Addicted,
to the art I create,
I know I should go out,
but would rather stay in,

on pace to become a legend,
already are even though I’m still livin’,
it’s interesting when you witness your self,
in all the glory of your own bestowed blessings,

no priest but lots of confessions,
no niece but lots of relations,
no family tree no fresh air to breathe,
but lots of friends that’re all refreshing,

and speaking,
of them,
I should probably be out,
being sociable,

but I can’t pull myself away from these words,
as I write them out of me compulsively,
acting like it matters at all,
like maybe these words will help change our society,

because right now,
it all feels fckt up,
either we’re regretting Last Night’s ending,
or we’re too anxious and awkward to touch,

what the fck,

would rather not curse,
but it’s hard to hold back the verses when it hurts,
so bad sometimes I’d rather leave this place I’m in,
but I don’t because suicide is worse than any day on this earth,

so no matter what I do,
I don’t **** myself,
so no matter what you do,
don’t **** yourself,

please,
we need us here,
the most beautiful souls always seem to leave the soonest,
and that’s honestly a shame my dear,

so instead of picking up the gun,
pick up the pen,
instead of picking up the pills,
pick up a mic and set a trend,

switch your addictions up,
go from giving in to giving a fck,
see we’re all addicted it’s just a matter of what to,
some are addicted to hate other’s are addicted to love,

addicted,
to the art I create,
I know I should go out,
but would rather stay in,

on pace to become a legend,
already are even though I’m still livin’,
it’s interesting when you witness your self,
in all the glory of your own bestowed blessings…

∆ LaLux ∆

Venice, CA.
October 10th, 2018

It’s like,
I want to stay in and also get out,
it’s like I want some company,
but don’t want to deal with the accompanying conversation,

it’s like I like humans,
but I don’t like what they’re about,
it’s like I like life,
but I’m tired of living,

it’s like everything seems to matter so much,
at the same time nothing seems to matter at all,
and I really want to share all this to someone,
and I’ve got the new iPhone in my hand but no one to call,

how’d I become so good,
at Social Self-Sabotage,
saw a hoodie that said Anti-Social Socialite,
and it felt like mind reading because that’s what I’d thought,

dressed to the nines as we dance with the Devil,
at the same time as we waltz with God,
“Put your left foot in pull your left foot out,
you do the Hokie-Pokie what’s this all about?”,

it’s like,
I want to stay in and also get out,
it’s like I want some company,
but don’t want to deal with the accompanying conversation…

∆ LaLux ∆

October 6th, 2018
Venice, California

I know the truth is my feelings had me sprung and even now it’s just hard to move along why can’t I forget about you cuz you’re almost always there the feelings I had for you it isn’t even fair . Had to detach myself when you said don’t get attached that’s my problem cuz I feel like I’m being attacked . For having strong emotions and not knowing to let go it’s easy for men whose feelings never show while women’s feelings continue to grow . Continue to blossom into something you’ll never know.  Never had a real male friend that didn’t like me things got awkward and I cut them off most likely .

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury.
Your honour.
Play the evidence”

The sound of a projector whirrs
As wind in a snail shell.
TAKE ONE.
REPLAY.

“The defendant knew the man,
Had talked to him on train stations,
But kept it as hidden as a brief encounter.
He knew this man liked that band,
Not liked, loved,
And the defendant had a whole playlist to recommend and a whole compilation of
Critical readings on Post-Britpop to articulate.
However!
the defendant being
Slow and mollusc minded.
He kept his oyster shut.
SLOW THE FILM!...”

The whirring whizzes to ticking,
As nagging as potentially productive hours.

“Slowing the footage,
we can see
That his mouth even hesitantly gaped for a second.
Not one of his greatest hits was it?”

Ha,
I think,
No need to punish me.
I do that deed upon myself.
My pen scribbling, clicking,
Ticking,
Whirring,
In my head at night,
With conversations I never had.

Crying so hard you gum up the works
flem and spit that's gotta go down
nowhere else but the throat

Saying the wrong thing
being met with immediate silence
as you sweat and shuffle in your shoes

Hearing the wrong thing
and not knowing if you should speak
so you swallow followed by
'uuu-'ntil someone stops you

Little things
Little things
However small they be
Make all the difference
All the importance
Mean the world to me

The curious glancing
Gentle smiles
These little things
Make up my while

The time conversing
Awkward pause
Little things
Make up life’s laws

The moments spent
Before we leave
Quite plain for all to see
They mean the world to poets
Who love
The little things

The first time I saw you it was in math class.
I didn't notice anything about you at first I just memorized the back of how your head was.
After all, I had an hour to ****.
The second time I saw you were in English class.
You sat next to me but not by choice.
But I was happy about it.
It took me about four to five weeks to talk to you,
and I wasn't even the one to speak first.
You introduced yourself and then we worked together on an assignment.
It's been two weeks and I haven't said another word and I probably won't out of random.
My anxiety swallows me whole
and I'm sorry I can't even say hello.
But I have had time to notice you.
And let me just say
I'm in love with your taste in music
I'm in love with the way you hold your books
thinking that if you change the sound of your voice when the diagonal changes,
or if you struggle reading words you've never seen before and sit there for a few seconds trying to piece together what they mean.
I love how you can play the mandolin, you should show me sometime.
As I think about these things I also pick up how you would never even think of me.
I mean really,
you probably want some girl that's outgoing and can strum a guitar solo at midnight with you.
You probably want someone with long hair you can intertwine your fingers in,
or someone you can spend an afternoon together after church with.
I can't move mountains
and I can't even speak without looking like a fool,
but even if nothing will ever happen
It would be just as quite exciting being friends with you.
We could trade books and make each other mixtapes.
It hasn't even been a month yet and I'm already writing mediocre poetry about you.
I'm sorry about that by the way.
I'm not asking for a relationship but a friendship with someone like you would feel just the same.

our love doesn’t exist.
but i can tell you about our love.

our love is like gold dust in a miner’s pan,
soft and glimmering, sparkes lost in the world,
thrown haphazardly across the sky.

our love is warm like a summer evening and gentle like the cool breeze you feel when you
fly on playground swings.

our love is that pent-up feeling before a rainstorm,
charged air and a sense of something to come.

our love is like the rainstorm,
soft and loud and enriching.
it’s in the air i breathe, and i’d breathe it all the time.

our love is like blueberries in a red wagon
-aesthetic, cold and sweet.
i taste every time i encounter you.

our love is the curious look on girl’s face,
awkward and longing to know,
to accept this feeling.

the feeling that doesn’t exist.