Skin to skin
flesh pressing in,
till our shared
compressions
cause a ******.

Then we could
finally relax,
and I’d be
fine with that.

Passion and lust
are so stressful,
struggling to be
successful
in ******
competition,
to fulfill
our desire
with no
inhibition
is such a sloppy
kind of mission.

It is harder
to master
than nuclear fission,
so my decision
is to do it myself.

I have learned to look away
form the gleaming day
to embrace the shade,
to kiss the lips of my pain,
and smile nostalgically
knowing there is no hope for me.

I have learned to love
unpossessively
because any higher degree
would probably be seen
as super creepy
from this old and sleepy
crater sized cracked
heart hole that leaks
poetry which speaks
to the innermost of my
cringy crying ghost being.

In observing from
a digital distance
I have forgone
the need for any resistance.
You can be as dismissive
as you would like to be
and will not really break me.

I am super friendly
adoring
the heart you’re exploring,
whilst ignoring
any potential heartache
because a heart that breaks
from this far away
doesn’t hold any shape.
It’s just pretty little
glittering glass shards
sparkling and dancing
in the early spring
as I lay down to sing,
its crystal razors shredding
my heart from
the equal distance of
fantasies and the sun.

In person I would
happily succumb,
lay under your thumb
green with envy
for any other who
would challenge me
for just a fraction of
a chance to love and see
those feeling returned to me.

But on the internet
you are my sweet 2d
daydream that screams
blood curdling visions
of inspiration into my being.

It's the same high stakes
bootstrap narrative that takes
a creative license with
the stories of people that really exist.

It's a biopic,
a fictionalized
version of some real lives
told with real lies.
Till we realize,
we need clear eyes
unclouded by corporate lies
to understand what lies
behind the underhand
and reveal how humans
actually expand
their consciousness.

So fatigued,
glued to
what I see
as heavy
lids pull me
down to sleep.

But just before
I am pulled to
the other shore,
where stars
and dreams
beckon me
to a place
beyond belief,

I lay pondering
all that I have been
squandering,
wondering
how long
can a road
roll on
till all
my family
is long gone,
till I can’t go on
cause I am
all alone
wondering what
else could go
oh, so wrong.

Sleep claims
that stress
that strains
my overtaxed brain
and I wake the next day
feeling ok.

Oh, how I wish
my tears
would steer clear
of the fear that
lives here.

I am tired
of the hate
that is inspired
by the spiral
of bad faith
actors working
in accord
with each other
to enhance
the discord
that smothers
compassion.

I am exhausted
from passing
my passion
from within
to my pen,
from my mind
to my computer
and pasting
pieces of poetry
on social media
sites
that profit from
greed and destruction
in the form of
views and ads.

It all feels bad,
and I would be glad
to grab
a long nap
and never have to
rise and see
the violent spree
of soldiers killing
civilians,
while the state claims
that these children’s
suffering is justifiable,
that these horrors
are deniable,
that these lies are viable,
going viral, and capable
of making some lives
less valuable.

I curse the craven curs
who perpetuate hate,
ignorance, and redundancy,
while I personally long
for likeminded poets
who expose the struggles of
the questioning dispositions
which leads to depressing positions
of uncertainty,
because that eventually leads
to the new ideals we need
to improve our society.

Many hearts could be broken
by the smallest token
of your strange affections;

How delightfully crushed,
cause hearts always want too much
as such jealous and hopeful
****** beating things
that turn out to be less agile
and more perfectly fragile.

As for me I will treasure these
sweet poetic interludes
at a safe distance from you,
cause I am certain
that you could put a major hurting
on my heart.

I will get small sparks
for little parts
of playful verses
throughout the day,
then type and save
them to my phone.
Eventually, working them
into to something by the end
of the night,

but if I don't have
any inspiration by evening's end,
I will play some instrumental music
I haven't listened to yet,
look at paintings online,
and read some poetry
from Tumblr till something hits.

I have passed out
tiny parcels,
perfect little
packages
filled with
my hopefulness.

Given the essence
of my impermanence,
pursued truths
to earn a bit,
but my restlessness
has me rushing towards
shocking storms
of lightning and loving
all that is a detriment
to my mental health.

A poet obsessive
observing and writing
perspectives I didn’t earn,
and in turn
passing them down
like I am a clown
all painted and streaked
while tears leaked,
aching for what
I never seek.

I have given dreams.
In fantasies
chased the lips of
someone I could love,
fantasized about sweet lies
as she would whisper sweetly
echoes of my feeling.

Poetry presented prosaically,
as everything I am, will be,
and was, with just a pinch
of what I will never see.

I am ill-equipped
to take a trip
down the bits
of a broken
rainbow road.

All sparkles
and glittering
a smattering
of shattering
glass reflections
that shred my
bare feet
as I am
journeying
down these
colorful streets.

I’d prefer
the more disturbed
shadowy
sidewalks
in the city of
forgotten loves
and lost memories.
A realm with
clouds that flit
from one
gloomy day
to the next.

I guess
I’ve just
become adapted to
grays and blues,
stray hues
that I use
to paint a world
where abuse
is just the dimming afterglow
of a happy ending tv show
where I learn a lesson
but don’t really grow.
I write but don’t know
why the sirens scream
and poets sing
similar sorrows.

Maybe, I should borrow
Cinderella’s glass slippers
so those rainbow shards
won’t bleed my feet,
and when I finally
fall asleep to meet
someone strange and sweet
my dreams won’t keep
waking me in tears.

When dying won't save a life,
or change your mind
and direct it
towards what you expected
would be right.

When marching and protesting
doesn't turn night to day,
make wrongs less black and gray
as all those shades
fade to red blades
that hew through
innocent hearts seeking the truth.

There is no change,
cuz the powerful
want to keep playing
the same game.

How many times
can we all explain
until in pain
our shoulders slump
from the strain of the gravity
of everything we've been trying
to hold up and make better,
and we collapse into black holes,
falling just in time to float away like ashes
flying from a holocaust furnace,
as remnants of the worst tragedies
that we never learned from?

I am fury and glass
shattered so fast
that shards slash
and bleed me
before I can see freely,
thin lines of red streaking
and seeking something
underneath the skin.

As I walk through the wearisome
world that I live in,
with abusive people
and all that I give them,
that unspoken permission
to continue hurting
that heart that keeps turning
in self-recrimination,
ready for self-immolating,
exploding and incinerating,
cause I am tired of debating,
or outright stating
that I deserve better
than this ever-inflating bitterness;

When I cannot even
speak into existence
a pittance of the vengeance
that you deserve,
that well-earned remittance,
because my level of empathy
extends to those who hurt me,
while constantly denying
mercy for myself.

I am fatigued and ready to
fall to a slumber were
everyone I ever knew
can no longer reach
out and intrude
with their crude rude
self-important attitude.
Till, I am finally impervious
to all of this madness.

These four walls
are not made
to save
but built
to blockade
and enslave.

This cave
we engrave
with our strange
collecting ways,
soon becomes a
self-selected grave
for our histories
and all of our
distorted memories.