not the news,
not the music,
none of it
is any good.
I hate the radio.
And I hate that
I turned it on even
more but I was bored
in that silent car
with that silent person
and my thinking was
that it might
do some good
but I was wrong,
very wrong.
The host
was a bore
and the news
was dull
and the music
was repetitive
and dumb
and the callers
were worst,
stupid like their radios.
It's been minutes
since we left the car
and that torture instrument,
thank the gods.

sister:
you smile too much
and i
hope that doesn't change
because
if there's one thing
i'll tell
you is that life
is a
game with so few
winners.
so smile, don't stop
for me
or anyone,
smile and
win it for us,
'cause hon',
big bro has gone
and lost.

A sealed letter
rested on
a rocking chair
at a house
that overlooked
a blue sea.

The ink recent
black and wet
waited for the
young man to
come and read it.
Sea foam rose.

And the rocks kissed
by the soft
lips of the sea,
someone joined
their *******
forever.

The letter read
"...I'm sorry..."
and the young man
wept on that
porch, on that chair.
"...Goodbye, love".

on this october night, while i ponder on the crisp toilet seat
and feel my body shiver from the awful lack of heat,
one single ****, compact and long, from my ******* falls,
and into then rank toilet water it splooshes and splashes.
on the porcelain i clench my feet and moan, it echoes through the halls,
my *******, it burns! (lo, how it burns!) as if a ***** went in full with scratches.
how i pray to God Almighty, "forgive me Lord for I have sinned",
in this ****** place i sit aroused and weary, The light is dimmed,
from the corner of my eye, my end nigh: i sigh, Lord. i sigh!
the toilet paper is gone, i cannot handle the vapor (nor my **** gaper).

The mountains went green
some time ago.
The flowers opened
some time ago.
The road did smile brown
some time ago.
The birds sang again
some time ago.

All beauty returned
some time ago,
All of it except
you.

Thank you Hemingway
for putting the fun
back into my reading.
It been so long since
I had read for enjoyment
and not to study
some style,
some writer,
some time,
some setting.
The book was yellowing,
The Sun Also Rises,
bullfights, Spain, wine,
women, even writers,
all those things and more.
Last time it
was checked out
of that school library,
10 years ago,
**** long time.
I took it,
read it,
devoured it.
Brilliant!
Rough and honest.
That thing deserved
to be read and I'm glad
that it was by me.
Sometimes books just capture you,
make you wanna be in the middle
of the action with the characters,
live the story with them,
and I guess we do.
So in summary
and once again,
Thank you Mr H.

I never did trust this goldfish
while typing.

Its bulging eyes scream spy,
and I won't have it escape,
tell people from wrong crowds
about these secret writing projects.

Circling its crystal bowl,
this goldfish is mine.

A political prisoner
with no chance at pardon.
Call Amnesty International
or protest, I don't care.

It knows too much
to swim in freedom.

(Eventually)
Death will be its liberator:
Its body glistening in the sundown
during the proposed viking funeral;

secrets kept secret.

Never did I trust goldfish when I was typing away.
Those bulging eyes say spy and I will not have this
animal escape when I'm not looking and tell someone
in the wrong crowd about my secret writing projects.
This goldfish,
circling this crystal bowl,
he is mine,
a political prisoner.
Call Amnesty International if you want but
there's no existing manner to free him.
Except death.
Then he will be given a proper viking funeral
and his body burnt in the glistening sundown.
Secrets kept secret.

The day will start with some coffee
The best type, bitter sweet, hot,
Drinking it ‘neath the morning sun
Heading out, Fall, cool breeze blows,
Colored leafs dance. Sit in the park
On a bench, the birds flying south,
Writing the happiest verses-  poems.
A lovely girl will pass, smile,
Eyes look into eyes, love making,
'Twas but a second. Whistling
Strolling back to a small diner,
Lunch, something fierce, dessert too,
Music playing, a cool sax tune,
Jazz for the background, waitress
“Will you have anything else, sir?”
“Coffee, black, and the check. Thanks.”
One last cup before taking leave,
Sipping, thinking and with joy,
Great tasting like the earlier drink.
The sun’s going down, sky’s orange,
The loud cars honking on the street.
Back in the apartment tired,
The notepad on the bedroom desk,
Sitting on an old armchair,
Looking out towards the city,
it’s all full of life, sleep creeps
near and I slowly doze off.
And this is how I wish to die.

Laying down
on the ground
thought not found
invisible crown
on that head
killer cold
"oh man, we're old"
soon be dead
not learned
yet
a needle earned
gone fast like a jet
they leave
they leave
they got a ticket
from the street guy
a new trinket
and they'll leave
great goodbye

What was it
But melting candles
As they burn through
The loud silence of the night
A flame dancing the waltz
With the voice of the wind
As it sang their melody
And we watched
The melting candles
Our eyes meeting
Wine stung kisses
And wet bed and sheets
Cool, so cool to the touch,
Skin golden, a treasure,
The memories quick to flee
Another lost
What was it

it's raining and thundering
hard
and
the sun is hiding
somewhere.
the roommate that's full of lard
is in slumber
and
there's no one to disturb me.
it is but me
and the rain and thunder,
with a pen and piece of paper.
it is a good day,
this, now, today.

I still dream of you sometimes,
the same way I did before,
you choking me
and I turning
the color blue.
I dream it in 3rd person,
that hasn't changed at all either.
The cheap mattress,
dusty floor tiles,
and the belt grasped
tightly in your slightly small
hands, coiling it like a boa,
the fan spinning,
my head spinning,
all things spinning,
you strangling me, wickedly
smiling, laughing, you on me,
then I wake up,
no one is there,
but I'm still hard.

Normally this place is colder than a penguin's ****
But Holy Satan, it's steaming right now
And I'm sure it's not my cappuccino
Or the fact that i'm wearing a hoodie,
Must be (it is) the movement of your buttocks
Over there on the little wooden stage
That nobody uses except for sitting and
playing with those lame monster cards.
You and your friend, yeah, that one.
The girl that was on the table behind mine,
sneaking a peek at my iPad as it streamed
The Twilight Zone, the episode with the piano
That reveals what people hide in their souls
(****, lucky that isn't here or
They'd call the cops on me for
Like ****** assault or something),
Began twerking randomly when you called her
And are still going at it, as if you're telling her lessons,
And i'm sitting here pretending to be paying attention
To Rod Serling's monologue intro
When really i'm looking at that popping shake.
Holy Satan! "Control yourself" I think
"Oh what's that? I don't remember
Having a highlighter marker in my pants.
Oh ****, that's not it, ******* it."
And now you're showing your friend
How to seductively move that stomach,
This is bad (no, it's perfect),
You pulling your shirt up a bit
Above the belly button and doing that.
And how come i'm the only one here
Noticing this (besides your friends at the table).
I know the place is mostly empty but
It's a small space, it's easy to see this,
Yet these idiots are drooling over their
New Pokemon game; what the ******* hell?
When you've got the greatest show on campus
Going on right ******* there! I don't get it.
Am I like a perv or something? (Yes).
To the girl with the goddess body
Twerking all nerdishly and awesome
In the coffee shop:
Don't stop,
******* it.
Holy Satan,
Don't ever stop!

I'd finger you with
mozzarella sticks
any day or night.

What a show!
What a pose!
Who exactly do you think you are?
Hemingway?
Fitzgerald?
No.
Can't be.
Those guys wouldn't drink
this so called coffee
in this hell hole.
Look at the guy making
the drinks, clearly an idiot,
oh but look at him now,
pretending to be reading
some philosopher
I've never heard of.
Yes, pretending,
I can see him
eyeing his sides
to make sure someone
is watching.
And you
typing away on that machine,
that dinosaur,
in your thrift shop clothes
wearing that dumb beret,
so special.
I'm going to leave
the pretentiousness
that surrounds me here,
it's truly numbing and sick.
Forget Starbucks,
I'm going to that bar
across the street.
Whiskey is cheaper
than this cup
of coffee flavored water.

My room is a mausoleum
Housing this living corpse.

The windows are always shut
And the lightbulb stays off.

A fan on the ceiling blows,
Though not hard enough, 24/7.

There're empty water bottles
Discarded on the floor

By the dozens serving as
Unofficial decor.

Filthy clothes everywhere
Mingle happily as

If ****** with the ramen cups
And chocolate wrappers.

A skyscraper built from books
Raises it's ink stained arms

Up towards the concrete sky
Pleading, crying, to be read.

Crumpled papers, like scriptures
Belonging to God, yell

Unfinished lines of poetry
During the Dead's strolling.

The aroma of burnt cigs
Stains the air and green walls.

Another wine bottle hides
In the closet, elixir

For the trapped. A skull, candles,
And a pack of tarot

Sit expression less and
Calm inside the nightstand.

Posters and poems line the walls,
Their eyes observe the goings.

A bed, the coffin, stands deep
In the peering darkness,

Stiff and terrible, alone,
A headstone slab pillow,

Accommodate the carcass.