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We are all bewildered dancers
Lost in an incomprehensible ballet—
Woven tightly through a rich tapestry,
Drawn from contrasting colors,
Yet forming a boundless whole,
Waltzing hand in hand—
In love and hate, joy and suffering,
Dark and light, death and life.

The universe—a radiant church window,
Fracturing light into polychromatic unity,
Drifting shards of stained glass,
Piercing through the drama of duality,
Rippling into a sea of endless complexity,
Wedged between the boundaries
of stars and the space that forms them,
A perfection found in imperfection,
Beneath this sea of contrast lies truth:
How could we be anything at all
Without two sides to make us whole?

Before the technicolor skies formation,
We were the loneliest deity,
Infinity alone in a room made of itself,
Where everything was everywhere,
And time unfolded all at once.
So we crafted ourselves a dream—
From the core of our mirrored soul,
A place where I am you and you are me,
So we may live and perish in grace.

So we may play a game with ourselves,
Performing on this boundless stage,
An intricate puzzle piece,
Fitting together in a dance of chaos,
Meticulously designed to deceive ourselves,
So we may treasure life in the face of death.
Navigators of the in-between,
Wandering the maze of nothingness.

If infinity could dream,
Its deepest longing would be
To grasp something real—
To feel the grass beneath its feet,
As it runs across the hills of our earth,
Savoring the fleeting bliss of it all.

The present is so precious,
It hints at a reason we call it so—
A split second glimpse of meaning
In the eternal dance of existence.
Humans tread this lonely universe,
as an ever-dispersing body,
but our I’s never meet.

Behind the velvet curtains of our minds,
within the iris of our eyes,
rests an endless expanse of stars,
refracting off a crystalline hall of mirrors—
a boundless,
eternal reflection,
devoid of every word.

Whispering so softly in us,
behind all thought, all form,
revealing everything,
yet ultimately nothing—
nothing at all.
Leocardo Reis Nov 2018
DIGESTION
When the temperature is raised
Particles gain kinetic energy
And collide at a greater frequency.
The more particles that collide
The chances of a reaction occurring increases.
How many times have elbows rubbed
In hallways, no matter how crowded
Yet nothing happens,
Nothing precipitates,
Not even a cough
Or a wandering shot
From the corner of their eyes.
People pass
By or away
And yet hallways are still full;
Full of thoughts of other people
Full of longing
Full of the people who are missing.

USE OF ELECTROLYTE
The addition of an electrolyte
Reduces the coulombic repulsion
Produced by a solution’s ionic atmosphere;
An electrolyte allows ions to interact more freely.
A full bus is void of tension.
A stranger who writes letters everyday,
But crumples the paper before finishing
Is completed by the person
Who eagerly awaits a text on their phone.
A person with a bouquet of flowers
Catches the eye of someone lost in thought.
So many people who compliment one another,
Or an other,
Sit idly on a moving bus
Separated only by people
Who, too, are separated from their second piece.
You meet such people everyday
Who could have been,
Yet are not.

CO-PRECIPITATION
Something that is generally avoided.
An impurity that co-precipitates with the product
Can cause an overestimation of analyte.
Impurities can be caught within
The crystal lattice structure of the compound
Or trapped inside a growing crystal.
It may be hard to understand
Such thoughts still seem foreign
But I, too, have things that I remember dearly.
They are wrapped up with
Lists of groceries, and formulas
About distance and its relation to
Speed and its change over time.
It is all just things that have
Come to pass.
Such memories are hard to keep
When there is only one who articulates them,
But I am sure
Perhaps years from now
You’ll catch yourself thinking
For a split second
And then go about your day.

PEPTIZATION  
The breaking up of precipitate
Due the loss of electrolyte
Which strengthens the ionic atmosphere
Around the analyte.
In line at a bus stop
A glimpse is caught
Of the oncoming bus
And people shuffle
As the line moves up.
Never again
Can the same people
Line up the same way
For the same bus
We are too fragile
To construct ourselves in such a way
Where we can meet again.
Fate is too frail
Someone must leave
Leaves must fall
But someone always stays.
Her beauty glows from her character,
Her eyes are good attitude,
And her lips; good words.
Her nostrils are hope,
Her make up is confidence,
Her crown is her integrity.
She isnt flawless and she doesnt try to be
Real as she can be,
She lives in reality.
Emotional independence and stability both are her strengths,
A woman with values and well aware of her worth,
Doesnt abuse her sexuality to take men for granted.
That is the queen of integrity.
the dead bird Aug 2016
hatred
for every human
that's ever existed
how pathetic,
naive,
stupid

they fill me
with disgust
and pity

isn't it ironic
how my
pretentious
view of humanity
is matched
by my inherent desire
for their company?

making me the
most pathetic
most disgusting
most pitiful
one of all

I'm ******* lonely as hell dude

can't stand to be around anyone
but even more,
can't bear to be alone with my mind

intimacy and conversation -
regardless of quality -
serve as a distraction
from the feeling of dread
which won't leave me
ever

in my solitude
it feels like
something is laughing
at my existence:

a cockroach
with a superiority complex
pretending to be dignified
like it won't be crushed
immediately
when stepped on

SOMETHING OR SOMEONE
PLEASE
END MY LIFE
at least depression brings self awareness!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
the dead bird Apr 2016
I am the ocean-
from an objective glance
one might say
I am predictable
my tides
my moods
are just a reaction
caused by
my moon of emotion

I inch closer to you
then pull away
the moon is my master
and I am but a puppet
to her

wade in my shallow waters
before venturing further

for your own safety
study me first
before exploring my depth

I have swallowed innocent people
whole
when they did not
know what to expect
their bodies will always rise
but I have drowned their souls
in my darkness

not something I am proud of
but they
should have known
what they were getting into

inside me there lives
demons disguised as sharks
lurking
until you show your
vulnerability
once they smell it
they will hunt you down
and abuse you
for their own advantage

but when you get to know
my secrets
my waters
my soul
I promise there is
beauty
in the underwater foliage
I can show you sights
you have never seen
as long
as you remember
when to pull up for air

just bring a life vest
and don't say
I never warned you
not
to swim too deep
Val Chavez Jun 2015
I was thirteen when I made the first incision on my ****** heart, allowing its contents to pour out in a heavenly wave of confusion and innocence.
Which is fine.

I was fourteen when I tried to stitch the pericardium back together with the “I love you’s” that were never meant to be said, the heat of the activity, and the temporary “Stay Strong”s.
Which is also fine.

I was fifteen when I learned that the heart muscle can only regenerate in small, limited quantities, that it would never be quite the same in its entirety.
Which is, again, fine.

Now I am seventeen days from my sixteenth birthday, and I’m learning that time spent alone can not only let you find yourself, but can also lead you to parts of yourself you weren’t meant to discover quite yet.

But I am almost sixteen, and it’s too late. I cannot forget what I know.

Maybe seventeen will be kinder.
Death-throws May 2015
Im starting to write less and less
and Its scaring me
because I either have no sufferings to write about
or Its all become to much
which one?
how will I know?
whats wrong with my head
Its all twisted up inside
knotted guts struggling to chew through knowledge
am I maturing?
or am I finally turning to dust
I'm sorry if I'm not so sweet to hold,
its difficult when you slip through gaps
like the ones in your fingers
and the holes in your heart
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