It’s incomputable,
yet irrefutable.
Emotions are too
numerous to name,
range from strange pain
to shame, love, hate, and apathy
then back in again reworking
and adjusting what must be
excruciating
as inner monologues are debating
between placating the dissonance raging
or succumbing to one avenue that
let’s ****** picks specific emotions,
inspires wildfires, plucks devotion
from the rose of desire.
Till, that red flower expires
blooming and falling after
consuming all the air
inside and out there.
I don' t know who cares,
but empathy adds new levels
to this confusing and bruising
black brackish brew,
that mad man-made stew.
It is stirring, creating odd paintings
and then moving onto brand new
blank canvasses.
Who could manage all of this,
especially since it is just a fraction
of all actions.

I'm not nervous,
just searching for my purpose,
knowing that the word is
possibly the closest
I'll ever get to perfect.

I want you to take me serious.
So, you must be delirious
if you're not hearing this.

I didn't plan it,
but on this planet
people take for granted
the fruits of the labors
I've planted.
Some people can't even stand it
or comprehend.
I guess it just depends
on where they're coming from.

So, you demonize
great guys,
never realized
that those lies
you've been telling,
all that **** you've been yelling
is worse than the crap crack
that the corner street
drug dealers are selling.
Such a bad buzz cuz
it's buried so deep in your veins
that it’s burning out your brain
till the point no longer matters.
Has me crying and constantly rewriting,
echoing the same **** question.
“How many times can people explain
and you still can't understand a thing?”

But, I'm still writing love, holding out
hoping that all my doubt
wasn't right and that I
can still be the light
that burns the night
breaking *** barriers,
and stopping hate carriers.

Until, my artistry
becomes art history
and I finally figure out
what the point of my existence was.

It's like football,
four yards down
and I took it all off,
balled it up to call your bluff
because you can't touch
or even tag the flag,
red clothing flailing
while we are failing
and finally falling
like dangerous dangling rags.

Now, I am on the line
cause these verses are mine.
I’m not praying but saying,
loving, and staying while
cheating hearts keep straying.

At the end of the field
and it all feels surreal,
stupid sports metaphor,
but who knows
what this crap is for.

I just walk off the grass,
let all those moments elapse,
then flash fast into the past,
sit down to clown,
and play with today,
such a great holiday
because it’s the best present.

I'm not made
for the marketplace
or the safe space
where people race
because they don't want to face
how it feels to be displaced
and treated like human waste.

But why is it
when dark dreams visit
they are as stark
as a shark's
sharp teeth
as those canines
are embedded in me?

Why do they shake
and take
bits and pieces
but never release
what this beast is
trying to eat,
making lines of liquid crimson
that swirl and dissipate
as I lose my conscious state?

I fight the fright.
I write
the nightmares that most prefer to hide
because my mind
is an art form
born in a **** storm
torn apart
for the hearts
that abhor
the dreams I keep stored
on my moist bathroom floor,
under my feet
where other monsters plan to meet
then come out to greet and eat me.

What is grief,
but the withdrawal symptoms
of a drug we may not have known
we were taking,
the transmogrification
of affection’s deeper emotions
into the compensation
and reorientation
of our strained
inner identity,
in the absence
of the loved ones
treasured presence.

VI. deidameia's danse macabre

we are sick, deidameia
till the end of our days
we are sick with mortality

we are the ants on the pale blue dot
alone in our fruitless toil
we are a godless generation
feigning synthetic emotion
philosophies oh so fragile
dogmatic pins pushed into
unsuspecting cloth dolls

i'm right
you're wrong
i'm lonely

but right now
we stand at the crossroads
of destiny
a former self behind
a well-trodden path ahead

we find nirvana
as the clock strikes thirteen

when my eyes close
i taste oblivion and holocaust
so we dance on the edge
round and around we go
the pauper child, the holy man,
the king, the tiller of the fields:

so you sow, so shall you reap

the dice are cast
the cards are dealt
the matches are lit

this soul has been aching
to burn once again
douse me with kerosene
light me up like
cigarettes to cellophane
choke back the embers
we live on the smoke

i'll hate you till my lungs give out
i'll love you till my body's dust

i've won the world
and all her pearls
i've got the world
except you

I am sorry
that I am only
partly
here
and far away
in the same breath
while living
and sleeping
as stilly
as death.

Time
does not permit me
a true moment of
serenity,
cause my affinity
is for the cosmos
that I adore.

Furiously flashing
expanses
that have been
outlasting
every mortal thing,
all human beings
are just sparks
that play
small parts
in smaller hearts,
which is why
as time passes by
I am learning to fly
way past the night sky.

That’s why
I am not the guy
who could settle
for a simple life,

even when I am
holding your hand
I am dancing on
foreign lands,
toes twisting in
Martian sands,
and as it stands
I have big plans
to expand
what I understand
as I study to create
and elevate
my mental state
right past
the fictional holes
that blast
our fat *****
way beyond
purple space gasses.

Even though, I know
you to hold
multiple universes
inside,
I can only offer you
half of my mind
cause I am so gone.

An atypical yet spherical mass of spiritual
madness hides behind the mad mind of sadness.

It is poisonous but I am glad of this
biological drug sandwich
that is wrapped in my cerebellum.

I am crazy but I try to tell them,
all those children, women, and working men,
something is not quite right in this system
that tries to lie and sell them lots of corruption.

Reality is harsher than the scraping pavement
that savaged my already ravaged flesh,
tearing away tiny bits of skin and bleeding
barely perceptible drops of blood that are not compatible
with the white and gray grainy walkway.

Metaphors do not explain much anymore,
just cloud the conversation with pretty abstractions,
petty reflections not worth anyone’s inspection,
cause they are diarrhea of my own introspection,
a manifestation that seldom add ups to anything more than
other people’s interpretation.

No matter my intent these words
are just whispers in cyclonic winds,
I can’t imagine anyone cares enough
to let my strange thoughts infect them
with empathy and creative confusion.

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.

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.

I am an overzealous ant
marching forward towards
the winds that block any rewards.

Perhaps it is better that,
like a gnat
I can’t
fathom how miniscule I am,
because contemplating my own
insignificance
would paralyze me,
and in indecisiveness
I would succumb to
a predator’s predilections.
  
Sorry sweety that crap was
the last gasp of an exhausted brain.
Blood pan waiting to expand
as useless feces falls freely
from the top
that is ready to drop
and stop
thinking.

Poetry attempting to
discover ourselves minus
the lies imposed upon us
by others and ourselves
is quite difficult,

because we can’t always be as grand as
the deep blue sea or swirling space clouds
that pirouette in that cosmic mess we call infinity.