I am the subject

of my own misfortune; the

idle passerby

Mind attuned and strung
with balanced chords, struck to the
beat of my new stride.

Touch can be primal,
sensual, and relieving,
yet rare to receive.

Periodic change
is needed for those who grow
complacent quickly.

Off days are a rare
thing for me as of late. I
have no time to waste.

I seek to transmute
my essence into loving
yourself and others.

With some grains of salt,
I sprinkle them over your words
and watch them dissolve.

A word of advice:
If you don't mean what you say,
then do not say it.

Procrastination
the greatest motivator,
eventually.

Autumn shade; crinkling
leaves beneath my shoes; woolly
sweaters and berets

Fall feelings are here...
orange outsides and green plants.
I've been here a while.

Developing plans,
Analyzing projections
In more ways than one

Seeking harmony
in one's home is challenging,
though it shouldn't be.

The longer you wait,
the longer you’ll be waiting
for the thing you want.

My first Halloween
alone with my thoughts and no
candy to console

Can I please reatreat
to my sweet hideaway that
is my cancer shell?

In training mode I
remembered you and us in
bed and I shivered.

Too content to write
even about exhaustion
from working so much.

Minutes equal hours,
days blend to weeks; the months
recycle quickly.

Even on bright days,
rain can still persist, pouring
like tears down windows

While the snake feeds, the
girl blinks and breathes, seemingly
transfixed by the death.

Sickly, yet eager
to spread my germs by laughing
with my loves tonight.

Waking up is hard.
It doesn’t get easier
with nothing to do.

Stranded in my dreams,
with fear strangling me, and
love falling to death.

Refutation with
all of my selves--vortex of
insecurities.

Have you heard about your hands,
how they’re the devil’s play things?
When entwined with my fingers
we cradle til numb, fine friction from
a twiddling thumb; graceful extremities
fondling every surface covering,
generating and extracting energies

With a hover they raise the dead
cells on my flesh and walk the sacred
space of nerve-endings with a trace
and trails of my racing heart
They’re smooth and soothe wounds
that can’t be spoke, knocking at
my teeth to wrestle my tongue
seducing me from the inside

Your hands are the tools
of your trade, skilled to persuade
and bade time--for it doesn’t exist
Unable to resist your palms upon me,
pockets of warmth radiating heat,
I relish in the sin of wanton skin
waiting to play with fire again

Smoky hues are what I see

Smoggy vapors hindering me

Suffocating my esophagus

Closing the gap for air

I take advantage of breathing fine

Until the taste of that sooty despair

Post-coughing fit drip

Trickles down smooth muscle

Dispersing harmful combatants

Respiratory defenses on high

Propelling toxic slime

Attacking vulnerable minds

feeling like I wanna fight you
  shaking because I wanna bite you
   wondering just how to invite you
   into my private domain

radiating aphrodisia
  developing synesthesia
   for the natural taste of euphoria
   that's stuck to my fingertips

breathing heavily
  fondling steadily
   reckless intensity
   all to a sweet melody

Life throws you curveballs once you're up to bat
Twisting and turning; better hold steady the bat above the mat
The wrong technique could blow the game; focus and be ready
Hold your ground, breathe slowly; remain calm and steady
What's coming your way is often unexpected
Starting with an invitation for entertainment that cannot be rejected
To a darkened home from a romantic scene ****** from some fantasy
You've imagined to feel something so right over and over again
But once you've left first, you realize home is your destination for where you begin and where you end

What's done is done; you really lost when you think you won
But even one victory doesn't shadow the vacancy that still lingers
The emptiness fills you and it shows through shaky fingers
The romantic scene you dreamed of has faded quickly
The details of it all you remember vividly
Reliving the fantasy, devoid of all reality
Home plate is not a safe place to be

There’s something about your pale skin
blanketed with thin hairs that makes
me care to become closer, to massage
your ache, to make you quake with
relief; despite your disbelief
about my interest in you, I really do wish to kiss
your manner and bathe in the
cool vibes you emit.
I want to hit my brain for
silencing my heart, for halting
its beats when my eyes meet
your sweet and enticing
form; It’s hard for me to say
if I’ll feel the same as yesterday
in the future, for fickleness
has been in my nature,
though it is an unattractive trait—
indecision and impulsivity;
Contemplation is a proclivity,
a natural occurring activity that
sends too many signals to my mind
and I waste all of my precious time
deciphering true feelings from
conditioned expectations
However, I cannot deny the tingly
sensation my body rides when I look
into your mind
And I’m quite curious to find
out everything about you while
keeping my own mystery unsolved

Marking my worth[lessness]
by defacing my template
with the corroded hands of others
who spend their time chiseling away at
life’s most imperfect perfections
  Embroidered with a cross stitch
ravelling us all together in one big quilt
showcasing one’s collected patches

Finding myself unable to convey
my lack of conversation skills
or the assumptions that I already know
and everything I could do is better than this
and I deserve better than this--
what I choose to accept
will never meet my own standards
as my standards are based on accepting others
but my other side lives in a fantasy
and believes what genuine souls tell me
which is I “deserve better than this”

Maybe I don’t, in a parallel universe
I can’t accept what I want to believe
because I can’t explain why I accept
   “less than I deserve”
when I’m unsure of what I deserve in the first place
What deeds have I done to merit great things?
Is my moral compass pointing north or south, east or west?
Does it matter when each way leads to eternal rest?

Instead of for you,
This is for me. I’m allowed
to be selfish once in a while.
I’ve been too hung up on you;
my head has been in the clouds.
I haven’t seen my feet or felt the ground,
but I’m in no rush to get back. My head
is light, it feels clear. My transparent
goals are more visible than ever. I can
almost reach them with phantom limbs.
I’m adapted to the air up here, but
I am still not satisfied. The only thing
that stimulates me other than you
is only felt through my soul. The notes
on this bridge—like the one on your back—
serenade me into delusion I don’t want to
wake from. If I could sing forever, my ears
would be heaven’s gates. Rings that wail,
delay and distort, bouncing from wall to
wall before beating my ear drums and
sending my nerves on a six foot wave
adrenaline foaming at the edge
breaking the tangible, dissipating
the mundane, cracking the film of
reality like a rock against a windshield.
It is calling me, I can hear its echo,
seismically en route to plant the seed.
I must listen — this sound I must heed
My destiny lies within my fingertips,
where all my convictions will seep.

Sometimes I forget about those who are near
simply out of fear, for I become too engrossed
in feeling so morose and sorry for myself
I've figuratively put my companions on a shelf,
stored on tiny pedastals that remind me of their wealth,
but I can't seem to breathe in this suffocating mess,
nor can I call upon those who I view are the best
when I feel so small and so disconnected
with the rest of my blood I've rejected

Framed beauty through a screen
  with added accessories
Painted movement so pristine
  garnishing the best of me
Looking deep into a darkness
siphoning a will long lost
Emerging from the crevice created
by breaking boundaries at a cost
Morphing my form to fit my soul
Desperately wanting to fill its hole

God, I miss you
  I miss you!
(You miss me more)
but I highly doubt it
Does it ache in your chest
when you think of how warm
my breath is on your lips?
Do your knees tremble and buckle
beneath you after imagining our last kiss?
Do you find yourself squirming
giddily in your seat when you
recall something sweet I said
to you when we were in bed?
Does your skin crawl with
anticipation for our next encounter?
Do your fingers fidget when
the urge to divulge emotion is so
strong you want to punch things?
Do you fight yourself daily to just
keep yourself at bay in fear
of smothering me? Something tells
me by your delay in replies
and your nonchalant guise
that you don’t miss me more
than I miss you.

Right.
What is right?
Nothing that comes from me.
Wrong.
Am I wrong?
Doubtful; it's all I'll ever be.

Underappreciated.
Undeserving. Which weighs
heavier on my heart and mind?
My conscience is crippled
I can't count the ripples
of sadness chasing behind

Solitary isolation
From loving interaction
I wither, alone, inside myself
I wish to shred my skin to bits
Cry what I detest with every stitch

Am I right to feel
Anything at all?
Doubtful; I'm always wrong.

Familiarity
smells like Old Spice
and a fresh brew
Let me grind my way
       over to you
  Comfort is
the sound of
  your laugh, rolling
from behind your lips
and gently stroking
       fingertips
   Longing is
the hunger I coax
by imagining our
   movements when
pressed together
       close

My temple is in ruins
and nothing can prevent this collapse
Soon I'll be stripped of these cursed remains
and all will be left are ancient artifacts
and relics from a better time,
long lost and forgotten

An excavation to find the spark,
buried under years of repressed emotions
locked away in a tomb without an encrypted entry
I seek those brave enough to embark on this quest,
and wade through the litter and rubble
to raid this infamous lair of despair

I’m a versatile
  night owl
peering with dark-rimmed eyes
upon my prey, those sorts of guys
that make me quiver
   hairline touch shiver
and pulse with a fervent scene

Your eyes are rustic in the morning
contrasting your sun-stained skin to
have a glow about it–perhaps it’s nicotine
   Eight a.m looks good on you, for you
   It’s nice not waking up early alone
It’s nice being conscious of the sun rising together
though we’re still tangled in arms under covers
   It’s just nice to not sleep alone
Though there is such a thing as too much heat
  But I miss it when it’s gone
More specifically your heat
and your scent–slightly nicotine
  and natural morning rust
How is your skin so smooth
and your form robust?
Your breath so gentle, along with your touch
which can play the part of rough when
the heat becomes too much
Your front hugging my back
a situational brushing igniting
blood rushings–like nicotine
I’m not quite hooked but I do like
a taste of you in the morning