Christian, Jew, Muslim.
Jew, Muslim, Jew.
Christian, and some Hindu.
Muslim in an aero-plane.
Jew, Jew.
Coins of gold.
Ringing ears of copper.
Muslim, Muslim, Muslim.
Die, Die, Die.
Jew, Jew, Jew.
A hole in the sky.
And some stones.
Defining deviations of
Misleading truths.

Christian owls,
In Muslim skies,
And Jew sands.
A misfit's howl.
Little children's hate.
Brewing cyanide in your veins.
Unhook my thoughts.
Undress my pains.

A cross in their mosque.
And holy water, too.
A gun in her mouth.
Your hell is in you.

Deceased sounds of
A beauty queen.
In my parade,
of synthetic blood.
An imprisoned laugh,
In this plastic flood.

Sweet tears of
Your fragile unjust,
Roaming a castle,
In stale air…
And doomed lust.

A prophet in their church.
And a dark beard, too.
A bomb in her heart.
Your heaven has escaped you.

We are all heads floating in a tunnel,
For split seconds on ends, our shadows fit perfectly with the holes,
In the walls.

Let us cheer to the sweet decay in
our childish dreams.
Turn up the volume and carry on
Stuttering, sulking, seducing,
Snarking or just swim against the current with all of the baggage of the
Morning still crackling through your eyes.

Hold onto the rails, and dance across the nightmare of endless consumption
Sandwiches upon sandwiches within
Sandwiches.

We are all shadows in motion
To the gods of gravity and brevity
Our lives on hold a midst the commotion of gasoline tanks whirring
And, the forthcoming shortage of ambition.

The war is marching on
But who's got time for war,
In between the decadence of these slime-y streets?

Who's got time for war,
When you've got to put the kids
To sleep?

Well polished shoes
Walking well polished tiles.
It's almost time for the escape.
Yoga.
It's all yoga.            

In the evening, within the cracks
It's the sound of calm
Going against all that you believe in.
Like yoga.

Frantic needles and nonchalance
Reflecting upon your reflections of
Truth
And the myths of self actualization
All in yoga.

Well groomed thoughts
In a well groomed world
Waiting on yoga.

Put your face between your thighs
Wake up to transcribe your lies    
All for yoga.                  
      
Fists uplift your desire
To dance with yoga
Freak with yoga
Get down on your **** knees
And be inhaled by yoga.

Grate your smallest desires
It's just yoga                      
And bite the fat on your thighs
For the love of yoga.

A while ago, I turned a table around
I stabbed a fork into its crooked leg,
And stood up for all the mice.

And, ever since then –
Everytime I walk into a room all the carrots would disappear
It’s like being in a bubble of tyres burning
And you’re trying not to scream
And you won’t be able to scream
Because you’re slowly suffocating under all the toxins.

One day I decided that I liked the rabbits more than the figs
And figs never smiled back at me.
And that was alright, because every fig I’ve met since then
Has had its heart rotten.

And who likes rotten figs?

I’ve had a mouthful of you, and your sister just last night
And, I think I’m not into the aftertaste
Of your plastic life.

I know that my memory's shortcomings
are directly proportionate to all the colorful vitamins
you've been shoving up my retina.

But, I think I just vomited half a stiletto
That’s been stabbing the inner cavities of my chest.

And, let me tell you – you’re a fool for not realizing
That I can’t help but hold your hands
And guide your never ending dwellings to the grave.

This mist of darkness,
And that fog of yours.

My complaining silhouette,
I've left to wither.

Yesterday we had an argument,
Of cold tendencies.
By the hum of –
A washing machine,
Bleaching our guilt.

I've mentioned my
Fascination, admiration.
Selfish nature.

You've pleased a dozen
Devils. My subtle angel.

I thought I dreamt
Of trailing grey snow.
A crime scene;
Bogus tears running around. With cops of steel.

But it was only,
Your ever invisible face.

I can drink alone.
I can enjoy the undertones of life alone.
I might moan because of wishes...
or the Way I want to see things.
But I can sit alone.
I can drink alone
I can write alone and I can
Decipher your confusion alone
I can lend you advice alone

& I can let you know that I am
Alone.

I'm not afraid to be lonesome.
But I'm afraid to discover loneliness alone.

I'm not afraid to walk alone
I'm built to be alone.

But you're scared of my
tendency to be alone.

I can dance alone.
& I can breathe alone.

I can drink with you.
But I drink alone.

These treads of death, trends of aerial creatures.
'Twas a drama queen miscalculated affair.
She thought to herself, she wouldn't make it
To her planet.
Her eyes twitched. Her smile frowned.
She ditched her stilettos inside a hole
Floating on her bourbon, not drunk,
She hadn't seen the sun.
'Twas an alien Joan of Arc impersonating
a gymnast trying to drown
within purple clouds.

These lives of velvet, made so sweet.
I'm 'bout to pull out my rotten teeth,
And feed the devil, underneath me.

His skin so white
It glowed beyond your regular -
Transparent ice blue.
It made her shiver
Beyond his coat,
Faux-fur – smelt of blood,
So disgustingly dark.



He was my devil, made from snow – so pure.
He melted at my feet,
I hadn't shed a tear.
My white devil's inside me.
He found his way.
He is wrapped around my  Intestines
So hard.  He's left his cigarette
                         butts,
                    on my liver.
                But it didn't hurt,
                     To burn
           Like they said it would.

      

I loved my devil, made from snow.
These brown angels, stealing his lines.
These brown angels, how could they.
These brown angels, sold their wings.
For three ugly wigs.
He told me once, beaming in the dark
With several fish lying around dying: "Angels
Will never be         brown."

Behind quadruple shadows of
fear.

drain the thoughts of a curious future.

in between centuries, lives afloat.
in between lives, blood spelt grief.

disdain in the mother's breath.
fragile owls weep and wail.

Behind triple shadows of fear,
my dear.

That cursed elixir of love.
Rot in oblivion, little boy.

Behind double shadows of fear,
steer clear.

Clash and crash,
encounters, brash.
Come and go,
stay here, then
bask in my cage of
desolation and
frail ghosts, will befriend
your heart.
Of glass.

Behind a single shade of fear,
sneer.

Let's create a bliss of psychosis,
in hollow's mist.

Your sanity is
underneath my pain.
That old wretched voice,
you claim your own.

Dance inside my
flesh. If you may.
Inside your wrinkles,
in your skin,
I'll swim.

Behind an empty space,
still there is fear.

Still there is fear.

Fading springs,
And
Crying wolves.

I just can’t take this anymore.
In.
A killing headache.
I promise I’ll ruin those shoes.
Every last one.

Prepackaged talent
To amaze your senses.
Not so conscious.

It’s only a lie,
But it’s true.

This life;
A processed gem.
Rejoice in your misery;
Is what I’m told.

Under the bright lights, the car parked.

"Is it wholesome?"

"What is?"

"Just like the canaries on the roof. They lean on each other so helplessly yet so beautifully"

"...like a movie?"

"A play."

"Why not drive again?"

"I was driving slowly, but I strayed away when a sudden moment of painful retention appeared in the rear mirror."

______

2. How long has it been, since we’ve flown three and a half kites across the black sky?

“I sought refuge within a shell.” You once said. “They wouldn’t buy your jewels.”

“I lost my sandals, in an ocean.”

“In our ocean?” You hushed. “You weren’t wearing any.”

“The sounds of the battle, has cost you your sight.” She laughed. “And, your insight.”

_____

3. What makes the world go ‘round? (1)

“I left you a note, seven years ago.” You held your breath. “Have you not read it?”

“The sports page?” Her face is aglow. “Your beloved fluorescent pink marker? How could I miss?” She closed her eyes. “Your cotton-candy, and your umbrellas? Have you never known me?”

_____

4. The shooting stars never fail to disappoint.

“Our fates intertwined” You’re half-asleep. “So did our shambles.”

“I’ve waited on you.” She’s made a sandcastle. “I’ve swum through a thousand knots.”

“Yet, you’ve lost.”

“After I’ve tried.” Her wings in bubble wrap.  “I’ve been to the closure and back.”

“They’ve shot my heart down.”

“I’ve taken my pieces.”

_____


5. In harmony we detained our secrets, and cremated our bones.

“They told me of stolen years.” You wonder. “Where have they gone?”

“Many a lie consumed breathing air.” She swallowed her tears.

“This gift is worthless, if you can’t break your wings.”

“Derange my world?”

“Drown your life.” You sighed. “Save mine.”

“Your heart, my jewels, your shell, my wings, your notes, my sandals.”

“Yes.”

“Yes.”
______


(1) Al Green.

i trip my life on turpentine.
i smoked my wife, she's clandestine.

i woke up to a wall, of dust
and a mirror shattered by these
insisting dreams.

everything is three --

i thought myself a pool of doubt,
he bought my ego, cut in halves.
i walked behind his flawless steps,
covered in sweat.
i flinched.

i read a tale of the disintegration
of a rowdy generation.

a touch of a glimpse of her bare
feet.
and a single gray hair,
coming out of her neck -
trying to speak.
i might've screamed.

apples and oranges
and almonds on a one
way street.

i read about the disintegration,
of a vibration -
within
your chest.
i think you're dead.
you disagree!
protesting my funeral,
of a glimpse of your skin.

i've lived on a fleet,
of preachers and secret fighters --
dressed like ninjas and decaying in an
utter rut.

seiged by truth -
and one correct turn
to exit
amongst shivers and loud moans
flames
& dirt loans
creases and a handful of drones.

i tripped my life on fastened seats.
i smoked your hair,
you're fast asleep.

I'm an apocalyptic mess.
Feathers have weakened,
my spine.

Fathers defeating your
Slate of counter-morals.
And grandsons fighting,
In your perfect dark ambience.

You slide along
Their dim sunshine.
Stars in long strands of hair.
Air –

Air, within a bolt of
Thickened smoke.

I'm a pivotal truth.
A potential socialite.
I'm the average placid child.
A protruding noise.
A prolific stride.
I'm the plastic hero,
In this poisonous state of mind.

I'm fickle.
Dainty.
Drained in his fortune
Of sins.

Her life,
Her subway train,
Filled with brains,
So politically innate.
An infrasonic plea.

You dive an impossible,
Trance of trenchant treasures,
And happy measures.

We will sit our lucky posture,
You & I.
My sixty-second genius
Flee the inner torture.


Let us finish in the pop culture.

Some seven months down the road
Your thought would be an afterthought.

You would be like the morning haze when my eyes are
Wide open and my comprehension is lacking.

But for now, you are the every thought which
Shadow my most vulnerable encounters
With this thing we like to call affection.

I have been out of touch
With the ways of our sentimental misconception of life
And my faithless love affair with your notion
Of perfection.

I revel in my self-inflicted misery as if
It was my most polished skill.

But when you start gazing down my throat
I lose all the will and all the power and I’m nothing
But a vessel for your sanctioned whims.

It’s within your whims that,
I feel like I've never felt before.

And when you gaze right through me
I begin to wonder if there is an equation
I still need to learn.

But when you have lost touch
With the simple nuances of romance,
It’s really **** hard to catch up.

Youngin's wisdom in spades
idiots hoping and hopping over
green grass.

i always knew
this heart was fragile
in metallic ice
melting the romance
burning shreds of dreaming
and fawning
all over your bleeding skin.

i'm tracing
the space
where everything began
to flourish
within your desperate *****
of belief and
hysterical magic.

i'm racing
my heartbeats
underneath these useless sheets
i'm shivering in my teeth
i'm marveling in the
glimpses of your novice
anxiousness.

i'm tightlipped
and about to break
this listless charm
into disposable
garbage.

youngin' love
and daydreamin' of heavenly explosions
within dreadful tunnels.

i've ruptured my lungs
screaming in
my bed
trying to reach through
and infiltrate
recreate
dance and intoxicate.

i'm tightlipped
and i can't seem to speak.

I've run on this treadmill;
a heavy load
of love
and
   sweat on my shoulders.



I'm falling,

but I can't seem to hurt
myself.


In the face!

I've been dragging,
this foot. Around.
for a while.
and some.

A pain - throbbing vain.
Right here.
A microsecond of hope.
A sip of this diamond

studded.
jar.

she has said all the words.
those beautiful
ones.
the trail of her gown.
stuck --
between his jaws.

she has spoken.
your words.
those wholesome
ones.
the secret in her smile
caught --
within his fists.

I've travelled on this bicycle;
nights and miles.
rags.
dust and bags.


This heart of yours,
I've found last week.
stabbed.
******.
and somehow tamed,
out of its blood.

I've asked, what'd happened -
you can't fix
that old shoelace --
anymore.

Nearing the cusp of dawn
an armor of pain-killers
in a really nice box
and all the thoughts
i never thought
for once
would drizzle on my
conscience - are weighing
me down.

I hold my breath
as the bright ink
spells out, All I've done
wrong.

Sometimes, I wonder -
I ponder
I get lost on a route
of monstrous trucks.

I sweat, I fret
I dedicate, I *******
I pretend, as I burn
the tender cells of
my guilt-ridden lungs.

What if, I couldn't feel -
like a can of condensed air
where all the frigid molecules.
what if, i would
explode as I breathe
as i open my eyes
from a sleepless sleep -
as i inhale this fluid town.
in my being
in the bones of my core.

What if a ***** of a
pick
on the surface of
my existence
would facilitate a pathway
to my fantastic salvation.

what if the screws and the brooms
and the dust on my shoes
and the sparkle atop of these
dainty prayers.

what if the gloom
and the drones and the discomfort
of silence

were all my belongings
were all my wealth

what if the last Drop of color
in this tube was my heaven.

what if the last stain
on this glass
was my truth --

I smoke, a secret
I breathe, a secret
I exhale my worries
While you watch my memories burn.
The world around me smell of heavy charcoal.
And my chest is locked -
in a series of waves
Carrying my thoughts in
a sonic beat.

I love, a secret.
My life, an echo of a stranger's
wail.
I sit down, a perfect circle
She whispers these precious things
and I'm hyponotized
in my numb state of mind.

I drink, a secret.
five glasses and a bucket of ice.
I pray, a secret.
A kaleidoscope of change.
My heart beats, a secret
I listen in, and it tells me
nothing -
I want to hear.

I dream, a secret
of a land to call home -
or just a story
to call my own.

We are not quaint.
Deformed and distant like beaten up mementos -
Echoes of tired dialogues.
We are tendencies of aspiration.
Saved by an abundance of correlation.
Dancing along to the frantic motions
of the perils of self-help.

The scripture is loud.
Revised as we drive through drenched tunnels -
Vying for admiration.
Praying for the jubilant ******* -
Into stale dimensions of all that is
Worthy of a second-hand perception.

We are not selling.
We are in the business
of craving to perspire.
Tasting and testing
the competence of turmoil
and exchanging fragments
of our being
for profitable desolation.

We are growing up,
in slow motion.
Drunk on trajectory interactions
of the menial day-dreams.

Walk with me,

I ask of you

footsteps in an aggregate illumination.

My eyelids are heavy with clues.

I'm your kind of lost detective...

looking for a way out,

of this loop, tearing me apart.

Dance with me,

make me watch

as you remove bullets of flesh

with your teeth, bare

barren

isolated

insulated heat.

A trenchcoat and glasses so thick,

I cannot even begin to see.

We're huddled around a circle

but this fire is too small for

our collective body mass.

I'm folding myself into,

two, three

or five hundred layers of

absolutely pure lies.

Whatever (it is), that you like.

Walk with me

let me feel,

watch me breed

the particular warmth of

sins - we were told to trash

by a bunch of lunatic saints.

These worlds go 'round,

but we're tired o moving.

Out of control, out of breaths.

Standing tall, still.

Waiting to crumble

underneath one massive fall.

Everything is a sweaty mess
Moving in abnormal directions and seeping into
The pores of the tiny imperfections
Between you and I.

It’s a good day to be enamored
It’s a good day to distill all of the fears
And just occupy these engraved spaces
With all that is subliminal and grand
It’s a good day to get lost in the alleys
Of all that is rugged and real.

All I hear is a rush of noise
Going up at a speed which I cannot comprehend
And all I see is a haze of burn victims
In sterilized spaces.
So **** bright.
A blinding brightness so unreal
And numbing in multi dimensions.

When are we going to realize,
That it’s all a game?
A lucky hand of plastic waste.
When are we going to antagonize,
The sheer disobedience of everything that
Is laid down upon our sensual existence?
A stimulating fantasy of an experience
Of being swallowed whole
And in parts of distinct order.

These words and sounds of these words
And the way we chew on
And on, until the bottom of our
Voiceless chants.

Everything is going astray
But hey,
Let’s rewind.

Hello there,
I just wanted to let you know – that
I’m not a number.
I’m not a shade.
I'm not your motionless debate.
I’m tinted
Tainted. With ideas and a verbal philosophy
Some atrophy.
Boxed, and gifted through sacred hymns.
My freaking nature is not in the stars
Is not in your blood.
I’m not a religion.
I’m not a hope.
I’m just trying to communicate
The air to my brain.
I’m just trying to suffocate
Indoctrinate, facilitate.
This delusion of being and breathing.
I’m not a country.
I’m not a ship.
Abstractly living within an inch
Of your picturesque life - &
Intricate ambitions of death.
I’m not a law.
I’m not a consequence.
I’m dissolving to my core
Bones lighting up in fear.

Today I learnt that my thoughts of
Independence
Intimidate your                   balance –

And I’m so intimidated by
This life of utter indulgence
I’m not looking to identify
With the patterns of trying to bury
A love for decadence
All I ask is to run along and not say too much
Within this hallucination of tripping on my insides
I like it dry.

I want you to crack your perfect skin.
Spill the thick of this fume into your rigid eyes.

I like it slow.
A repulsive movement in the semblance of a beating heart –
I want your ghost – this ******* - -
bright hollow deafening and certain

You say I’m     faking --
These shivers in my perfect spine
Faking the warmth beneath my belief
Of convoluted doors where your accidents
Fight for gold medals and blue ribbons.
But I’m not doing this anymore –

I’m a fever, frivolous and perhaps a little hasty

Turned on inside of sickening layers of mousse
And moods – and halos taking my hands
Asking if maybe I should just pray?

D'you remember the boy from the secret garden?
He lived in my space.
He chewed on my grass.
The littlest boy you'll ever see.

His bones made of Styrofoam.
He couldn't run, slow; the way I liked to run.

He kicked so hard,
in happy days.
My bruises; shaped like hearts.

The boy; died in his fairytale of imperfections.
Tiny bones failed.
The boy; left me with the ugliest empty space.
You'll ever see.

I miss my grass.

Walk lines of vapor
And dust.
Thinning thoughts; the sound of rainbow-colored
Pebble stones.

Dive years of light
And crystal *****.
Dying fortunes
Of dead cowboys.

Cringe the skin
Of delicious
Pearls.
Soft flesh;
Blood and nicotine.

Pseudo-faces in tuxedos
And jeans.

Melting numbers,
And frowning echoes
Of frozen suns.

Behold the deceased
Rubble.

The falling lives,
Of drunken mice –
Across the globe.

The shields and the mellow
Borders passing the time
In our tantalizing memories
Of running and falling apart.

In the riots off the pavements
And the times I passed out
Floating atop of perfection

In the decisive turns of token
Relationships and the despair in your exhausted exhales.

I toss and turn in inflicted bliss
As I slowly decipher the exquisite dalliances all around us.

I sit uncomfortably whilst I twitch in the famished dissonance.

In the pauses and the gaps. In the strides and the tirades. In the flights and the clauses.                  

I sit back in the deja vu of the night.

It’s in the wind.
The only times I ever feel
Always coincide with some semblance of a
Breakdown
Shakedown.
I think I’m in shaking in my boots
Eventhough it feels like 40 degrees in this shade.
Am I supposed to feel comfort in this
Desensitized sphere?
Cause all I feel is a detachment
From you from me
From the ground, up.
My roots are not existent.
All i want to do
Is burn the **** out
Of my eyes.
I’ve had enough of feeling
Like I’m walking on air
I’ve had enough of feeling
Like I always need to breath.

Hello woman,
Don’t you think it’s about time
We take a minute and stop
Pretending like everything’s alright?

Hey woman,
You’re walking lines
And squares of chaotic affairs
Leading to nowhere and
When you’re in a daze
Can’t find your place
In this enigmatic craze
What is it that you’re going to do?

The lipstick stains are on your heels
A blind spot for luxurious feelings
And your frivolous resentment
For your beautiful mother.

Hey woman,
Let’s have a blunt conversation
Behind the fog you’ve left on this glass
Let’s have a blunt – and dance,
There is no fire exit
So why don’t we burn this place to the ground?

Hey woman,
Let’s pretend that this space is big enough
For the both of us.

Hey Woman,
What’s it your afraid of,
Your creases?
Your cracks?
Your subtly
Crazy demands?

Hey woman,
Let’s elevate
This doom into something
Magnificent.
Let’s race then erase
Our imperfections.

Hey woman,
I want you
I want you to illuminate and dedicate
I want you
To procreate all of those delightful dreams

I want you
I want you to win from the inside out –
Hey woman,

Hey woman –
It’s all going to be just okay.

Have you ever fallen in love
with the rainbow,
that survived the black hurricane?

I've lived inside the lightning;
waiting for you.

Years. And, I'm beat down.
Butterflies; withered on my back -
and burned away.

I'll wait for you, still.
Maybe inside the inverted cocoon,
deserted within a crowd.
Of flames.

I've fallen in love,
with a god;
who was in love with a Rainbow.

But, maybe he died;
in the long farewell.
Not even in my faint dreams;
I never seem him walking,
with this holy cane;
you spoke of.

Come back; I said.
There's a rainbow here; waiting on your breaths.

I'm only happy when I write,
But the words only mutter their
Way out of my palms
When I'm downtrodden in the alleyway of self-induced tragedies
And the infinite pool of senile smirks.

I'm only happy in my utter love of despair
And despite all of the sweetness pouring out
Of my deranged pores
I'm only perfect when I write.

And when I write the syllables expose every fresh wound wandering with the whiff of sunrise.

I'm not sure how to transcribe a smile
Even when the hilarity ensues from within the depths of every over excercised drama lesson
From every corner of the televized reality.

I'm only happy when I write
Even when the soundtrack is overhyped and autotuned
To its very small inch closer to the grave of sanity.

I'm only happy when I write
Even when the wine has dried and morphed into a need to quench a thirst from a well of burnt tears.

I'm only happy when I write
On the overtime commute between
The verses overjoyed with the  euphoria of making the perfect pun for all what is faulty with the theories of competence and competition in elation.

I'm only happy when I write,
But I only write when the darkness of despair grows thick and wild.

This Halloween I’m going as a bad joke,
I’m going to enunciate every breath
Until my rib-cage explodes.
This eve my words are lubricated,
Like a clan of degenerates from
The midst of your all-consuming filth.
This eve, I have arrived at my destination
And I realize now that our common senses
Collective – have been brought to the light
By our mutual appreciation of *******.

This Halloween I’m going as the killing joke.
I’m going to let my claws breath,
And oh, I’m going to gorge on
The purest of your infant thoughts.

This eve, I’m going running in the emporium of
Your disillusioned euphoria.
I’m going to look you in the face
Like I’ve never seen the revelation
In the blackest of your eyes.

This Halloween, I’m going as an inside joke
I’m going to engrave the laughter
On the back of your head –
Then I’m setting out in my decked
Out camp of,
Beautiful nonsense.
Waiting to confide in an apparition,
Of all that should’ve been.

All I do is sit here and wait for the
Lightning to strike me down.
Not suicidal and just frazzled.
A bolt of electricity is all I need
To shake it up from the inside out
Through the frozen veins and these
Waves of sound.

Sounds on mute and mumbled words
Derived from the pits of our collective
Consciousness.

Strike me down, like I’m in trance of
A religious hallucination
Wake me up, now – from the midst of this thought
Tyranny – I’ve lain down upon my organs.
There’s a song within my lungs trying
Its best to sail and not drown
In this fabulous flesh.

Tonight, I felt like
peeling my skin
from the top of my head.
take it really slow
making sure it's
all forming a ******
mess
within my tight
grip.

Tonight, I feel like
hindering my conscience
going out senseless -
driving this tractor
down & further
  down on my knees - picking
  these scabs. disfiguring
  all of your perfect portraits.

If my soul
is unharmed
untold
unfelt
unbent
unchaste
and unruly
surely, a bunch of flesh
and fine lines
beneath my sunken eyes
won't define the edges
of why what how and where
i begin and cease
to exist.

Don't you think
when you are in a corner
fending for the life of your
stale & weary reflection.
Crying out for help
perhaps, a dash of perception?
Didn't you think that
I would smell it on you?
Your fear is fantastic -
but then - you have always been
so full of it.

Drained masters of justifications, trapped.
Cubicle of carbonated air, poisoned.

                  Descending up an emotion - holler.

Drifting away, you say - whitened thoughts.
Poor souls, pure interiors - what a joke.

                  Gods, goddesses - in thin air.

Beneath an earth of worry - smiling.
Oh, oh, oh!
An elixir of wisdom, a reason to lie.

                  Engraved stones - silly hearts.

Grow five muscles, for the
Ugly fascists, please. Please.

                  Drown her senses - a hundred diamonds.

It is hard to listen intently to the planet revolving
While your thoughts are dissolving into fragments
Of hyper reality.
And all that you can see --
When you close your eyes, when you try to blend in with a couple of --
white sheets.

All you can see when you get dizzy holding your breath
When you try to count all of the ways
Your Mother has taught you to behave
When you cannot contain your joy.

All you can picture is your hands with four thumbs
Crawling up surfaces and making a scene
Like a little doll show with bad balance,
It dwindles down at the lightest sneeze.

When your suspension is liquid --
And your movement is all in your head.

When you are just a head-collision away from falling asleep.
When your weary body is blue.
And that carousel in the horizon is all dim and crooked.

All you can manage to see,
Through your vein-y lids –
Is a never-ending dissection of memories
You cannot even bother to remember.

I've walked into the dream of a stranger.
because I heard your dim voice over
the silly noises
I make on my bass guitar.

why are you crawling?
why are you quiet?
it's so cold out here.
I thought that was strange.
how you you don't like the rain
you know;
I just made eye contact with a picture
of yours.
but I don't think you've seen me smile.
why are you sleeping?
why are you naked?

I'll stand still,
until you talk to me.
you've shaved your head!
is that blood, I smell?
I'm lost in those three thousand memories
of yours.
I'm lost, and I'm lonely.
And I forgot how your hands look like.
I'm lost, and I'm fragile.
And I thought you've already left.

This corpse twirling
underneath my nightmare,
is telling me things.
of your bald head,
your ****** bald head.
your eyes no longer
shine.

Why are you here?
I thought you've left yesterday.
You've even seen me cry.
You said; we never talk anymore.
And, I laughed when I saw
your bald head.

In some corner;
I hid you.
Your face.

Or what I thought
was your face.

Just around the corner.
                   From your corner.

I dug up a hole;
burnt three hundred
and thirty three
pictures.

I used to laugh;
three past midnight -
Oh, I thought -
I used to love.

It's easy -
like taking a breath;
to forget -
three hundred and thirty
three footsteps;
within a puddle
of white smoke.

It's a foggy day,
in July -
Like faking your
bliss;
to remember -
three hundred and
thirty three
knocks on your door.

Sometimes when I dream of this city,
this city of several uncanny
severely disjointed dreams --
sometimes I get chills. I get frills.
I can't start to think
of simple procedures,
like wanting to take a breath.

Sometimes when I think about
the city - I agree that
I'm in a schizophrenic love affair
with the callous road that
lead to the gates
of your fragile city.

I get so angry in the face
with veins appearing
in three dimensional ways
all over my discarded skull - when I drink
to the city.

Sometimes I like to sit myself
down
and pat on backs
and stand on shoulders
and defeat purposes
of trying really hard
to crawl or slide
to capture these affected smiles -
within a series of dim photographs --
falling in a flawless line
telling the affable tale of
a static life.


Sometimes, in the city,
I like to take long walks
upside down.
watching people -
watching me, inside out.
And sometimes in this city -- in this *******
particular city. All I ever want is
to look at imperfectly descending
angels
dreaming a fairy-tale
for him & for her
& for anyone - who's ever dared to dance
on the lonesome streets of the city.

On this rowdy night
I’ve decided not to succumb into
The belly of my monstrous feelings.

I’ve decided not to let go of all that’s real
All that’s what at the basis
Of my loathing
For your flawless diction.

You’re perfect. You’re perfectly perfect in your demurely
Stigmatic allure.

Why is it so?

On this long and windy night
I’ve fought the urge
To run into the arms of a bottomless pit.

Who wants to jump off a cliff, anyway?

We are not race horses, straddled in fear
Sweating with desire to cross the finish line
Sweating with a pain to finally breath.

I am who I am,
And what’s going to be is probably
Going to be.

I am a dreadful mess,
A creative outlet for your inhibitions.
I’m a loud, piercing shriek
In a sea of muddled screams.

On this lonely, warm night –
When my keys can’t find the way to your door
I’ll wander outside your steps
I’ll dig in your backyard,
I’ll bring down your proud trees.

On this night of all nights
I will make my piece about us
And the peace will finally travel
The shrinking space between my exhales
And your silence.

I lost the top of my head in an upward motion
Against the wind
And against the wills of everyone who wanted to explain to me
Just how I felt about this somewhat gloomy night

I’m not tired and I’m not sick,
Even when I’m hung downwards like pain is seeping through my dirtied eyes
I’m not hanging by a thread
trying hard not to touch the surface of this rough, needy tale

I’m walking barefoot upon open wounds and ice cold shriveled pieces
of every thought I had about driving this dowdy truck
Across the Country

I must be floating when I look down to whiff the smoke
Coming out of your tediously minuscule home

I think the light inside my throat is flickering - tickling
Making it quite silly to speak
So I think; why does my spleen taste so sweet?

I was writhing upon fading nails – patiently waiting for the moon
To break in half and for the birds to sway waltzing their way
Out of these exploding stars

I lost the bottom of my heart trying on this grim notion
But I can’t apologize

fill up.
feed up.
then pray the words
intertwined with the sounds
of your naked fear.

drink up.
never look back.
tear up.
and tear down the small of
your chained thoughts.

look up.
hurry up.
there isn't time
for your hindsight
or even for breathing.

the echo of a god
is chasing your being
and the hallucination
of your downtrodden soul
is breaking you
into fragments of the theory
you've longed to be.

feel up.
**** up.
dress down.
and break through.
hold up.
speed up.
it's easier when you can't
see the screams.
when you can't
undo the sins.

keep up.
it's not going away.

It has been 20 something years.
And on a single day within layers of hours.
I've felt a shrug for the first time.
Like pins on the pillow you have
left behind when all the dust have settled.

The ball has dropped. A million times.
And then some.
And on a ***** slippery and distinctly
overwhelmed.

I've felt a beat within my rib-cage
slightly loud that it has shaken me
in sleep.

The dust you have left to shrivel
still dances around my plethora
of emotions, unsettled.

And, I'm standing here, surrounded by
what could have been
but should have never been.

Saved by frantic clicks
on a keypad. Typing into the existential
delusions of your listless memories.

I have stood here, unshaken, by the mistakes
we have accumulated down the polarizing roads.
And the dainty trickling down the drain.

I am standing and withstanding
a shootout of the most frivolous nature.

Like the pins striking this pillow
in a poetic wave of dissonance.

We stand in this liquid
spot.
Foam covers your hair.
And you say; it was worth
the trouble.

I go to sleep.
Hope to put this
distance to end.

I stand in this vanishing
air.
Thinking I have a shot.
At your game,
of fast lives in slow deaths.

And they say; the divine fate
will save us.

I'm smothered in your
5 square feet of goodness.

And I'm drained,
out of those -
regularly striking thoughts.

You said you are
cold.
You blamed
that white,
wandering cloud.
Full of heavy,
shades.

You go walking;
in your festival
of no one.

And I'm just standing
here -
waiting on those -
usually surprising words.

Allow me to deceive,
Your senses.
Drag your eyes,
To my private zone.
And why not?
And why have you
Murdered my black
Birds?

I heard you are
Perfect.

But we're in a queue of fools,
Trying to melt,
Desire into disdain.

My possessions of
Smoke and breaths,
Were wasted;
On your way to heaven.
Why has he stolen my
Perceptions of
Deranged days?

I'd like to
Pump your blood
Into the veins
Of my favorite song.

And,
I'd like to run after
Your impossible
Words.

And, I'd like it
If you'd ****
The rest of
My nights.

Allow me to remember;
Your guilt.

It's built the remnants,
Of my soul.

It's all very tough to digest. Actually, I haven't even began to realize what has happened yet.

How did I get here?

And, most importantly - where do I go from here?

The pain is temporary. It's fleeting & fickle like the moments themselves. The memory, though. The memory is a *******.

I'm sitting here, sipping on an overpriced energy drink. Inhaling all of the nicotine that I could inhale before reality settles in. A reality, so heavy and daunting. Like the sound of army boots stepping on abandoned cobblestones.

Like slipping into a vast space of sorrow & heartbreak.

The pain is inconsistent. I wish it was painful, because that is the only way I could actually begin to feel.

The pain is music. It pushes & pulls with notes - sometimes intense and sometimes subtle.

I worry about the way I feel things, or process simple emotions. I worry about going through the motions, like everyday is the same ******* day.

The pain is a tricky concept. It attacks you, when you feel the safest you've ever felt. Like a thousand daggers caressing your skin at once.

The pain is a tricky dance, which you can't master - even if you've memorized the steps and the notions. It's an uphill battle, which sometimes, just sometimes - leaves you at peace.

I sit by my lonesome, contemplating intricacies I've never cared about before. Watch the sun set on the idiots, the wanderers, the *******, the lovers, the dancers and the fiends.

I get so hypnotized within the pages that I forget to look up and maybe just scream for a little bit of air.

And "you turn to god, while I turn to you."