Ignorant; not a care in the world (~)

Holy socks drag on cracked sidewalks
She had a pink shirt,

Or what seemed like it was once pink
She wore a smile & talked to her friend
I never saw him, but I’m sure he’s nice
I swear, her jeans never came with holes,
She’s too young to sport that fashion
Her face was the moon, not the cheesy one,
but pale & distant
Her hair, matted and knotty like dad’s unused
twine ball sitting in his toolbox
Did she have a brother?
Where was he?
I’m sure that unclothed Barbie in her hand needed a Ken

                                                (~)

Recline­d with their hands dangling over ashtrays,
where the only entity in their mind calling for their attention
is a liver-punching depressant.
Where eyes open for another hit,
and close to the cries of their children
Tonka trucks make snow angels in ash covered carpets,
Walls inhale secondhand sadness; stained with the tears of neglect,
Unmade beds and unfolded clothes shower their unpaid apartment,
Eviction notices pinned to the fridge with
crayon drawings of “daddy”,
Her request for another beer echoes the empty room
& it crosses her mind

“where the **** is she?”

the tangibility of fallibility
is met between the coincidence
and insatiability of adversity,
the blissfulness of satisfaction
is met between the constant refraction
and abstraction of our instability,
distancing perceptions bound by
our misinterpreted misconceptions ,
take the contradictions of our minds
and use them as receipted expectations,
blinded by darkness for illumination
idyllically thriving on the absence of starvation
but the the realism of disdained relation put us
in a position of contempt fixation,
placement of a pedestal beneath my feet
misdirected direction towards a forked defeat,
a way to pain and a way to pleasure,
the destination of each concluded at cloudy weather,
atmospheric conditions leave injunctions towards
the ****** functions to deviate and meditate
the conflicted constant of mind and heart
and diverge from its obliged obligation from the start,
a denouncement expected right from inception
brought afloat a constant instance of introspection,
intrinsic emotions distorted at a love’s devotion
sparks a metaphysical claim towards a complex notion
of companionship and intensified intimacy;
an expectant of reciprocated sympathy
but when in reality, the thought of apathy
lies not within the partner,
but within me

(I)

the strength is weary
when you see an old photograph
standing next to mom, dad, and sister
with nothing but a smile
and a tommy shirt
they’re both smiling
kneeled down to our level
dad never screamed
she’s just a baby,
no cuts
just a child
cheeks outward nose as soft
as the ice cream that
falls down it
and I
untainted mind
no anger, knuckles unpainted,
dad’s eyes squinted with a smile
he held no disappointment
in any expression

we’re still a family
but with more screaming
and no tommy shirts anymore

(II)

I saw another picture,
in a theme park I rode
down a log ride with my dad
he had a beige wind jacket
and brown shades
I was wearing a red jacket
and a smile
I remember that day actually
the wind felt chilly on my head
I remember cause mom just shaved it,
I cut my bangs off,
another happy day in remembrance,
we ate ice cream and had lunch
at a dairy queen,
we were in new jersey
the picture
again
brings homage to the good times we had
had
he still has those sunglasses actually,
the log ride couldn’t even get him
to take them off,
now the only shades
he wears
is disappointment

inhabited within a society
by a government who lies to me,
to us, on the grounds of money;
earning and spending more than saved
to enrapture the self and capture the enslaved,
working class citizens
who worry more about paying rent
than being mentally content,
Monday to Friday, nine to five
a chance to earn, yet not to thrive
the worry placed on the gratified at ease,
posing no harm, smoking their own trees,
years in the cage for a simple possession of
a couple bags, subject to unlawful repression
yet barred for being a simplified state,
there’s lesser charges for amplified ****,
a higher power twisting by the fist,
grabbing a free nation and twisting by the wrist
there needs to be a change
within a democratic range
that allows us to be the free country
we announce in our anthem
but the government keeps gnawing
and biting the hand feeds them,
we’ll be ruled, and controlled
until a social monarchist
binds together to bindingly subsist
we the people need to speak up
and repress this social **** up;
the need to always rush,
the need to brush
aside repressions until
obsessions of contraries
conflict with progression,
living each day dead
with no room to grow and
yet the only gift we ever bestow
is sleeping and drifting away
in the unconscious
only to awake again,
a conjure suicide with
your company pen.

i’m followed by a shadow
figure within the dark
of who i use to be
and am today,
reflecting in mirrors
are strangers with
crooked teeth,
late at night he
whispers memories
of a twisted body
beneath frayed rope
or sometimes
holds pictures of
walls painted with
repulsive remedies
delivered
by a bullet,
he showers skull
fragments of
D and T
i always try and shake
them off of me
i can’t, it’s tearing holes
in my skin
i try to pick
them off, i ******* can’t,
he never lets me forget,
i’m trying to sleep,
he finds loopholes
in releases and
picks at calloused
hands watching
the dead skin rain
and dampen
rotting fresh,
he’s in my dreams,
he sends faceless
apparitions
applauding something
i’ve done
or haven’t done
i don’t know
he shakes babies
and laughs
waking me in
cold sweats
he tells me to forget how
to breath,
your lungs are useless
your lungs are useless
your lungs are useless

good morning

open wide, take the barrel, caress the lips
let the trigger be something
thats figured afterwards
as one thing held by
the stress of life,

let the burden of breathing
take the wind and dwindle
the passion you have left
to rekindle your passion to live
reloading the rifle
reviving every spiteful
feeling edging you closer to
the side of the high rise
in malevolence disregarding
the benevolence of why
you’re still sitting here
reading this; ignorance to bliss

let the goodwill of life foreshadow
that every stroke brings deep to shallow
letting life take the noose and tighten
until you loosen and righten
every wrong

let life bring your cuts to a heal
so that you know every human can feel
a pain get better and watch the weather
go from dark skies to milky clouds dripping light
and have the poor weep then sing together

so let life strife your feelings of self
so that you hear the whisper from
the storm pass,
and open your eyes,
don’t let the precedent of today
dictate the incident of
a familiar tangent
because with every feeling of pain
is followed by compassion of
the morrow

Dear God, I’m an unbeliever,
if there was a higher power
i don’t think you’d let me leave her,
with the pain and despair I’m finding
you’d think the power you held would
allow you to come out from hiding
being the veil of what you claim to be
and the honesty extends beyond me
I’m not speaking with any selfishness
only with selflessness to guide me
away from your declarations of
mandations that mould foundations
for nations that struggle under your hand,
it’s all part of “God’s plan” only if
the blueprints call to stand and watch
everyone crumble beneath the cries
to higher powers while the darkness pours
and showers, soaking sanity and the ignorance
of humanity.

Dear God, I’m an unbeliever
I’m writing to an entity,
a supposed supreme deity
foreshadowing naive spontaneity
for those who have no one else,
I hate writing with the topic of self,
but the constant lack of health
brings not an illness
but a stillness in progress,
I’ll pick up the gun **** it,
I'll fill my body with pills
and begin to rock it,
and will there be a hand to halt?
nay, only a finger to point fault.
any god, any being wouldn’t let sadness
flow through a spineless body,
whether a monotheistic mantra
moralizes a mental mantle or
a polytheistic point towards a
pleasant prefixed phase of
past problems postpones
present’s purity,
I’m writing to a transparent
inexistent foster parent
letting me cross the road
without looking both ways,
so, dear god, if you see this
let me count my life in years, not days.

she is an asylum,
her walls drip blackness
writing every word
that neglected
to slip past her
teeth,
she sleeps on
****-stained spring
mattresses as the
clod tiles bite
at her heels,
hair and skin hide
beneath her fingernails
as palms are twinged,
the padded walls
whisper screams
of coercion; wrists
bound by silence and
tightened by insanity.
to bedposts
rusted,
her hands retired on
ridged thighs
hugging her
goosebumps with
convulsions of agitation.
her mind
scratches melodies of an
insomniac,
the flickering lights choke
her vision and blind her speech.
a room of contradictions
irregulating regularities
intoxicating sobriety
hallucinating reality,
the muffled screams
that weave through
the fibres of the
pillow clinched tightly
in her lap harmonize
algorithms that pull
each padded wall
towards her howling
being — centrefold the room,
as the walls hug her body
she awakes and paints
antonyms to
perpetual despondency

he had low-grade
tattoos on his neck
and his clothes
wore transparency.
beneath his eyes
held a dying sun.
he spoke in thanks
and respect, the cuts
upon his wrists called
reached a finger out
and called my eyes
to say hello,
he spoke in gratitude
for the smoke i gave him.
he smelled like cigarette
stained couch cushions
he spoke a respectable
ebonic intellect.
his fingernails
were unswept
floor trim
and his teeth
were smashed
dinner plates
at his mother house.
departing he said
thank you
and i offered him
a cigarette for the road
and he refused and said
“for talking to me”