If you asked me what my favorite color was, I probably couldn't tell you
But what I would tell you is I am a combination of gleam and gloom
Bumblebee color! And I've earned my luminous yellow and wretched black stripes
Meaning when I bleed, these colors reveal and they smack against the pavement like bang snaps
That is they ignite a spark gold as honey but the color is placebo
For instance, the direct Spanish to English translation of my last name is castle, but I do not feel like a king; In fact, I haven't since my thoughts held me captive in my own kingdom, put me in check mate as if it were a game of chess then proceeded to dethrone me
I like to try and convince myself that I'm one with nature’s convection but the reality is I'm experiencing hazy views from under in the fog rather than the suns bliss in the clouds
Sometimes I may appear to be oozing with confidence. That is unless I can see myself falling in love with you. See the mirror shows reflections of another, the mirror shows reflections of the boy who could barely speak to his own sweetheart because his voice was an old man walking with a stutter and her hand slipped away, she was gripping on butterflies danced in my stomach as I gazed into her pneuma
I'm an artist. But not in the traditional sense. I don't use a paintbrush or a physical canvas, my mind is the paintbrush and the canvas. I like to paint pictures in Ricky's Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad brain of myself in a world where I don't have to write about Ricky's Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad brain. If I move to Australia my brain will come with me
I often find myself sharing smiles and laughter with my acquaintances but I've noticed that when they
part, there’s always one acquaintance that does not
That acquaintance is anxiety
Anxiety never leaves me in fact it's my number one friend because anxiety knows how to keep it real
Anxiety is always there to remind me that again, the gleam is placebo
Anxiety reminds me that although I have these elegant, gorgeous, sheltering feathers on my back I'm not sure if I can call them wings because when no one was there I took myself under them but the weight was too much to bear. I cannot fly.
Anxiety grabs me by my arm and chest and like weights, drags me along wherever Anxiety feels like going, which is often nowhere
See the glass may seem clean on the surface but a few things I've learned about myself have made me see that the glass is stained by the kiss of desolation. I look into it and see a shadow of myself because
I wear my heart on my fingertips, my mind on the pistol grip, and my spirit on my shoes cause my psyche is a sunken ship
A 5 step tutorial on how to find out what it feels like to live in these shoes
1) Bring me a glass bottle. I'll bleed into it
2) Throw it against the pavement with as much force as you can so that it shatters into thousands of pieces of broken vows
3) With your dominant foot step, no STOMP on it like it's the only way to feel the vibrance travel through your bloodstream
4) Realize the gleam is placebo but the gloom is very real
5) Pretend everything is okay as it penetrates your sole

I used to hate the color orange,
But when we pop mandarins into our mouths between Creamsicle-sweet kisses I feel as if I’m being transported to a different dimension where we’re the only two in existence.
You’re the sunlight that hits the earth at 6pm, making everything seem as if it’s warm and glowing.
Every time I see a candle flame flicker I can’t help but think of you who exudes the same ambiance of alleviation that the walls of my childhood home once did.
If sunrise and sunset were to be combined, they still wouldn't compare to the magnetizing brilliance of your aura.
You emulate autumnal earth tones and crackling wood in brick fireplaces, echoing your heartbeat and bringing about a sense of raw intimacy shared between two.
I trace my fingertips down your spine, reflecting upon the likeness between you and the sun,
And I wonder why no one ever named a color after you.

And the trees about me,
      Let them be dry and leafless; let the rocks
      Groan with continual surges; and behind me
      Make all a desolation. Look, look, wenches!


Paint me a cavernous waste shore
  Cast in the unstilled Cyclades,
Paint me the bold anfractuous rocks
  Faced by the snarled and yelping seas.

Display me ****** above
  Reviewing the insurgent gales
Which tangle Ariadne’s hair
  And swell with haste the perjured sails.

Morning stirs the feet and hands
  (Nausicaa and Polypheme).
Gesture of orang-outang
  Rises from the sheets in steam.

This withered root of knots of hair
  Slitted below and gashed with eyes,
This oval O cropped out with teeth:
  The sickle motion from the thighs

Jackknifes upward at the knees
  Then straightens out from heel to hip
Pushing the framework of the bed
  And clawing at the pillow slip.

Sweeney addressed full length to shave
  Broadbottomed, pink from nape to base,
Knows the female temperament
  And wipes the suds around his face.

(The lengthened shadow of a man
  Is history, said Emerson
Who had not seen the silhouette
  Of Sweeney straddled in the sun.)

Tests the razor on his leg
  Waiting until the shriek subsides.
The epileptic on the bed
  Curves backward, clutching at her sides.

The ladies of the corridor
  Find themselves involved, disgraced,
Call witness to their principles
  And deprecate the lack of taste

Observing that hysteria
  Might easily be misunderstood;
Mrs. Turner intimates
  It does the house no sort of good.

But Doris, towelled from the bath,
  Enters padding on broad feet,
Bringing sal volatile
  And a glass of brandy neat.

set me on fire
go ahead lit the match
soak me in gasoline
and watch me burn like the sun
watch as my hair turns black
my skin turns a darker shade of golden brown
watch as my eyes turn into
swirling pools of chocolate
listen to the way I scream
the agonizing burning of my flesh
the searing of my blood
and somehow i've never felt so alive
so set me on fire
go ahead light the match
watch me burn
knowing,
that the day I died was the day I lived.

really ******* hard
to make you laugh and smile
and make you want to see me again.
I feel like though
that smile of yours
was fake
and that laugh
that made my body shiver
and my insides nice
was a lie to send daggers down my spine
and you don't care
because some ***** who didn't deserve you
hurt you.

So you can't take a chance
and see that I would be there for you
and now I'm the hurt one
and you don't care.

You made me
feel like a human being
a man with painted nails
weird clothing and loud quirky personality.
Felt like home that you
smiled and held my arm
and made me feel human
not like the freakshow was open for business.
I felt normal
just for a moment.

Now you make me feel like
I was bit by a snake
that entangled my heart and squeezed it just enough to hurt
when you let go.

At first
I felt like you would be someone
that I could at least ****
and it'd be fun
but as we talked and I learned more and more about you.
I realized I wanted to date and be boyfriends
because you are so amazing
and different
and hurt.
You look like you needed someone in your life that was willing to hold your hand and kiss your cheek.
You met someone willing to do that
but retaliated by
biting his neck and draining all his blood.

i always seem to be sitting
in the middle of intersections
like a traffic light that hasn't
hung itself yet, always
seem to be waiting in the
middle of the ghost town
of where our love was first
built. there's a hospital
down the road where the
waiting room chairs are
much more morbid than
the hospital beds and
every electric heart rate
line sitting on the screen
of the heart monitors flatten,
make long beeping sounds
like an alarm clock, like a
wake up call; they make
long beeps like the ringing
i hear inside of the phone
when i call the owner of
the voice mail i've seem to
have made a home out of.
they took every place
we kissed and turned it into
a church that closes on
Sundays and holds a choir
full of people that lost their
voice in their own war. i've
been in the line for the
confessional for about two
years now because every
time i go up to say how
badly i want you to feel it
back, i let the girl wearing
your t-shirt cut in front of
me. the sidewalks only
seem to crack when they
remember how it felt
when you walked on them,
when you gave the ground
its purpose. one of these
nights the traffic lights will
come to their senses,
drop into the intersection
and crumble right next to me
because it's not like they have
anything to stop or at least
slow down because this is
a ghost town, & nothing is coming back.

I keep finding bullets stuck between my teeth
The same ones you bought the day you decided the ceiling would look better covered in blood.
Maybe that’s why everything I say
sounds like it’s is trying to **** me.
But what do you do
when you stand in front of a mirror
with a gun to your head
and your reflection smiles back at you?
What do you do
When you stand in the middle of a busy road
And every driver is a different version of yourself you’ve tried to ****.
Every version of yourself
No one could love.
My mother used to get in fist fights with the mirror and expect to win
She says I look just like her
Maybe that’s why I wake up and can’t recognize who I am.
I checked the obituaries this morning
Trying to find myself again
It’s a habit I picked up from you
But I never thought your name would end up there before mine.
Sometimes I imagine what death feels like
Sometimes I imagine kissing you instead
By now it feels like I’m imagining the same thing.
Someone once told me that begging you to come home
Isn’t the same as praying
Maybe that’s why God stopped listening
and started smashing the windows of every place I thought we could be happy in.
Your smile looked a lot like the light at the end of the tunnel
Right before the train hits you.
I used to squint my eyes when I looked at you
Like I was looking at the sun
Or a car accident I wanted to be part of
I’m sorry I ever thought you could be anything ugly to me
You were the only beautiful thing in this hideous place.
I couldn't look at you clearly,
because I knew I would see my own face staring back at me and
your eyes were the only place I never wanted to be dead inside of.
You can only break your knuckles so many times
Before you cant hold yourself together anymore.
My hands haven’t stopped shaking since you left
I don’t know how to tell them you’re not coming back.
See, I used to say I never wanted to end up like my father
Now I have to say I never want to end up like you,
Which means I can’t leave without saying goodbye
But I tried to write my eulogy last night
And realized it's hard to write about someone I never knew.