Mar 2013
I am sitting on a broken branch
under the drug addled canopy of insecurities and lies.
I am feeling the steady sway of an oxycontin daze.
Walking slowly through a ketamine daydream that pulls at my core
like a phantom puppet master controlling my limbs.
It crashes into my brain like the breaking waves on the shore.
Breathing in nicotine filtered filth as I wait to catch a breath of fresh air.
Lungs filled with recycled tar that prevents me from gasping.
In darkened corners where lies sleep and rumors are hidden,
I wait.
I dance on a tightrope between conscious and subconscious
that is held by reality and dreams.
Dark sunglasses on to avoid
the blinding stinging light of what is real.
Mirrored glasses are reflecting the reflections back at intruders.
Deflecting glances, shifty eyes, and dilated pupils
searching for a focus point of truth
in a neon technicoloured blur of hypocrisy.
The background blaring horns blended with a steady bass line
mimics my heartbeat.
Thump thump. Thump thump.
The fading noises pass quickly,
highlighted with insults and curses of hate and gossip
that are forgotten before you can make them out.
Spun truths turned into lies
intermixed with resin
left from yesterday.
The litter paved streets break under my heels.
Click clack. Click clack.
Broken and cracked
like the false promises
And hopes
And dreams
of those who have walked here before.
The monotonous pace is repeated
only pausing to notice the gum under the stiletto
that fails to hold her in place
as she runs towards the wet cement that has replaced
another sheet of cracked concrete.
The wet cement that has covered another lie
in order to show the simplicity of fake appearances.
A reminder of how easy it is to replace and mask
the hate filled holes that get trampled on.
The flicker of hope is suddenly unseen
like the street light lined alley that is now dark.
The stench of garbage, decay, and rotting flesh
is mixed with expensive perfume, sweat, make-up, and spilled *****.
Garbage cans are filled with the leftovers of last night.
A *** stained dress with no owner draws no attention
as the sound of snapping latex is muffled
by the screams of ecstasy that rapidly fade
like the fleeting feeling of MDMA.
Thick white ****** fluid oozes out like human glue
in an attempt to mend the lack of connection.
Strangers intertwined in hasty conversations
waiting for human contact to forget
that they are in dark alleys.
To forget
that they live in dark places
where no one lays down wet cement.
The distorted reality of alleys deceive passer bys
into thinking that they are not menacing
has been weaved like a web by street sweepers and garbage men.
The pressing sense of the need to avoid the sweepers
is unsaid but felt.
They falsely clean what will always be *****.
The *** filled backstreets yearn for love
like the treacherous woman guarding its corner.
Daddy issue lined dresses are asking to be undone
just like her lost innocence that can never be mended.
The issues and clothing that can never be fixed
abandoned on top of garbage cans for someone else to pick up.
Patches of dead grass are left
untended, unwatered, and unwanted
waiting to be replaced by wet cement.
Wet cement that soon enough will crack and break
under the heavy heated pressure of the stomping heels
of lost Girls in a desolate city.
Blood trickled trails are left behind
that have dried into the cigarette lined streets that lead nowhere.
The injured egos of men are left to linger at back doors
that will never be opened.
******* induced insanity whirls around a flurry
of whispers and paranoia wanting to here the Truth
between the spewed anger and rage of the low toned hushed voices
that wish not to be heard.
Whiskey hinted murmurs pressing on the sidewalk cracks
knowing that they will never be heard.
Looking into the dark where
Truth will never be seen.
The constant beat of narcotic users searching
for salvation in pre-packed bags of white powder,
digging for redemption in empty bottles of multi-colored pills.
Screaming through the silence,
They are not heard.
The desperation can be heard through the whining moans
of the junkies that are tethered to addiction.
The over whelming sound of
Want and Need and Lust
move through the streets like the overflowing gutter water.
Heartbeats are replaced with the impatient pacing of
her stilettos waiting for her pain to cease.
Stilettos stomping on broken dreams
waiting to cross broken streets.
She gazes at the other side as if it is different.
Stilettos tapping on the street
waiting for the firm grasp of a sweaty hand to distract her from reality.
Waiting to be touched
And grabbed
And ******
In hopes that love will arise from ****** ****** encounter with
strange men in uncomfortable places.
Clothes are feverishly removed with the promise of
flesh on flesh enveloped in a hazy cloud of body heat
that warns off the internal coldness.
Heavy breath and touch and kiss release chemicals
to replace the drug depleted emptiness.
The rhythmic sound of rubbing flesh mingles with
the moaning of the streets.
It fuses with the short lived pleasure laden moans of
lonely people and un-climatic *******.
Awkward silences are brief as the sound of her heels owns the street.
Click clack. Click clack.
The sound of stilettos on cement hurriedly walking away when there is
no longer a need for his body heat.
That unmistakable click clack click clack
on uneven, *****, dangerous streets.
Red lipstick smeared stains are the only trace of her that is.
That is the only trace of me that is left.
Click clack steady on the street.
Steady like mimicking bass line
Click clack heartbeat.
The crunch of broken glass under the stiletto
echoes her broken dreams.
Click clack.
Head held high never looking at the ground as she walks forward.
Click clack. Click clack.
Click clack.
The urban mud of
Wet cement goes
Squish!
under her stiletto.
V.Mata
under the drug addled canopy of insecurities and lies.
I am feeling the steady sway of an oxycontin daze.
Walking slowly through a ketamine daydream that pulls at my core
like a phantom puppet master controlling my limbs.
It crashes into my brain like the breaking waves on the shore.
Breathing in nicotine filtered filth as I wait to catch a breath of fresh air.
Lungs filled with recycled tar that prevents me from gasping.
In darkened corners where lies sleep and rumors are hidden,
I wait.
I dance on a tightrope between conscious and subconscious
that is held by reality and dreams.
Dark sunglasses on to avoid
the blinding stinging light of what is real.
Mirrored glasses are reflecting the reflections back at intruders.
Deflecting glances, shifty eyes, and dilated pupils
searching for a focus point of truth
in a neon technicoloured blur of hypocrisy.
The background blaring horns blended with a steady bass line
mimics my heartbeat.
Thump thump. Thump thump.
The fading noises pass quickly,
highlighted with insults and curses of hate and gossip
that are forgotten before you can make them out.
Spun truths turned into lies
intermixed with resin
left from yesterday.
The litter paved streets break under my heels.
Click clack. Click clack.
Broken and cracked
like the false promises
And hopes
And dreams
of those who have walked here before.
The monotonous pace is repeated
only pausing to notice the gum under the stiletto
that fails to hold her in place
as she runs towards the wet cement that has replaced
another sheet of cracked concrete.
The wet cement that has covered another lie
in order to show the simplicity of fake appearances.
A reminder of how easy it is to replace and mask
the hate filled holes that get trampled on.
The flicker of hope is suddenly unseen
like the street light lined alley that is now dark.
The stench of garbage, decay, and rotting flesh
is mixed with expensive perfume, sweat, make-up, and spilled *****.
Garbage cans are filled with the leftovers of last night.
A *** stained dress with no owner draws no attention
as the sound of snapping latex is muffled
by the screams of ecstasy that rapidly fade
like the fleeting feeling of MDMA.
Thick white ****** fluid oozes out like human glue
in an attempt to mend the lack of connection.
Strangers intertwined in hasty conversations
waiting for human contact to forget
that they are in dark alleys.
To forget
that they live in dark places
where no one lays down wet cement.
The distorted reality of alleys deceive passer bys
into thinking that they are not menacing
has been weaved like a web by street sweepers and garbage men.
The pressing sense of the need to avoid the sweepers
is unsaid but felt.
They falsely clean what will always be *****.
The *** filled backstreets yearn for love
like the treacherous woman guarding its corner.
Daddy issue lined dresses are asking to be undone
just like her lost innocence that can never be mended.
The issues and clothing that can never be fixed
abandoned on top of garbage cans for someone else to pick up.
Patches of dead grass are left
untended, unwatered, and unwanted
waiting to be replaced by wet cement.
Wet cement that soon enough will crack and break
under the heavy heated pressure of the stomping heels
of lost Girls in a desolate city.
Blood trickled trails are left behind
that have dried into the cigarette lined streets that lead nowhere.
The injured egos of men are left to linger at back doors
that will never be opened.
******* induced insanity whirls around a flurry
of whispers and paranoia wanting to here the Truth
between the spewed anger and rage of the low toned hushed voices
that wish not to be heard.
Whiskey hinted murmurs pressing on the sidewalk cracks
knowing that they will never be heard.
Looking into the dark where
Truth will never be seen.
The constant beat of narcotic users searching
for salvation in pre-packed bags of white powder,
digging for redemption in empty bottles of multi-colored pills.
Screaming through the silence,
They are not heard.
The desperation can be heard through the whining moans
of the junkies that are tethered to addiction.
The over whelming sound of
Want and Need and Lust
move through the streets like the overflowing gutter water.
Heartbeats are replaced with the impatient pacing of
her stilettos waiting for her pain to cease.
Stilettos stomping on broken dreams
waiting to cross broken streets.
She gazes at the other side as if it is different.
Stilettos tapping on the street
waiting for the firm grasp of a sweaty hand to distract her from reality.
Waiting to be touched
And grabbed
And ******
In hopes that love will arise from ****** ****** encounter with
strange men in uncomfortable places.
Clothes are feverishly removed with the promise of
flesh on flesh enveloped in a hazy cloud of body heat
that warns off the internal coldness.
Heavy breath and touch and kiss release chemicals
to replace the drug depleted emptiness.
The rhythmic sound of rubbing flesh mingles with
the moaning of the streets.
It fuses with the short lived pleasure laden moans of
lonely people and un-climatic *******.
Awkward silences are brief as the sound of her heels owns the street.
Click clack. Click clack.
The sound of stilettos on cement hurriedly walking away when there is
no longer a need for his body heat.
That unmistakable click clack click clack
on uneven, *****, dangerous streets.
Red lipstick smeared stains are the only trace of her that is.
That is the only trace of me that is left.
Click clack steady on the street.
Steady like mimicking bass line
Click clack heartbeat.
The crunch of broken glass under the stiletto
echoes her broken dreams.
Click clack.
Head held high never looking at the ground as she walks forward.
Click clack. Click clack.
Click clack.
The urban mud of
Wet cement goes
Squish!
under her stiletto.
V.Mata
