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sx
no longer will i live ashamed
of the love i have for the beauty of ***
it leans so closely towards the soul
resting upon its aura

Until proven otherwise
i will continue to live alone with this newfound
pride and fortune
for it will never end this bold admiration i have
for the human body and the many things it creates and devours within itself
all for the purpose of pleasure and satisfaction
i cannot help but be deeply inspired by it all
feel overwhelmed by its thunderous aesthetic brilliance

We breathe into fear
we grow into darkness
and out of a primal and immovable void
as if it was meant to be left unknown
and stuffed into the dark

Often ruined by our tendency to overthink
often degraded or stolen
misjudged and maltreated
no longer is *** ethereal at heart
it now comes with intentions we dig to find
and learn to detest, intensely digest, or ponder
wonderfully and soulfully until it is all rotten

I hope to one day witness fearlessness
and untouched salvation  
beneath the spirit of an *******
a moment unfolded and left unstretched
by time and heavy worries committed to by energy and time
I hope to one day become unburdened and understood
left unspoken for
for these are my words on S E X

One does not have to participate to appreciate its effervescent presence in spaces
it is eternal and wonders like God amongst men
We were blessed and we shall be thankful
for when it is felt in full
by as many as necessary
don't know where this came from honestly but i really like it!
worthless and stupid
more alone than stuck
getting drunk on and lost in the past
all the things i could have had
if not for fear, it’s torment
it’s disastrous and frightening
claws, foggy and dusty
obscured and distorted
now i sleep on if only’s

point the finger
blame the ones that left me for dead
on a new open journey
with worries i can’t contain alone  
again i run
and try to fight
against my own waves of unnerving, fruitless grief
losing more of my spirit
as months go by slowly
and with imperfect levels of gravity to them

not knowing how to roam alone
for it’s been years since I’ve had to walk the hallways without noise
and clattering voices beside me
and for that i miss the old ways
but the new was sure to cement itself
and breed new beginnings I still can’t see
lead to slight meetings with old faces
that only make me a most impatient beast

friendships buried, kept deep and dead
sorrowful over their end
alone with the memories i now have to tend
new ones i hope i can birth
make right with the bones from left behind homes
ones with a longer lifespan
that create less hard nights
filled with intense open eyes
trying not to cry

why was i never
enough
was feeling bitter over friendships that ended abruptly and without any real reason, decided to write a poem about how I felt instead of spiriting
i laid on your pile, of pleated corduroy skirts, as our

faint and stifled lips,

fell into stubborn submissions, intentions unkempt, and raw


for minutes it was sleep, your kisses travelled with

R.E.M— it was dreamlike love, painless love
inspired by Charles Bukowski's 'Raw With Love'
how ruined is our soul?

i can feel it shaking and staggering

i’ve run out of preservatives

it is time for its decomposition



its shrunken and withered branches

have curated shocks of misty shame

that cling to our possessive pores
fierce and painful they feel

like our clenched fists

and our knuckles of bruises that whistle

sweet notes into the duvet

many times changed

hiding prophetic pools of the vital fluid



i’m in need of glycerine

for this betrayal  

itches and stings

it once was a tender irritation

made of polished affection

that bled rose petals

and golden honey



we’ve been dipped in lemon

and new, blinding frontiers

that call for separation

from this never-ending loss of ourselves

i’m in need of glycerine

and rosewater
warm gun:

Imagining Korine, bleed out in ‘Fight Harm’
imagining his shattered ankle drag across the city sidewalk

Dreaming of seeing Frusciante, live on stage
as he vanishes into his mind, trapped in the sound

Seeing all of Schwartzman’s movies & shows
Rushmore, Spun, Huckabees & more

with the mind of a rock, dish or mold
and with all of pure being  
i avoid a painful death, on the bathroom floor
losing blood in seconds
watching brown turn white

Listening to Labor Days for the 100th time
& all of Aesop’s other classics, Daylight, Rings & Dorks

Listening to alt-J’s - House Of The Rising Sun
as it reinvigorates my wanderlust
with it’s multicoloured soundscape

writing insecurities into black notebooks
crying with a red blanket around my neck
wondering where to put the shame
remembering i have a need to share

Fincher, Kaufman, Guadagnino, Dolan
all i can say is
thank God for cinema
don't know where this one came from, decided to just take a chance with it...
Here i am again, stuck in conglomerates made of forgotten and downtrodden emotions, that live to be repeatedly crippled by the loud, heavy rain of cities captured by aluminium, filled with lost figures that stray further from reasons to find reason. The celebrations eventually settle, and the seasonal effects grow deeper, the professional buildings in the large, intrusive cities will beg for attention, as i quiver in my cabin on my hill of introversion, remote and entangled in the webs of my mind, as it reminisces about a quiet winter that fears its own bite, and of a storm that slows the world down, and interrupts its noise, for we are helpless to the outside forces we fail to predict.

I will listen to entire eternities of songs until my very being dissolves into a cluster of unembellished sounds, then will dream chapters, and forget them for many days, and live with my frustration until they reappear in more dreams, though now they live in separation, but later will form constellations that will once again save me from my ordinary fears, and from my rush of hatred, in the form of tactile regrets. Any intervention will be met with glares and slight anger, for their words never come with a perspective that aligns with my rage. However, it will always be followed by soft reflections in the form of perfumed apologies that i always feel come from my need for resolutions, rather than any need for something internally revitalising. Here i am again, stuck in depression, with nothing but a will to create. I am an optimistic *******, lost in self-doubt.
you say you’re radical
as you sling Supreme over your shoulder
you spit logos unto anarchy
and throw brands on broken windows  
as bloodshot eyes
waver and twitch
as they fight obsolete horizons
and default paths

obey, obey, obey
bloodstains on Nike’s name
molotov cocktails litter the land
and cause city flames
that act as spectacles
for blind believers
with obscured visions
of our timeless vocation
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