Nirvana - a transcendent state in which there is neither
suffering, desire, nor sense of self, and the subject
is released from the effects of karma and the cycle of
death and rebirth. It represents the final goal of Buddhism.

My Buddhist Queen,
Will you take me to Nirvana?
Will you take me to that place?
That place where we’re unshackled from suffering?
Because right now, this is intolerable.

My Buddhist Queen,
If we’re in Nirvana
why does my heart feel so aloof
and its beats, spectral?
Why does my body suffer from rigamortis?
Why am i teary-eyed
and why did you nominate my pillows to do the ALS challenge?
Why is my room a catastrophy?
Why do my walls succumb to the savagery of my fists?
Why am I suffering?
Why do I desire?
Why is karma still existant?


My Buddhist Queen,
If we’re in Nirvana,
why do you occassionally take strolls down to hell holding my hand?
- d.b.d.

Spillin on the paper
     Mind, I'll see you later
                                      Over the top, Over the top
   It's spilling on the paper
      I am here to wait for
                                 My Sheep herd and my scapegoats
   Go 'head and stick around,
                                     If you wanna get the blame for
   My flaws and my mistakes
   All that I am ashamed for
                               You'll feel my pain.  You'll make me sane
                                  My sheep herd and my scapegoats

My philosophy is something iller than the worst disease
Like killers in the first degree
Your gears will never turn like these
I got an appetite
I'm starvin
I'm at the top, just look and see
You gon' make it if you follow me
You just gotta catch that ill disease

          Paper, Paper
     Spillin on the paper
                                     If you still fail to understand
               Good luck
          I'll see you later
                                          Mind, I'll see you later
                                         It's spillin' on the paper
       So stay right here
          Inside my hand
                                My sheep herd and my scapegoats

I've yet to wrap my mind around your funny foreign language.
That must be why I float above you
So I must be Alien
Who are you, what's yer name again
You all look just the same to me
Some ordinary has to be
Some John Doe PoP CatastrophY

       Dear Mr. and Mrs. CatastrophY
                                  Join my herd of sheep and scapegoats
                         I need many more
                    To take the blame for
                      All I am ashamed for
                                                  So that I might be sane for
                                               The existence I arranged for

You send up clouds of deepest dark despair,
And with my dancing i tried to repair.
While i dance in the light of the coming day.
All of those hearts strings broken will end and fray.

Pull back the cover and bare all to see,
Let my hands cover and retain delicate dignity.
This initimacy that belongs to you and me,
I will protect in every eventuality.

You present all to the world and its busy lover,
But never think of me laying beside you in your cover.
For the cameras flash and beauty bleeds.
And captions raise while gossips feed.

"Who are you to touch an untouchable perfection?"
"Your love corrupts like squalid infection."
"Another man to take the trophy,"
As they **** you in some catastrophy.
A plastic heart that splinters violently,
As he is left in jilted unmatching harmony.

Alone again, you sell your story,
To another scavanger that feeds on memory.
The tale thats told,
Leaves you broken and old.
While the lover lives bold,
In his world of hollywood gold.

My lungs are turning inside out again-
and this poem will be void of the use of I
because it is not known to me who that is anymore.
This heart is beating outside of my chest
and my eyes can not focus on one fixed point.
It is troubling to me
words cannot express how my body is handling this.
Situational irony has always been a good friend of mind
and my emotions are diminishing further and further inside of myself.
Repression is to what my mind is prone to.
Ever since the child in me grew roots
someone pulled them out as if they were weeds
so this person staring back at me in the mirror
has always been a figure unfamiliar.
Always someone who longs to go backwards
so she can feel the familiarity of childhood.
Instead she wears a face not her own
and a body who she has trouble looking at most days.
This week the discovery was made
that in order to purge herself of all of this negativity
some weight had to be lost-
seems she doesn't know what that feels like
she doesn't recognize what that looks like-
but she makes a direct correlation between
memories and loneliness.
These nights have been mistaken for sleep
and the dreams mistaken for reality.
It's no question that identity has always been misgiven.

She makes no sense of her poems
and these words she writes down like they're her last.
The shaky hands make it hard to type
and she doesn't last more than a second in self-assessing,
she knows all too well the deep cut of judgment
but clings to the idea of contrastiveness.
Hoping that comparisons will not be her downfall
and that these words somehow make sense.

Again is something she insists on typing
because repetition and consistency is what she longs for-
but it never seems to come from anything but her own mind
and a body that is too in tune with the chaos in her bones
she shakes too much, and feels nothing all at once.
Calamity and clarity are not words she knows the meaning of-
only catastrophe
she puts it on her shelf and is proud of how she ended up with it
worked too ******* the life of others
and no hard enough on herself
but she still sees it a prize.
Even if she's not the winner-
even if she doesn't reap the benefits.

beg the sun to reclaim my mind
seen nothing but a steep decline
ease a little from the race
uncovering pale scars to trace

swooning over blackened clouds
no one pay attention now
starved enough to feed the flame
never lasts to see the rain

scuffing up the jaded ice
breaking into silence twice
running backwards in place again
laughing at the solid bend

subtle esoteric smile
intentions make the night worthwhile
inside your blanket stare i see
the footprint of catastrophy

Ciao to the world. . .my hand is free. . .
hope to penetrate all your misery. . .
stand on beside you feeling my glee. . .
what them can't I can't see, we both can just be. . .
Happy and free. . . .

Ciao to the world. . .where do you see?
Unspeakable motions relenting through notions. . .
That you are the world and I am the world. . .
Ride up beside planted come tree. . .
Choosing to sense, what life doesn't chance. . .
If was so easy to speak without kissing the *****. . .
Learning together, binded by teather on unspeacable measure. . . .

Ciao to the world. . .
What pleasure do feel?
Sensations at leasure, stranded by seasure.
What is so pure then to run with a cure, of being you just you, and I just me. . .
When it doesn't matter. . .
For we are and can be, and always I sensed that, friends with the power to smile on the world. . . .

Ciao to the world. . .
Do you smile on yourself?
Getting it clearer, this sense that's titer so nearer. . .
so great of a mystery as to what cost it in history. . .
What paused it about among,
domeneering a crowd. . .
that ****** on that history and made life this lost mystery. . .

Ciao to the world.. .
It's so great that I see you. . .
Peeling your skin to taste on your roots. . .
Feeling my life has strapped on its boots. . .
what is so moving,
Is something no one can keep you in life from disproving. . .
For this is the part that always puts on the spot,
what idea is given as the source of this proving?

Ciao to the world. . .
Why we need for such pusher, who can't but press on for the moocher?. . .
And feed to the world what we don't aspire,
some even becoming blind to how life truly feels.
Because of what shameful desire it instills. . .
so they take flight to the hills, running their bills,
killing the time without the conception that people of each one's own doesn't need redemption from such a parole. . .
Derived from an old point of a hunt for the dead sea scroll. . . .

Ciao to the world. . .
Where in these hills do we ever tumble under strains,
put down under mockingly with such assumptive pains?
Who in the **** disallows what we all grow so heartedly to cherish,
and then take on to fight against what we don't embellish?
For sake of each one our own, blown from where we inspire,
life is but for pleasure and desire, for, to in happiness respire.
There isn't but hell in this place, in which we feel to replace. . .
Bit by bit, but always making it harder for in this pace, it's such a miserable and unfortunate case. . .
Of greed in its haste, molding most souls into waste.

Ciao to the world. . .
Where in the hell did you go in this haste,
loosing the sense of what built you in the first place?
Not God, nor feeble men,
but love for certain aspirations of good to make this world an ease for many admirations.
For centuries to come, where we behold on in under one world of pleasant desire to fullfill all that we were fighting for,
mirror image of what freedom by hearts could implore.
Sincerely we never need be, for some it's just an ease,
to want always please into the self, stand on top of the shelf like a beaten up trophy headed for disastrous catastrophy.. . .

Ciao to the world. . .
I'm sit in Jardin du Luxembourg. . .Where life is full of smorgesbourg, all we are so different, relenting to one thing of beauty of the peace and quite that we want always beside, be.
How this little part of the world in larger then life city of Paris,
won't stand all around for a day say on the other side of the planet,
because some would want for it to be a glamour for riches drowned in their clamour.. . .

Ciao to the world. . .
I'm sit by a stranger. . .Do you think I feel danger?
Do you see what's even a mistake, life is something not quiet so fake, even when you give a chance to let one other have the better miser dance,
given the glance with such bitter pretense is worth even to chance?

Ciao to the world. . .
I'm gather on all of my new experience. . .Better perciever then most think im deceiver. . .
When who is better then being the deceiver?
Is one getting by, the best of the deceiver. . . .slaughtered at the mind by vivid perception,
because in all case life has taught nonsense ridden by selfish perception of ones own misdirection. ..

Ciao to the world. . .
I'm satisfied to be pleasant without the need for so much in life,
all but to gather on what life is so abundant,
all the smiling faces passing with haste paces, from so many different places. . . . .

This is the ice breaker.

I am always new to a conversation,

years gone by as days slow down.

You may relate to it like a fish out of water.

Breathing under earths clear-blue surface

its hesitation of a world spinning as words are spoken.

In need of a breath of fresh air,

comparing it as a gasp of an after thought.

A finger to the mouth, a cat caught the tounge.

Separation can be too much too scorn.

This irrelevance in term we call chemistry.

The deep secrets we hunt,

for an open country we live without.

Should we walk the talk?

We swim a mile in short term.

The distance a man can take to dive

gives this enough to cancel past premonitions.

An eye length away

we go where the bible parts the seas...

This long trail for a short cut we gut from the book of trust.

We take the scenic route

like riding a bike till it ends with a flat,

making us take a bus,

till it cost too much.

An arm and a leg we kick to swim.

One or the other as we struggle,

we use a foam vest astride by a whim.

This maze with secret illusions,

a movie The Laberenth comes to mind.

Make belive...made up dreams.

Morals of fairy tales.

Stroies told.

Or this fable to tuck you into.

Where there is no grandmother to look forward too.

Who says I love you?

A goodnight that can't live within you.

Nothing but a monster that we hide from under our sheets.

We stress to the progress of nothing but a scary cry of, what if's?

For a wolf like me faking it's false teeth

turns out to be a deciving catastrophy.

Made up and unforgiving.

Living my escape.

It's the farthest away from my problems.

The least of my worries.

If you must try to unpuzzle my riddle.

It comes naturally.

You have it or you don't.

It's easy if you know me...

We are running, always running
The ground beneath us is crumbling
Everything around us turning to dust
The wind is fire on our backs

We're running out of time
The disaster we bred catching us
Claiming and destroying us
That road really is paved
With the very best of intentions
But the walls are lined with the worst.

The past was ours to claim
Shaping a future we can't escape
Cancerous and corrosive,
This was all our doing
We never dreamed of a present so dark
When our past was so warm and bright.

Funny thing about fate and chance
We never do realize what the cost will be
What it could be
How much it will bring us down
Into the flames of a new world order

This is our catastrophy.

The stage is set and players in costume
The catastrophy unfolding in the gloom
Dancing silhouettes of daggers surrounding
The bride and groom

The salubrious nature
of the climate,
could'nt Conceal the
Sardonic smile of
the Sun.
Scorching heat withered
the Green carpet on
the Visage of the Earth,
Turgid & Rigid plants
Conceated defeat to
the Harsh enviroment
and became Flaccid.
Both live & dead,
micro & macro couldn't
Elude the Vindictive
& Reprisal power of
the Earth,
Destructive habit of man
was Remunerated with
the Sadism nature of
Eco-system.
If only Replenishing was
a Custom within our
Volition,
Catastrophy befalling us
would be a Past-Tense,
Trees & Animals may
seem lesser
but there Impact on our
eco-system is Vital......!!

@miamizoliver