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Felix Sladal Apr 2017
Where do you see yourself in five years?
Wollowing in my self depravity while stumbling through my preconceived notions of adulthood.

Although an astronaut eating bagels somewhere near Jupiter sounds pretty wicked.

P.S They'd be New York bagels the only real bagels. Or the jalapeno cheese ones from "insert chain store here" because the west coast rots your taste buds clean off.

P.P.S It's in the water or so I'm told, NYC bagels that is.

Post Post Post Script this is why I get nowhere in life.
South Dakota 2016
Felix Sladal Mar 2017
Hardwood floor pushes pressure points into the meat hanging off the bones of ribs and hips
Lifelessly staring over head, the false elagant propeller twirls
Attempting to make this over priced shoebox seem exqusite
Tassles on a silicone breast, spinning as the cockroaches crawl up my back
Gag on this sick joke, you gladly will
Is this the pipe dream, perfumed reality masking societies sweat
All that the populous aims for?
A self depreciating laugh

I

Raw eardrums are about to burst
Tearing into nothing, twisted words set off burning fireworks
Death rage fights, moronic blame, victims in our own heads only we're right
Neither could we ever be wrong, just wronged we make ourselves the prey
Fire in the vains over wet brained illusions, stories made up on the spot
Enshrining the chip on that shoulder

I Hate

City teeth a chalk smile, missing a canine seems all more harmlessly passive, the defanged vampire
The beast lays in wait licking it's chops thirsty for all it can take
Bare your thoat be the willing meal
Let it **** you dry, why not?

I Hate This

Fret and flutter running loose on a lost dime
Calm, cool, collected, yeah right
Lies, storming rage under too thin skin till it bursts at the seams
Lava pouring till everything's gone
"Life's what you make it"
Spoon fed hogwash to make us feel it's our fault where we end up
Dreams held in front of our faces
Treats on a stick, can't reach it but it keeps you going
Till legs break, lungs cave, and your will is snuffed gone to the gutter.


I hate this ****

I think bugs are creeping around in my pores, in the stitching of my clothing, each individual focal of hair, running rampage in the creases of my frontal lobe.


**** I Hate This ****
Bronx, NY
Felix Sladal Feb 2017
You're beautiful

Her heart leaked though sweat soaked pores hardening into
black fragmented biotite to hold her in the prison of her own piousness

Feldspar crystal kneecaps vine intertwining into the lost rock city
Rita was your lascivious sin worth stitching your soul with
Zizyphus Spina Christi to the barren waste lands of your repentance

He kissed you while standing in death's door with sickened veins
You grasped hold and pulled him back from the shadows of the valley
He loved you by the alter of your Father as you bled your tongue in silence

You vowed to lay with no other man than Him almighty
But your vow broke like straw in the sweet summer heat
Now your head remains bowed waiting for your soft breeze of forgiveness

As the ground shifts, as the wind blows
Your body shudders, slipping fragments of your nose, ears, arms, feet, *******, eyes, and fingers slide from you
As your lips crumble to rest upon your thigh
You cry out, vibrations leading to your demise.

Screaming for the ones who have forsaken, weeping for Him who has smited you by turning your soul to stone.

Though it all with in your eternal poignancy, and never ending rage

You're still magnificent.
I don't believe that shall come to pass.
Perpetually unfinished, 2014
Felix Sladal Feb 2017
Floating face down in my vocal ***** of regurgitated euphemisms
Trying to shoot the minds eye just to get away from myself
Running fast and far past cobwebs of unused thought
Only to come face to face with every shadow I've ever been
I've only a pair of fists and the little bit of light left in my eyes
They have bats made of all the secrets I've hidden from myself.
Saying I should become them all over again
To loose the ground on which I stand
July 2014

Likely unfinished.
Felix Sladal Jul 2016
Chickens with our heads cut off we are our parents children.
Lost boys and girls don't understand murmurs from those before them
Nonexistent words of warning


Always falling into the potholes their predecessors heels dug out.
Stumbling over obstacles haphazardly left behind.
There's a light, but how can we see it if we were born blind

Painted pictures line the walls of our minds, corroded and mildewing on the edges
Obsolete to the circumstance in which we stand.
All arrows pointed down a dead end street.

Caught in a time loop till we peel back our eyes
Leaning how to see something other then what we choose
California, June
Most likely unfinished.
Felix Sladal Jul 2016
Swimming clouds in a velvet mind
Float hazy on the world your not what
Meets the eye
**** I'm high on cotton webs wraped around my toes
Spiders digging their tiny feet into my scalp
Anvels sink anchor from the paddle boats of my eyelashes
My brain I can't fish for the answers anymore
Jaded echoes hum on my skin
Playing crazy eights with my soul
Can you read my lips?
Choking on my tongue with words
I won't say
Who is the boatman
I want to sit in the snow
Get lost
I'm already lost in myself
I miss you
Don't know if I know you anymore

A slice of your soul lives in my spine
But I can't remember the shape of your hands
Unfinished, California, December, 15.
Felix Sladal Jul 2016
Her sigh rang out
While the sky turned grey
One by one the clouds dropped
Oversized cottenballs
Kissing her face
She stood there as it washed over her
So what if the sky is falling
When she has nowhere
Left to go
Held her hand in the moonlight
In the morning she was gone
Stand still, tomorrow will be gone
Her along with it
Goodbye woman of the clouds
I hope you find someplace to hide
The ground shall never be as forgiving
As the sky
Oregon, February.
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