I want to help
the ones who
hurt

Null is the void, as the void is the lull, lull is the stoic, as the stoic is the soul.

Soul of an eon, as an eon of not, not in the ions, as the ions are lost.

Lost is the sphere, as the sphere is sedition, sedition is fear, as fear is the mission.

Mission of silence, as silence is the crowd, the crowd is the silent, and the silent are loud.

Sometimes we pretend to be dead
So that we can remain alive.

Thump Thump
Said the beat of my heart.
Perfectly synchronized with the
Bump Bump
Of her heart.
Two sets of lips inching up either side of his thighs,
Spread wide apart.
The melody of his respiration lost in the rhythm of his inspiration
Rhythmic
Swayed two tongues
Twenty fingers
Two bra straps undone.
Two heads of curls
Curled around one head
One hell of a baptism
Christened upon the holy sheets of the bed.
Two trails of saliva...
Describe to me the sensation of tongue on skin;
Offers of salvation for the sins that lie within.
Her eyes are alluring.
Bright eyes .
Chariot to heaven
He's got an Angel on each thigh.
That's two tongues
Crying,
One to devour each side.
Mesmerized
Spread wings and fly;
Hypnotized.
When you arrive at the pearly gate, we told him
Just come inside.

Those truly "happy" people?
Are
Actually
Sicker
Than
Depression
Itself

Forcing
Things
Only serves
To turn
Desperation
To
Stagnant
Hopelessness

When i win, it is exactly what they wanted, and when i lose, it was part of the plan.

Naked pictures of God on my nightstand,
Dry bones of Moses painted on my button down shirt screaming,
“to be or not to be” is not an English word.
In the daze of the thoughts of Neurology, I saw a man kick a bucket full of Starbucks giftcards down the avenue street. He screamed in pain as he watched the bucket tumble and roll down the street, blessing every Bohemian with a slight cold.

Naked pictures of God on my nightstand,
I dreamt about a land before man where the Oxygen that sprang from the pores of flowers
sang a sweet death. Where dishwashers are saints, for afterall, man will not be if not for food.
Where books are written not to be read, but for the sake of Orange trees that will grow in the future.
I once wore a poker face to a funeral and laughed at the man in the casket because the souls he had underneath him were two left feet.

*We all once had naked pictures of God on our nightstands but lost it after Einstein  
Lost the fried chicken war of 1812 to Isaac Newton.

(the city had fought the fortnight before)
fire burned through the little skirts
and plastic lunch boxes
carrying the nourishment of our future
doctors and worldshakers—

                                 Future
tax paying Americans
And beacon of the nation.

Wide awake, in the thoughts of a light bulb,
(Where sidewalk stairs politic with the devil,)
A raindrop fell and whispered to the asphalt,
“Tell me what you know about happiness…”
And somewhere, in the middle of a pineapple parade,
A Pepsi can smiled and danced the night away with Nyquil labels.