I am the vulture,
the feathered creature,
the afterlife deviant
with an abyssal glow
fading in my aged eyes,
searching for opportunity to rise
as I slice through pessimistic skies.

I am the claws that feast
on those who decompose.
I scavenge all that is left,
the bits no one cared to miss.

I am the devourer
of purgatorial descent,
the digestive system
of a life needlessly spent.
So don’t go asking yourself
where it all went when you’re
building up dust on your favorite shelf.

See, the webs are your mind
and that spider represents time,
and sooner than later it’s gonna die,
but don’t you fear, for I’ll always be here
plunging through the wicked air
ready to scoop up all that remains,
which accounts for a carcass
that isn’t worth a grain
and a family of flies
following you to the grave.

This is you and this is me,
and in the end delusion cries
as it realizes there’s only one destiny;
one final truth for your precious lies,
an honest ending of karma pecking out your eyes.

Hey, what are you doing?
Don’t tell me, though.
I honestly don’t care,
just thought I’d ask,
wearing my Himalayan mask.

Eleven at night on a Tuesday;
arrow pierced my nose,
leaking dusted snot,
head a drowsy mass,
a dizzy, unfathomable knot
beckoning me into a slumber,

yet I feel this tranquil
half-conscious state
as I hear the ever dear
lonesome crowded west,
all the while ******* in
the crust of plate tectonics,
that hypnotic spell
of the devoted neurotic,

and in a few
the lights will finally perish
and my Styrofoam boots
will once again
walk on ice.

Comfort in flying,
entwined, we’re soaring
through a sky worth exploring,
embraced and forming
a snow angel in the clouds of tomorrow;
solitary in shape, universal in spirit.

Acceptance in dying
as long as your hand’s in mine,
and my lips are on yours
and we continue beating
from the same drum
even ever after.

Iniquity trampled
by the omniscient shadows
our rising crescents cast
glowing in the moonlight
like two vermillion balloons
sprouted from the same string
coated with an invincible shell
impenetrable by even the sharpest blade.

And we are sinking deeper
into this everlasting night
where the sun never rises
and we never care,
for your breath
warms my soul
and my soul
soothes your heart
and your heart
inhaled into mine
keeps us immortal
‘til the end of time

                                                      

                                                          and beyond.

Will you take my hand, follow me
Into this unknown land?
Live together in absolute bliss?
Life with you: the only way to exist

Your smile brightens my day
Obsession’s swept me away
Under this vermillion moon

My heart’s caught in your harpoon
And it’s dragging me willingly
Racing along your loving beat
Rejoicing in your arms, I know
You make me fully complete

Maximum love always for you, shall this
Everlasting pleasure prevail true?

It’s been said before
and it’ll be said again
and again, as long
as we are allowed
to walk this earth,
and I’ll say it now,
just as you’ll say it tomorrow:
it is a wicked world
we live in,

and it is not
going to change.

Generally, we like
to think of ourselves
as a good person,
sometimes we are right
and sometimes we are
way off.

Save those moments
of natural kindness
deep in your memory box,
because those events
are perhaps the rarest occasions
you’ll ever stumble upon,

but don’t forget
the cruel intentions
that succumb the majority.
Keep it further from memory
and closer to instinct,
for it is a necessity
of survival
in a land
where evil
rules all.

And when you look
in the mirror,
into the leak
of your subconscious,
and you see the malice veins
strangling goodwill,
the rancid flesh
rotting your soul,
the black eyes that darken
with each action
of a corrupt fate,
you can ask yourself
what went wrong
all you want,
but you already know
the answer:
it’s buried deep
under six feet of dirt
with the rest of your corpses,
and the farther you search,
the blinder you become.

So you can look all you want,
but it isn’t going to prevent
another innocent casualty,
nor is anyone going to forgive
the pleads of pure monstrosity.

Face it: you should have
leaped off the deck
before the ship even sunk.

They sat on the stoop,
on the rooftop,
on the grass.
They watched,
they saw,
they turned away
in disgust
and disarray;
vowed never to see,
but to be.

Ideas sprayed on parchment:
plans for the future,
true ideals
indestructible,
fit to last.
It was their turn
to undo the past.

They would create change,
destroy order,
and recycle the entrails
into a revolution,
one that would have an outcome;
an outcome not of the worst
but of the best.
They’d pierce straight through
this vanilla-stained vest.

They looked in each others' eyes
and smiled at what they saw,
for within each pupil
glowed a fire;
a fire of the downfall
and revival
of this world
they've come to know
and hate.

They knew one day soon
their hatred would spin
and move in the other direction;
the direction of light,
of true happiness
and peace.
The soothing sparks
rocketing from their eyes
convinced them so.

They knew they would succeed,
unlike others who have tried,
they knew how to win,
knew not to try
but to do.
They would release
their envisioned paradise
from their grasp
and upon the oblivious.

But as they grew older
an event occurred
that would cause a change,
a change that would make sure
to reject any other,
a change that would be the annihilator
of their dystopic utopia.

A small occurrence,
unrecognizable,
a brick thrown
shatters through the window,
triggers a false realization.
The shards succumb them
into the seducing
sepulchral-inducing cage
that keeps them bookmarked
to the same opening page.

Vents crack,
in pours the fog.
The mist once loved,
now loathed,
seeps through the fracture,
smothers their hope,
breathes their air,
air they used to dream,
now nothing more than a theme.

Fear drags them down
like the others,
devours wonders of the unknown,
slashes at their flesh,
shrieks of monotone,
visions escape from the wound,
wounds of which sealed
with reminders of the failed,
never to be reopened,
their appetite remains forever lost.

Now they walk
back and forth,
forth and back,
hands in pockets,
shoulders shrugged.
What's the time?
They've lost track.
All watches are smashed,
big hand frozen on yesterday.

They are the lost,
previous dreams forgotten,
left in the rain,
drifted away
down the drain,
never to regain
their once beloved ambition.
Instead they gather
gritty ammunition
and float towards
certainty, the predictability
of a future that ceases in a puddle.
They are the lost.

I was at a musical festival in Chicago
when I witnessed true beauty
in a portable toilet.

All around we were having fun,
sweating, bleeding, dancing,
doing what humans are meant to do
and not what we think
we’re meant to do,
but following what our instincts
tell us to do,
and that is
the natural response,
the correct response,
the human response.

In that toilet in Chicago
I saw beauty at its finest,
and that was a ***
of one dollar bills
drowning in a pool
of ****.

We were above money,
above commercial jingles,
above the tyranny
                      that
                    is
           social
    order.
We were above the clouds
and more so, we were above
ourselves
and everything
the rest of the world stood for.

We did not need possessions
to possess us,
nor did we need
a clean bowl
to *****.

And standing there
in the center of
Humanity’s soul
I took my turn
and ******
on Washington’s face.

To be seventeen
and young and mean,
where the future is mine,
or so is the slogan
of those left behind.

To be seventeen,
still lit by the flame
of dear curiosity
and burning ever bright.
The age of experimentation,
a way that should never die
if you expect to have
any sort of life at all;
a train of thought
that should never
arrive at the terminal.

Full of spirit
and adventure,
to be seventeen,
built like a machine
without a schedule,
following whatever
seems right, and ignoring
the opinions of those
too bigoted to understand
a simple Poem.

To be seventeen
with an imagination
of indestructible
titanium reinforcing,
enclosed around an
ever wandering mind,
and if superstition
held any ounce of truth,
I’d already be blind.

But I seem to be
well enough,
despite a liver
that’s worth ****,
and will probably be
worth even less
in seventeen more years
to come.

Until then, however,
I will continue to be
whatever age I value,
and to do what it is
that feels right,
that feels like me,
that feels like
whatever the hell.

And then I will probably write
another Poem on the whim about
whatever the hell again,
because that is the only thing
ever worth writing about.

You dig?

Like a string I strum
Like a melody you hum
Like a song sung by eternal wind
A breeze levitating our hair
Two traveling leaves aware
As they float on; entwined
Where it’s always Fall
Yet they never fall
Leaving behind twigs that crawl
In a bright, cement paved trail
Stomped in footsteps prevailed
They continue their journey
A current pushing forward
An infinite gust restored
A beautiful, vibrating cord
That we strum, and we hum
Tunes crafted from our soul
Symphonies orchestrated whole
Notes carried out on our guitar
Carved from the heart
Reminders of how far
These leaves have blown
How high theses wings have flown
Veins which pertain our strength
Arguments never fit to last
Refreshed by our tightened grasp
Returns a yearned relapse
We are they, and they are
Impenetrable leaves
Crumble they do not
A reliable, untieable knot

I assume the worst
out of every occasion.
It is only my nature
to imagine
horrifying reactions
for every action.
Every minute late
is a minute’s worth
of faulty brakes
and stray bullets.

I am not a cynic,
I am merely a writer.
Now I understand
why most of the great
authors of our time
were miserable alcoholics.
Otherwise they would have
blown their brains out
long before they finished
a single story.

I do not ever want a child
to worry over at night,
I do not want to account
for every bruise and scratch.
I can only pray
I never become attached
to my immediate family.
I do not want a lover
to think about
when she’s gone.
It’s impossible to be
together forever,
so let’s not be together
at all.

Fingers crossed,
I will roam alone
until my time is finally
withdrawn.

And with any amount of luck,
it will be before
any of you.

I cannot wear watches,
for they do not want my time.
My blood is tainted;
poison to their mind.

Long ago, when I walked
my share of sand,
I was smothered
and then punctured
by a villainous needle,
injecting me with
an army’s worth
of iron,
of disease.

Now, as consequence,
I am forever cursed
with the death
of a thousand clocks,
and counting.
With a mere flick
of my marked wrist
I managed to ****
Father Time,
and I did not
look back.

I cannot progress,
nor can I rewind
to a better time.
I do not know
what my future holds,
for I do not have
a future,
and I never will.

My life is destined
to stay
right where it is.
I will not step forward
and I will not
fall backwards.
I will stand in place
without surprise
for as long
as the sun
does rise,
and when it too
no longer
arrives
I will still continue
to live to the fullest
on my mountain
of eternal
intermission.

you know when you stand up
after drooling in your coma
of apathy for hours, for days,
and your legs feel like clay?
so numb they might as well
not even be there.
you move at a slow pace
like the tortoise racing
time’s hare.
you wobble and struggle
for balance, for ledges,
for a sense of sensibility.
but all you get is a sudden
shot of tingles as motor skills
are relearned in a matter of
seconds, years, eons.
so useless you are
in these moments of shame.
God forbid there was a fire,
you would be doomed
like the leaves
in the wind;
melted into your sofa
with the ***** hairs
and potato chip crumbs.
an ashy pile of eyes
studying others’ realities
through a plastic box
of wires,
gratified by your
idolized  idleness;
your patriotic
procrastination,
where all your limbs
are forever
asleep.

there’s something magical
about hearing your name moaned
nearly two thousand miles away.
knowing you have control
over someone across the country
without barely doing anything
makes you feel like you can
rule the whole world
if you so chose,
and I do choose.

one day you will all
moan my name
and it will be how
life was always meant.

there’s something special
about *******
your worst enemy’s
property;
giving her wings
and rejoicing
as she flies away
toward a new dawn,
where the property
no longer is a property,
but a cloud,
and no one owns
a cloud.

they are free
to live
as they
wish.

Do you remember that July afternoon
where we took a walk in the woods
and got lost on purpose?

Some people may not understand
why we did what we did.
Well, those people can
continue being on time
right on to hell.

Do you remember the trees we passed,
that perfect day of our past?
It would not, by any long shot,
be our last.

Do you remember how your hand felt
locked within my own, as we strolled
our own private planet?

Can you still see the lake
we stumbled across, and feel
how cold the water had been
as we jumped in, freshly stripped
of all clothing?

Can you still hear the sound
of our bodies splashing
as the heat fled from our
system?

Can you picture what it was like
as I led you on tiptoes
to the center of the universe,
where the curse
of consequence
was no longer valid,
where you wrapped your legs
around my waist,
and I kissed
your wet lips,
looking into your eyes
and yours into mine,
and ever so discretely
entering the only
warmth left in
all of the lake?

Do you remember how
the mosquitoes took a day off
just for us?

                                        

                                                    I do.

You ever see one of those
old guys who spend their days
wandering the town
with the soles of their
never weary shoes?

Their history tends to be a mystery.
Primary family most likely
already buried in a plot
where they’ll be in a few years,
maybe months, or days.
All other relatives
no longer relative.
Left alone with the
sun on their backs,
and the memories
in their minds.
And if they live
in a house,
you’ve never seen it.
Or if they live at all,
you don’t believe it.

And like yesterday
and hopefully tomorrow,
today they’ll walk
and study the alien
replacements
of their youth,
and wonder
what the hell
happened.

I once met a man who was crazy.
He worked in a cubicle,
and thought he was perfectly normal.

Then I met a man who was completely sane,
but persisted there be an “in”
added to the beginning of the title.
He paid for therapy once a week.

I swear, they both drove me nuts.

I used to be trapped
in this little room.
There was no lock
chaining us to the bedpost;
just this surreal numbness
that prevented us from
ever getting too far
away.

You could open the door
and take a step out,
only to find yourself
entering the same room
in which you’d just
exited.

It was madness.
The walls were my enemy.
They planned to **** me.
I could hear them plotting
behind my back, as they
closed in on my deepest fears.
I knew I had to escape
before the cracks
on the ceiling
ate me alive.

On more than one occasion
I recall sitting out
on the windowsill
with the night air
taunting me to join it.
So tired, yet there was
never any sleep,
and when there was,
the dreams were never good.
And I know now, sitting here,
I would have joined the moon’s
convincing breeze
without hesitation,
if only our room hadn’t
been on the second floor
where I would have only
broken a leg, and felt
more pain.

But before we could relocate
to a higher surface,
I at last found my own
little light,

and you know, I guess that’s
pretty all right.

My lady would go crazy
whenever I was found
in the presence
of another female.

I guess she assumed
the leg between my legs
did all the walking,
and like the monsters
of her nostalgic past,
I was on the prowl
for any ol’ piece of ***.

It got to the point
where I gave up with corrections
and allowed her chartreuse fever
to run completely wild
and that was kind of fun
for a while.

Then one day I saw this guy
put his hand on her shoulder
in a reasonably innocent gesture
I read too far into.

By the time I was through,
my knuckles were raw
and his face was pulp,
while her face sprung
into a sea of abhorrence.

I was left alone
with a broken hand
and a month in county.

In this abstruse mist we

Levitate and coexist
Over all scenarios conceivable
Visions never unbelievable while
Entwined within your soul

You make me completely whole
Offering you all of me, for this
Unfailing love will always be…

A flick of the matches
Unleashes paranoia in batches,
No where to run, nor to hide,
Access to bliss has been denied,

Creepy crawlers slithering from above,
Stability laughs down at my lack thereof,
The walls are closing in upon my physique,
All this **** makes me want to shriek,

Resentment overload is the overcast
From the cracked muzzle of the unsurpassed,
The gas can devours from the soul,
Slowly creating a wearisome tainted hole,

Hallucinogenic petrol bleeding into my eyes,
Have suspicion tomorrow is on the rise,
The walls of frustration are caving in
And the flames are smoldering against my skin.

So I guess I'm depressed
I don't know what to do
I'm writing things of originality
Guess I've a mental disability

So let's go see a professional
Step right into the confessional
I'll empty my thoughts, my mind
Right into your precious little time

Dear Omniscient Shrink
Please tell me how to think
List my flaws on your sketch pad
Inform me of the newest fad

I need some Xanax to calm me down
So please fill it out before I drown
I'm confused so what do you suggest?
Maybe you should just conform me like the rest.

As I rode through the wilderness,
split in half by a manmade trail,
I strolled along my own cognitive road,
where I have wondered to wander
more than enough, truth be told.

I visualized what I’d come across
just around the corner; perhaps
a **** in progress, where I’d
put an end to such a misery.
I would be what they called

             “a hero”

and not the fleeing coward
I often felt like.

But empathy killed the damsel,
so I erased her distress,
and replaced this scene
with an act less extreme.

A man with the features
of a cheap stereotype
faded into the picture,
masked in black; he demanded
for the contents of my pockets—

—to which I, of course, refused,
smiling at a chapter
I’ve more than once abused.

A scream of relief pushed
surrounding crows into disarray
as another villain’s rusty blade
punctured my addicted flesh,
leaving behind a scar
for whenever I can’t think
of anything interesting to say.

My mind is full of potential lunatics
resembling a house of bricks
structured by insanity.

But where do I belong?

In the kitchen—
—or across the street?

there was this lady
with these streaks
in her hair

but there were no streaks
in her mood
like a flat square
of cardboard
you wanted to beat
until a new shape
crafted

one day she says,
“I don’t got nothin’”
to which I pointed out,
“well at least that’s
somethin’”

she stopped
and asked me
what I meant
looking at me
real funny

I smirked and said
“ah, I wouldn’t give it
a second thought,
honey”

she never did get
what I meant.

Amorous static shocking souls,
Aspired electric transfusion
Affectionate beat combo,
Hair rising, wondrous levitation
Hence from optical illusion
Paradise in the realm of duo-salvation
Ground rumbles, a vibration
Amid this secure hand combination
Like an infinite tube of glue
Forever sealed within our fate
You’re for me, and I’m for you

The injection
The perfection
A numbing high
A bliss I can't deny

The inhalation
The dreamt sensation
A solace turned thrill
An intoxication she'll instill

******, tripping in zest
Another hit, I've been blessed
*******, whiskey, paramount ****
The ultimate drug, she's what I need

No agenda for rehabilitation
Plunging deeper into fascination
Peeling away at the skin of society
Never want to enter sobriety

Unravel the twist tie
Coherent thought gone awry

Frantic

Shaking

I cannot comply

Any longer,
And I'm sure to die

Squeeze clean the balloon
Aching for my angelic cartoon

Empty the contents into the syringe

Wishing,

Yearning for the eternal binge

Stab the needle into my wrist
Please let it forever consist

Increase the dosage,

Make me feel like I exist

Feel the beauty shooting up my arm
Satisfaction can leave no harm

Like a perfect sky,
Where ecstasy is the drops

And it always rains,

My heroine fills my veins

A perfect heartbeat

Next to yours in unison

Other thought dismissed

There’s a moth in my room
Attracted to the only gleam
Of hope in sight
It has no other plans
Except to stay glued
To divergence

And when I flip the switch
It will once again be lost
In its own backwash
On the prowl
For that one speck
Of light
Off in the distance

Later when I am in bed
Trying to sleep
I will feel its feet
Perched on my neck
Restless wings at rest
Forever blinded by
What it cannot see

An energetic aesthetic blast
Swallows my heart whole
Pulls it towards you like a
Magnetic poetic vine of
Everything I hold dear
I hand it to you my
Pretty beautiful revere
I mean it, I am sincere
When I say I would die
If you ever disappear

The sky is falling, followed
By acidic rain, but I no
Longer care, I’m not insane
Just crazy for you, a love
That is rare, difficult to obtain
And even harder to maintain
But I know this desire shall
Remain for without you I’m
Nothing but a lonely stain

Again the government is lying
But I’m no longer crying,
It doesn’t bother me what
Drugs Congress is supplying,
The Resistance is still strong,
They are still defying, I just have
Moved away from relying
On every little conspiracy
They are implying

Your white has
Brightened my black
Your charms have me
Enlightened, everything
Will be fine with our
Arms tightened around
Each other’s soul
You’ve buried my
Depressed cynical hole
With you next to me I know
I am completely whole

I would rather
Breathe your scent
Than exploding ******
So please disable that bomb
Put away the nuke, I am
Finally calm now that I have
Found my other half, let’s ****
The world later, right now
I just want to hear your laugh
We can watch hand-in-hand
The apocalypse another time,
Presently I’d prefer to kiss your lips.

You tell me you’ll never be
A famous dancer—
—or a supermodel

Nor the century’s next
Glorified *** symbol
Frustrated teenagers
Will never visualize
The curves of your *******
As they ruin your cutout
With their discarded spawn

—Tho’ I am not certain
As to why you would frown
Over such a fact

You tell me you want to be famous
And I ask you why
And you don’t know

I ask you what famous even means
And you shrug, not sure yourself
But you still want it nonetheless
You need it to prove
Something you’ll never understand

Like ice cream
For the ego

I’ll ask the entire globe
And still no one will ever know
Why they have this desire
To be worshipped by all
To have a million arms
Catch you as you fall

But you will never need them
For my grasp is stronger
And my devotion is longer
Perhaps it will last forever
And perhaps longer than that, too

You do not need
To master the world
You do not need
To even be great
At a single thing

You are great enough for me
And I will always be
Your number one fan

Just as long as you continue
To be your own
Human being…

Hands twirled in wild hair
Eyes caught in reassuring clouds

Blinking in unison
Bodies sinking in surrounding grass
Sensations wished to last

Two in one
Never done
Moving as a single being
Harmonic lips begin to sing
The lovers' song
To which we belong

A perfect trinity
Of confessional infinity
Whispers into your ear
And echoes back towards me

Peace is here
Conquering any fear




of


falling


Arms            wide               open

Bound in our radiant hue
Forever catching you

Echoes bouncing and spiraling
Aspiring to conspire incessant inspiring
Conceived during connected reveries
For every ounce used to gain our desire
Revealing bliss as we venture higher
A level which can only progress
Living in our own astral awareness

Heart beating at a supersonic pace
A yearned triplet with symphonic grace
As the echoes reverberate through our core
And the two halves beg,

beg

for more...

Oh, mirror, mirror
On thy self-reflecting wall
Honestly, tell me
Who’s the greatest of them all
The answer, of course, is me

Ocean never ends but you know it does
When you’re shipwrecked
And you’re sinking to the bottom
With buried secrets and ***** lies
Where all your philosophy dies
  
You say it never ends
But does it even begin?
Depths of your mind floating on
In a vast sea of golden blue
Convinced like it’s true
Millions of damp miles
And yet it’s all the same
Stick your foot in anywhere
And it won’t get any wetter
  
Predictability is our ability
Boats sinking all around
We call for help, our dying plead
But your neighbor is just as doomed
  
Every often discovering new bodies of land
Inhabited by yourself, another populace
Passing the time by scratching our *****
And killing our fellow man
All fed soothing *******
Only to turn around
And fix me the same meal
  
Feasting upon our misery
Toes becoming wet
Wood disintegrating
No time for towels
Too busy hating
  
This water drowning me
This seaweed strangling me
This ocean burying me
  
And I just want to dive away
And swim with the sharks

Rope withers
Pries us from this
Barricade
This land is not meant
To hold us
This dock is not meant
To keep us
From drifting away

Feel my outstretched hand
And take a leap
But do not fear how deep
This sea may be
For we are deeper

And my arms are stronger
Than a thousand anchors
Glued to your magnet touch
Catching you like the bucket
Catches the rain
Overflowing affection

Like a leaf
Evaporating droplets
Of what makes you you
And subsequences
With what makes me me
Soaking our senses
Within the same waters

Absorb your heart with mine
And jump off this pier
Land into my embrace
Where, together, is always
The most perfect place

Using only each other
As our own balance support
Untie the decomposing rope
And allow our eternal raft
To follow the moon
Into a new vision

Where even the darkest of storms
Hinder us not

Tarnished capsule
Elevates levitation
Animated colors
Projecting importance

Caught in our glow
Blinded by what we create
And the stars do know
Of this beauty we radiate

For we excel this beautiful spell
Higher than the clouds
Deeper than the soul
With your hand in mine
And we are whole

To seal the deal
With this kiss
My lips on yours
Paused in a sky of bliss

I drink your heart
While you consume my mind
And we know, high on our sublime
That this ride has only just begun