I hug this mug of tea
this sweet, black cherry tea
warmth seep through the porcelain
a wonderful sensation blooming
on my tongue

yet, that old fellow over there
with cowered eyes flecked with grey
a long peppered beard and hair so thick
he had a crane which endured all the sick
and came to poke his gnarled  finger
at my cup of tea

dear, he said oh dear
and I tilted my head
not knowing what to be said
do you see what you have done to yourself?

I glance down down, at my fingers wrapped
around the cup of tea
the tea was not steaming, nor warmth presented
my fingers were merely frozen
and the sweetness was long forgotten

the pooling black cherry
I saw my face reflected
and I didn't recognize
the eyes blinking anymore

who gave you that tea?
the old wise man whispered
that tea was a gift to me
I whispered even quieter still
the tea have grown cold long ago
and you have been here huddled all alone
he haven't bothered an offer of hospitality
he left you to grow cold and still

and I realized, my hands shattered the porcelain
the tea dripped in a sludge
I kicked at the broken pieces
and began to spark a flame

and now why the bright orange flame?
the old man said and sat in the grass
I am kindling my own
I said with a fiery puff of breath
he chuckled and nodded
you have grown wiser
*with a rare undertone

hands curled next to my cheeks
damp from the moisture
which seeped as I slept
an exhale of beauty,
grandiose yet so sweet
confined inside these walls
I built around my bruised heart
I felt the light dance on my eyes
and the warmth glistened
peeking my eyes open,
I cried, a sudden blinding sensation
the fiery orange,
the yawning majesty of galaxies,
imprinted in my vision
this morning I woke up
to the sun in my eyes
shining behind the line of trees
the bone-chilling cold
which crept in my toes
I had the sun dance in my eyes
a temporary blindness
now I know to never cry
in my sleep

my complexion darkened
by that skeletal wrist wrought with rust
dusted blood of what used to run  
an impression of who I used to be

strumming the strings to my spinal chord
that blissful music a sweet morphine
to still those poisonous lips registered
to the skittered voices taking refuge in my head

the morphine doesn't always hold
I search for that sweet spot too withdraw
the shrill eccentricity screeching I cannot suppress
the silly frigid air protrude with a single glare

breaths puff and heartbeats escalate
as eyes are met--green and brown
hazel to the cerulean blue  
the tepid synchronization of similar frequencies

how the night glimmering lights
illuminate the graffiti of complicated shadows
simmer into a wilting tilt of sorrowful flowers
how the roses are drowned and never to fill

how the match in my chest lights anew
I have to do my best to keep it alive
caress it but don't get burned by it
I can never see too far into the future

but I can only know what I am
off of glare at this present precision
how will I ever know who I am
if I cannot see two feet surrounding

alluring this flame through
the sky-scraping scent of night
delicate to the visionaries too steep
as the head begins to pound out of its keep

avoid those dark corners
I once used to brood
take a break on a flight of stairs
and gaze out the flashes blurring by

keep my teeth in my cheek
the tongue will slip out sharp and cut someone
keep the thoughts from rolling slickly off of it  
the top of my head is not a good place to stand

grey, gloomy shadows transpire
from the pale beaded window
cold, slushy drops rap the glass
I undo the laces to my shoes
and tumble onto the ground
hard, bronze wooden floors
gleaming silently, like
petals of moon unfold
I hear my lungs rushing
exhausted climbing to the
apartment floor,
shoulders strained from
balancing my bag
a wallet of nonexistent cash
makeup probably smudged
lipstick faded, my muscles begin to sag
I wish to fade, so very gently
just to forget about my stress
to bury my anxiety permanently

this makeshift democracy
yearning endearing
breeding festering aristocracy
petrified on the sidelines

black hispanic asian european
the manifesting minority
which built this republic
political policy withered to marrow

echoes of Washington
fade in graves marble halls
politicians etches unsheathed
to feast in bribery sorts

the gleam of monetary value
blinded patched pockets
burning the fabric
to be later devoured

I hate,
I forgive,
I rewind
those fantasies,
those honeysuckle
lovenotes,

I run,
I climb,
I cling
to movement,
to steer clear from
succumbing to
depression

the haze settling like a brisk pace
of tap tap tap on damp pavement
the wave rippling as the wind bristled
with each eager step, one by one
away from the steps of a hollow expanse
the hollowness shrouding, corrupting
the inner veins of flesh and bone,
the vision dimming to that of narrow keyhole
as the clouds raged and the ice clang,
tap tap tap the steps tread onwards
towards the horizon, towards the steppes
of bountiful bloom and effortless search
what is that I'm searching for?
the window hasn't been clearer,
the days more lopsided than that
of a rocking, seafaring vessel,
an arching ship, a restless thought
of a destination a hands breath away,
yet a million miles etched into decay
will I make it before it is too late

possibly cannot control
the deviations of man made fright
the gleaming glint of commercial consumerism
the televised divisive specialty of food and luxury
I feel powerless over my body and mind

a fuzzy head beheaded upon weight
of assorted niches created to promise
to fatten us like contorted buttons
that our life "will become better" notorious professions

we lose ourselves in quests
credit cards billed and shopping bags filled
shiny glossy floor and florescent pale lights
trailing our every shop like ignoble ghosts

not a single vein of sanity
but collection of clots leading to profanity
a manifesting destiny to broaden our mouths
as we try to twist every crook of our limbs too stout

sized proportions frustrations and collaborations
reflected uncomfortable orthodox segregation
what is real and what isn't
eclipses over what is cheaper and what's isn't

flagrant benchmarks tightens like nooses
bestow upon despair of cellulite thighs
each Hollywood conformity adding height  
and soon we shriek denial if it doesn't tighten

soon enough

the ceaseless snow fall
abundant delicacies
upon a butterfly's wings
moment's rippling events
cascading grey quarries
across ticking dimensions,
shuddering shoulders
upsetting laughter,
clasp that tiny blade
inside your makeshift
home thereafter,
beating winds
clashing swords
a draining bath
where you soaked
all those memories
like whiplash,
that turmoil substance
gushing out
a teetering notion
all this wordy banter
the music spawned the start
the one inaudible
on this rotating globe
just know better things
are soon to be

as we drown before the florescent glow
of the lampshade sticky ****
and the ache washes over
the back of our heads
the soreness in our eye socket

books are propped and buried
deep in our faces
in the adolescent curve of noses
the smell of intelligence is supposed to waft
the scent of future and brightness,
the scent of bigger ambition

yet instead stench of synthetic obligations
tingle through the tunnel of our nostrils
and lingers in the back of our skulls
cloudy, sharp, confusing and mean
it bites my friend, it bites

the sound of pencil scratching on paper
keyboards clicking away
and mouths whitened from strenuous furrow
feel the bag underneath the eye
sag and droop, weakened and drained

feel the emptiness
the emptiness in purpose
shoved to drive us on
the dollar bills will not shaft well, my friend
if you don't meet our obligations,
and so they say

yet let me tell you
let me speak for you
the creamy glance of yellow light
which shafts across the wall of brick
the isles of easels mounted with canvases
pulled taught and hiding its willowy smile

let me tell you
how my heart flutters at the creak of floorboard
how my fingers handle the spine of brushes
and how paper speaks for itself
the studio plastered with splatters of whirling colors
the dusty smell of vast, open space
the echo of imagination reverberating into
seeds of exploration

let me tell you
how my eyes wander across the soft succulent surfaces
the worn golden door handle
the prickly screech of a hinge
the chalky scratch of charcoal
and the rows of inking presses
waiting to compress the next
monograph etches and linoleum spur

let me tell you,
to those who frown
to those who squint their ugly faces
to those who denied
let me tell you,
I would belong
than rather be replaced

don't you know,
don't you know that
sometimes my hands shake
as I am holding my phone
or I pound the keyboard
fingers dripping of turmoil,

don't you know

Feeling chest heave
Not to cry in public

        I sometimes hate
        How emotional I am

Those words spat
A thousand daggers

       Why am I so
        sensitive?  

Fresh, frosted chocolate
Plate of dozen doughnuts

          Fat.

Catastrophic crosshatch
More red marks than pencil

         I’ll never pass.

Avoiding line of sight
Two souls elapsing.  

         When?

Thinking and breathing
a task sometimes overbearing

       *Because...

The forerunner, the front runner
Ringed titanium hair luminescent
In the pearly shiver orb
The moon staked within bright sight

Jittery glances shadowed underneath
The emerald staunches of a forgotten city
Life and plants retaking what's lost
And runner descends, silent and stern

The silent tickle of cool rain
Casting hazy mists above the horizon
The city empty and blind
Without life of those of eyes

Alone he walks through the rubble and rain
Fair hair an alien hue in the green rubble
Picking his synthetic organs and conscious
Fixated by the growth and looming strife

Blurring the lines, collapsing the bridge
Returning to the methods of another drone
Yet still silently he walks in the gloom
A synthetic heart, a drone that can conjure tears

wander to a place called home
where you can curl in bed
and not be bothered by dread,
where you can lie your head
on the soft pillows

but resentful, no,
a new chapter will stumble in
to bother my slumber
and knock on my door
until then, I'll count every speckle
of dust

an emerald lake
gleaming under light
a shadow envelopes
its crestfallen wight

the creature resonates a shrill
and the adolescence withers, so frail
beaten by the tyrants of modern drill
the wight thirst for Mother's milk

and while the dank shadow
beats the surface of emerald waters
the shore begins to weep of sorrow
with eyes trailed by that of fathers

the storm brews and the wight lays
concealed, nonexistent, and cold as stone
where has gone the golden ray
and the emerald green where the youth once roamed

the clash of frightful teeth
the piercing gaze of defeat
how the barbel encloses tightly
to the path which holds truth,
on the run, feet set in panic
the labored breathing and
knots rattling in our rib cages,
coming along we balance the cup
and try, try we must
to keep the warmth
from spilling into abyss,
yet always, like always
our clothes get snagged,
our hearts put into relapse
at every attempt to leap
over the intertwined barbel,
so difficult to face the stones,
the pebbles skipped across the waters,
the ripple of those reflections
the desperation to hold on,
yet never, never we know
always standing on the other side
watching the stones skip away
and hearing our own lives pass away,
the barbel cuts into our skins
and dear, dear it hurts so much
wondering for the entirety of our hearts
and the sands of our entity

mesmerizing eyes
dancing smiles on crescent lips
a treacherous mountain top, I fall
for the likes of you
every single day

perhaps the way the dappled sunlight
floats above the ground,
like ephemeral ghosts silvery
of golden sonic booms,
rocketed into orbit, clear into
the farthest reaches of the universe
airships sleek and elegant,
the mighty richness exploding
into alien atmospheres,
of outlandish stories
and bizarre adventures,
with a silhouetted captains quarter
and the most courageous skipper,
perhaps with the last waning light
orange and stark yellow as it sinks
into another time-woven dimension,
entity can endure past the gates
wrought with fear of the great unknown

A crestfallen tomorrow
Glittering welts of beaten flesh
This angel fell from sorrow
The day the sky wept afresh

if a word is to end in fire
    perish howling where the eyes below
             may never turn blind eye
                     shall a guardian steady a watchful eye
                            while the syllables fall
                                    so that the earth may rumble  
                                             encompassed in a crimson sky

This will be the best
It will ever be...*
A question dangles
Like a cliffhanger
Or a period presumes
To stunt the night
And I'll live every second of my life
Wandering when I'll ever know
Which ending best fits
The pages of this fantasy

I cannot
Even begin to say
How my heart flutters
at the sight of you

Yet I am still here
Far away
And never able to
Embrace you

Remember that time
That splendid time at the hills
The swarming scent of falling stars
Tears ran fast as we watched
The lights twinkling so still
Silence hushed between us
Nothing but the flutter of our thoughts
The sweet sweet fragrance of outside
Listening to the memories which have yet to be
Realizing our time together
May never be...
Loathing the day that we are
Fated to leave

ten strange hands embodied by time
sands of dearth scattered like rhymes
how we fit so snugly yet exist individually
reality mouth the vitality of stupidity
and as the frothy shores
white titanium stones in course
a blood hound testing salt ridden breeze
as our existence wanders in vulnerability
a lovely delight
a sightly recite
systematically conquering our feelings
taught to stifle as causality
sea shells coarse
intricate invasions of aristocracy
bureaucracy everlasting integrity
cluster **** to drown in such blinded strife
our fabric is breathe truly
a paradox in hindsight