Rivinia,
It's a pretty cool name.
I had a key to a house
and threw it in his face.
Color me mine
and topple me yours,
it's off the cuff
like pogo stick chores.
Throw your knives sideways
on table tops.
Now isn't that attractive
to you, to you?
Now, what do I do?
With people coming here
and stand bys rushing there
of the female persuasion
and bunnies up the foot.
All in a confidential sweep
of rice ball rubies
and a dented cup.
Oh, manual window,
it's chilly outside,
so please be a doll
and help me make it fine.
Because where have you been, all of life?
Completely unaware
of an existence of your kind,
with a new screwball
and a lamp for kicks.
Drum stick models
so you can eat and cook
and take down the spark notes
via nightlight.

Pawn me some pots and pans
show some chivalry and toss me some spoons
bring on the platers
and forks, knives, and the chatter
for a gallant night is about to ensue!
Candles for such an occasion
a cloth to adorn tables seems just right
put a runner on, cast a sly smile
you're in for such a delight!
We can spring for the embroidered initials
kettles for a shiny shilling would do
we're on our way to the wildebeests house
and not just any ordinary kitchenware will do!

I wish you could fight
for me so strongly, that instead
you would surely die
without me. I want
to be enough for you,
but that isn't going to
happen, now is it?

My hands are cold
and I'm hungry
dead in drag
at the age of twenty
missing pearl
isn't that funny?
Kids are gone
and it's not yet Monday

After last nights debauchery,
dying is an illusion
that I cannot attain.
I unfurled the sheets,
thriving on the threads
of an emaciated cocoon.
Nagging thoughts,
urges,
living on the
possibilities of
slip ups.
My reality
broken
through the alarm clock
of any particular morning.
I want to sleep forever
in mass amounts of memories.
My mind resented the idea
of propelling forward,
of the insatiable desire
of being wanted as much
as I project and feed
the want I have inside.
To be forgotten and let go
from heart and eyes,
to the keys from which
you use to type and
unlock doors of all sorts.
It's moments like this,
though
that I wish I would die

My mind is playing charades with me
I swear I witnessed a knock at the door
and my my chest felt so lifted
like it'd rip right through my anatomy.
Safe to say it was the banging
of a coffee ***
because if it was you
I surely wouldn't believe my eyes
and if you were there just to
reinforce your mistake
I'd surely die right there on the spot

I wonder if I could hang on
I say as I trip into the sun
never been one for balance
as Libras usually come

I do believe
from a constant watch
that the representation of alignment
is now two score
a side for the rich
and gasp for the poor

Caught within this cold violence
deep in these thoughts of a
heated silence
between the sighed gasps and
the boisterous breath crawling
defiantly up my nostrils.
A multitude of  feelings,
not at all as pleasant as the screaming
curve of her back, kicking
back the air
with flicking hair,
shivering in quaky warmth.
This exploring, it's an eclipse
of passion reeling to the undertones
underlying the scattered sensations
that appear
in bursts of spontaneity.

Lost...
           in the wake
Who will move first?
I wasn't awake
Me 
      or 
           the world?
      I survived my wake
  I can feel the apocalypse inside my chest
         Am I alive in the sleep?
Supernova, 
                   but imploding in
This R.E.M life cut me in too deep
                            I am only space and time
     It's never good...
                                  Night

Take to the rhythm like soot to white
With the right to write what is coming off strong
The flight from flight to the unwanted height
Basically from the bottom to the frivolous tip
Top tip my top off
and hope the heats not too hot
Memories condense, liquefies
and fades as thoughts rot
Full conversations melted
to abbreviated and bottled talk
You can see it when I walk
Notice memory shocked
Too bad I forgot what I was taught
inside my mind
created, "controlled", fought
To remember and scribe
but my brains
dismembered
I shouldn't tempered with
the humane thermostat just left

Tattoos and cigarettes are not enough to replace your touch

Future breeds
with consequence needs
all in the moment now
that’s right
the morrow is a sorrow
and subject satisfaction
Go on
the hangover
headaches to balconies
happiness in LSD
and the rest of the brigade
because you're a born showman
with zero results
Two times out of ten
you don’t have the call
vanities aside
I’m giving up on all of the toxic
you can’t possibly begin to imagine
how little you seem now

I like to get drunk and whisper your name

Everyone
must initial work
because forgery is such
a simple option
stowed away
in a clepto's pocket
paragraphs
among the book

You are the mental immigrant,
comfortable only when you are foreign

/in private/ 
Red lipstick kisses on my eyelids,
Blinking fast and fading,
blooded tears, crimson stains and stylish smirks.
But they won't [don't] see me crying 
/in the public/
It's a cold blooded world
and I'm scared they won't see me trying.
The cellophane between rules 
and skin let me know
that this hologram is impenetrable 

I was only 15 years old, 
and you tried to make me feel beautiful in the ugliest ways
You fired a gun and 
shattered my heart in the red room so 
no one would see.
(Shattered my heart in the red room so no one would see)

/In secret/
Red lipstick kisses on my eyelids
Blinking blurs of tears and sleep
I saw ideals swimming alongside blood
Cells as I closed my eyes to a 
sea of red.
       /they said, 
                  tonight,/
           /I'd be better off dead/

Red blooded tears,
Crimson stains and fears
Stylish smirks catch private redemptions.
But they won't [can't] see me crying
   /in private/
             /in public/
                          /at all/
It's a cold hearted world
and I'm scared I won't see my trying.

I was only 15 years old, 
and you tried to make me feel beautiful in the ugliest ways
You fired a gun and 
shattered my heart in the red room so 
no one would see.

You were the first, 
but you won't be the last. 
You'll never last
shattered my heart in the red room so 
no one would see.
The cellophane between rules 
and skin let me know
that this hologram is impenetrable  x2

You’re a stranger
passing by
and I’m just a strange one
simply passing time
and though I could never deal with you
your sanity
your lack of person
or anyone else’s
I’d marry you in my mind
without passing judgment

A white wedding
time starving our imagination
till the memories arise
playing oblivious to our loss of control
and the guests flood in every crevice
and what is substantial envelopes the dream
imprisons the state of self worth
and occupies the generally vacant
back of the mind

Shake off the dwindling bravado
it was an erroneous tick
digging under your skin
speculate it as it happens
from the alter
ticket stubs and anxious smiles for entry
and ropes to keep you enthralled
until someone else’s all
decides to usher in
the divorce.

And such is my relationship
with this human condition;
Extremes in the privacy
in my being
Extremes in inhabitants
of the world around me
all contrasted
to the barren landscapes
in the land they walk on.
Crystallized
and in slow motion
a hologram of the world
all in the very moments
before we swallowed it whole.

We take deep breathes
to ventilate our minds
contaminated and strewn with
the "facts" of life.
We cooperate to live
we cooperate to survive
but
what's life
if we imitate those surroundings?
They illustrate to be profound
and tolerate their moves
as they assassinate
that very moment
when you speculate
that there's something more than this.
What's life
if we hesitate to
speak of what might be the key
to cultivate something beyond
what is here?
Beyond fate,
our linguistic ability to communicate
is more than a sign
more than a dull accompaniment
to orchestrate.
Our feelings, as one,
incubate them into a new
luxuriate creation.
Take hold of this creation
and cure with it what you can
this is the new revolution
shoot it back with a smile.

I wonder what I'm doing here
thinking of the stars and their light
couches that don’t quite fit two people
rooms a dull dark
save the soft light
spilling out of the television set

I miss doing that with you

I'm like this astronaut wannabe
I want to be more than on top of the world,
more than a small step,
I want to shoot higher
but still a part of it
A part of yours
I want to leap the great distance
but have you next to me
to be a part of mine
like two cats caught up in that tree,
being up so high
so far from you;
It distresses me

And it’s been so long
and I’ve matured for that third
or perhaps that fourth time
but in this instance I know
It’s different
for a better
though
It’s lost
for a cause
and yet still
understanding

I sit here now
in the shame of this congested mind
I've always wondered,
maybe if I had changed
maybe if you can see how I really am now
(on the inside of course)
because I have this inkling
that perhaps you’d like it
… just maybe

Her best moments
are when she has  AnCo blasting in the basement
and she dances around with the people she loves
barefoot
don't be flustered
pounding and thumping
synchronized
they dance for an audience
she dances like there is no on in the room
and its loud
and beautiful
and voices join
and
I'm finding it
because she's dying
and I can't let her

There is an ocean placed in my head
brewing a rolling storm
lightning strikes
and thunder claps
collapsing what I love  
pouring thousands of beads of water
from the sky
battering my body down  like bats

I'm not a sailor
or a can do tailor
I fear what I've done
casted into bottles
built of sand and salt
it's not my fault
I've lost my way again

The compas rose
is no bouquet to navigate
maps tangent
as the needle corrects my distance
I'm definitely not built to be a sailor
I have no plank, no glass, no tie
no brawn is shown here to tether
salt left the tears to cry
over the cracked mast that supports this vessel
with a skeleton that's barely alive

now let alone I'm not no swimmer
I choke on the sound of simple showers
drown in rain two inches deep
brushing against the dew of fields of flowers
ahead of stands that are just too steep

wading through this mess
this diversion
to keep in mind a confession
yet to suppress it's mild *******
thrown precaution to the wind
currently it's my turn
and I'm diving in
towards response
regarding cautionary rejection

vain to vests as a carpe diem
skillfully a hypocrite in order to believe in
holding onto oxygen like it's a religion
one last take in
hold...
it's out
sinking through to penetrate these waves

I will never get the imprint of those words
out of my head
not this
no
it can't follow suit
please
it's framed in my skull

What I would give for a calm conversation with you
You smile so lightly
But your eyes hide a difference
I need a playbook and a glance at the score
Is this just a game?
Because I thought this was reality
Because I thought we were evenly matched

Shame to leave this all behind me
But it's more so shameful to lie and say I have
Notes render me speechless
And the frame picturing a moment that
Depicts beautiful lies
Makes me wonder
Gets me saying out loud
"What I would give for a moment,
A moment with you"

Nothing so shy as simple silhouettes
And nothing so close as little locks devouring forever
Unless you want it that way
Because I'd be up for the opportunity
If you'd so open you eyes to it
I wish I had the courage to tell you this
Because I would give anything
To spend every moment our arms wrapped around each other

Actions speak louder than words
But words are all I got
And past verses come back to accompany them
Leaving me lying to myself
Even when I don't notice I'm doing so
What I would give to share these words with you
What I would give for them to mean
so much to you
Like they do to me

The capacity is
                                  
                                     *excruciating

All I want is
for you to enter the doorway
Release the latch
and allow tumblers to groan
with a twist.
The television screen filters
proofs of profanities
as rights to passage
flood onto the rug.
At the time
I liked to think
that I was fully capable
of pulling this off solo
but the tent tied net was just
a little too loose
and I lost myself in the crevices.

What is it with you
and pictures of "attractive" girls
with their cigarettes
and half naked bodies
as I'm left standing with my Turkish Royals
watching this
helpless
accompanied by a heavy heart
and ash on my pants
weighed down by your
judgment and disgust?

I'd let you put your hand on my chest and tell you to close your eyes and see the kingdoms beneath my skin. Caverns and tunnels left barren and untouched, ready to be discovered, lie in wait for intrusion and the human touch. All these roads and back alleys follow up into the intersection of my heart and sanity. "You built this world on dreams, bricked fantasies and concrete love" you would say, if we existed. But if I did the same, would there be paper walls or wall paper skin? Would there be a barrier to entry or the warmest welcome yet to be given to me?

       I would love to be your dream house, and play all the roles of the pieces inside, trying to be all the functions you need and deserve and use to survive. If I knocked, would you let me in? For our hearts are brittle oragami folding and unfurling in our chests; our life supply, so soft inside these metallic apparatus's we operate on demand. I will be ready to operate whenever you wish and my metallic lips will kiss you and our lives will never rust.

       We've built these systems of ourselves, our clock work hearts, our factories of suspicion, and our steel vaults concealing our trust. We will go far; the farthest leagues whether it stretch arms length and beyond, or a thousand leagues below the most hungry and sleepy sea.

       We'll build our own worlds. I myself have this Empire Heart; it beats for the people, but it beats most importantly for you. With me, you'll never be alone. Sometimes the clouds swoop in at night, blocking out your view of the stars, but that doesn't mean they aren't there. I'm always here. I am an everyday forecast. Desolation will never be an option when I exist in your world or in your dreams.

       This world with a purpose, while purposefully perilous paths deter from direction, intersects and overlaps to create a maze built by masterminds. I refuse to romanticize with this belief though I will play along and remove myself stage left when I feel the need to be absolutely necessary. Time and goodbyes must conspire in order to keep the assembly line frantically recycling. So much movement for a planet that leads us to believe we're standing still, but then again, this world was built for me and you and is hidden in the confines of my hearts reality. I've simply been living in a dream about you. Would you taint something beautiful to make it perfect? Or would you destroy something perfect to make it beautiful? That's how this world is and the human version of "reality" fascinates me; It entails nothing really. So long as you alter every microscopic detail to standardised fraud. To think all this is encased in the refines of my cage like chest.