If you've ever had dreams,
Don't ever underestimate them.
Because dreams are
Just a step away from reality.
And reality is a mere metaphor.
What's real is not real and
What's not real is also not real.
There is no line or border
That his grains of sand cannot cross.
I heard the cartoon dinosaur on the ceiling gossip
That I was going crazy.
But the crumbs of the chocolate croissant I ate in my dreams
Are the proof of my sanity.
I sometimes wish I could have nightmares instead
Because at least in nightmares,
I would still be able to be scared.
it's a constant stream of consciousness, the ultimate truth about how art and inspiration are just your perception and interpretation of life and the reality around you. listen to a song, and pause as the narration flows through your mind like sand through your hands – slipping through the hourglass and never staying quite on key. when your mind is always two steps ahead of the ink.
bury me with a pen, because god knows i’ll forever live in this altered state, and i’m destined to die here.
it’s about how everything makes you feel – how you’re more than human because you understand the true meaning behind the infinite universe and everything encompassing it. a super(ior) perspective. forever a self born monster with the hungry desire to dissect all in sight; until it means anything.
with all synapses firing, you understand the theories and ideas of the great intellectuals; the divine knowledge of utmost reality – art, beauty, life, humanity, and enlightenment. then you reach the darker side of the path; the bruised affair kept hidden from sight – the truth and knowledge and understanding of the mind of the serial killer, the sociopath, the damned; and the overwhelming desire to act upon it all. an unbearable struggle and battle within yourself to shut out the violence, to mask the hate and brutality – tucked in a corner for later analysis.
the truth is, this is enlightenment. ultimate inspiration and insight to reality. this state of being reaches your infinite heights, and these ideas are your pure gold philosophy. shine on, you crazy diamond.
I’ve begun to hate the whole ‘I contain multitudes’ idea.
I hate every breath I have taken since I was twelve, I hate how I’ll never be okay with who I am, and I hate how this concept of containing multitudes means there’s more about myself that I will uncover and hate, again.
I hate how your curtains are chrome yellow, I hate how it spills sunlight on the scattered prints on your bedsheets that I’ve come to hate. I hate how my feet are either too cold outside, or too hot under the blanket, I hate how my neck both desires and dislikes pillows. I hate how I am never comfortable with comfort: I hate how your fingers pressing between my shoulder blades don’t relax me. I hate that I can only love if I hold it up against all that I hate.
I hate how I lie with your arm beneath my head and my mind just above it, thinking of all the things that I hate and how I never hated you. I hate how I write about you, how I hide it from you. I hate how I never said these things to you. I hate how I hate myself but never hesitate to glorify you.
I hate how I say things to make you despise me, how I twist your words to despise you, how I set us on fire and wanted you to save just me.
How delusional of me to want to worship every inch of your skin with my lips. How delusional of me to want to be divine and not lowly, to love and not to ravage.
How delusional of me to love when I can only hate.
A boy walks alone under a starry night
and wonders what his happiness is supposed to be.
He remembers his past with delight
for those were the days when he had Serenity.
He forgets all of his happiness
and immerses himself with Loneliness.
The boy runs alone under a starry night
and he locks his heart to hide from Life.
The pain in his heart fills his inner strife
and he meets his new friend, Misery.
The boy jumps away into the Night
and he forfeits his deal with the Light.
The gruesome, gloomy, and two-faced shadows devour him
and then Darkness became his new sight.
Dreams are black and sullen
Like the black stallion
Though it lacks simplification
Relying on my obsession
Killing the temptation
Is Our love true?
My love is false
No one cares
Any shining stars of a beautiful moment
Fade into oblivion and darken
Leaving me high and wet
Where is your hand
Sex is all that you are to me in this sphere of time
To not talk nor greet at the given moment
Equals talking to an unknowable god
To you, I amount to nothing
Stallion you are to me
There is not a time frame for us
No goodbye or a hello
Just another sigh
I tried to be independent.
I tried to be self-reliant.
I tried to avoid
I tried to exist
Without the affirmation
Of any sense of community,
But I became fearful,
When I went into "Survival Mode",
Full of Hate!
I’ve always adored the fact that you have parts missing from your face,
creating this sort of perfect imbalance
that makes it seem as if you were a member of your
like some far-out cat from some planet
on the skids …
You once had this strange haircut
and I wanted to slap you in the back
of your head
with an open hand
as I stared into your narrow and angelic countenance.
But who didn’t,
am I right?
So I guess that’s when it all began,
But that’s no surprise, really, because
it always begins
with very weird hair —
Anyway, when I was young I used to marvel at the primates
in their unnatural habitat.
But many years later I was
saddened by the realization that you had never
bounced around like a monkey in
form-fitting garb inside my cage.
So what am I supposed to do now
after stumbling upon you atop the furniture?
I hope that you know that I
will never, ever be the same —
And all that time we spent
turning avoidance into an art form,
which is why when I saw you squirm that day in your chair
it felt like victory despite my exhaustion.
Though I have tried,
albeit, somewhat awkwardly, to make amends,
I am convinced that every word
you have ever said to me, about me, about this,
is total bullshit
slung with the intention of
hiding your disdain
behind sweet words and a laugh
that cuts me every time.
Almost all the crap in my life
Is something I’ve done wrong;
Bad decisions I have made
As I stumbled my way along.
When I was an adolescent
I blamed my stuff on others;
My peers, friends and brothers.
I made up stories and finger-pointed.
Soon nobody wanted to trust me,
My social posture became disjointed.
Was it all of them or was it just me?
I taught myself to quickly lie
And to make elaborate excuses.
It’s almost like I had no gift
To live without butt-saving ruses.
Early I learned polite society
Would not say to my face.
That my sense of personal ethics
Had become a huge disgrace.
Folks smiled and said empty words.
None had the care and grace to say
They’d quickly check their watches
If I told them the time of day.
But only for a certain time
Can this kind of crass stupidity
Avoid even my devious vision.
It stole from them and from me.
Sooner or later, even my hard head
Had to want the truth and admit
The book of my life was being read
And my lies were a huge part of it.