In translucent hands
he reads a scripture belonging only to him,
and from memory, he'll rebuild his own illumination.

vicodin is a long term friend
with a warrent for my liver
and my life.

1:43am
we had an appointment
and god only knows
i could never be late for such
a chalky sense of closure.

and the young paramedic
who burst my vein and scolded me
could only pray his words
meant more than the hum of streetlights
as my body exchanged existence
for the embodiment of thought
and a brittle concept of my phrenic nerve

which was never more at peace than when
my lungs remembered the luxury
of standstill traffic

of weighted morals

of crushing insecurity's release
and the resulted ballooning
as squashed egos cry, and the garage door screams as it's yanked open

horrid sounds and tortured motion on both accounts

spiritual cataracts torn free
commercialized visions now blur

as the orange bottle morphs from
vicodin to paracetamol

equalized views in my bloodstream
as the sheet metal ceiling shifts to plaster tiles

to a TV set

to a bathroom mirror

to an agonized woman next door

to the back windows where my mother cries where no one but the whole world can watch

to a blue plastic mattress and a first floor window covered with bars

to a pale green day room with a caged TV
where there was bleach in the stomach of a nine year old

where the dying took their resurrecting breath between games of spoons

where the hinges screamed and blood pressure was taken three times a day

this where the living came to kiss death goodbye

until next time

Often, I think back.
Grip on the childhood
uncurls, slowly.
If the muscles don't fail,
bones will break. Oh,
Did you ever get
over your neglect?
Comes and goes,
Bexis, comes and goes.
Too high an expectation,
receive your input
and your feedback.
Grip on my childhood
memories loosens,
sudden. In your descent,
you grow terminal.
Your heart beats so hard
it might rip through
your ribs to fly upward,
back to the summit.
All your love, it is not lost, I
lap you up, still.
Is this separation unreal?
I can never figure out if
I'm naive or cynical,
if I'm worthy or worthless.
How did you feel,
when with me?
How did I feel,
when with you?
If the muscles don't fail,
bones will break.
If we play with what's at stake,
will we ever learn and grow?
And if so, is it worth this grinning ghost?
We'll make it,
either way.

His name, his name has been written inside of me as if my body was paper
It's as if each letter has been carved on my naked heart (and I can't escape it)
And it hurts painfully, my eyes are getting wetter
And I can't face this weather
(tear drop rain and love heart clouds).

And his little stabbing words haunt me like
the ghosts of future memories
(The ones that will never take place)
They sing stupid stick lullabies
where the sounds of your voice feels like
something I will learn to miss.  

Due to the sight of him, he makes me casually swim in His Ocean
I would cry for his affections
I would cry and cry until Our Oceans become
One
And every thought would be his and would be mine too.


Having a crush is like being in the Summer Rain.........  




(Being (or thinking you are) madly in love with someone is normal, it creates madness, but just be aware of it, because love that you desire awaits you, you just need to be patience) Being patience is a virtue.

Dazed minds
Tear stained cheeks

The result
of a broken heart
a broken mind

The ones you love
It's never enough for them

I just can't win, can I?