When I drive, I spend more time looking in the rearview mirror than I do in front of me.
No, that isn’t a metaphor, I mean it literally.
It’s more appealing to live in memories, forget the trauma as it’s happening.
I may never change, but I like living in the illusion of safety.

somehow, i find
that i would rather breathe at night
holding stone-still in a cell of silence
drifting off into the
murky black of
everything
between the stars.

and although it is cold,
and dark,
and i oftentimes find my pulsing soul
sinking dangerously in temperature,

i would much rather embrace
this world of empty
than lose myself in
everything i must face in the morning.

I felt safe with you.

But I forgot that the same fire,
That gives warmth holds power,
To destroy all that's in its path.

We give ourselves separating names.
Separating nations.
We create our own pain.
A pain that does not have to be.
Let us bring back together the days of FREE!


Copyrighted 2015

don't you dare smile
in the face of the
day.  don't think for
a second that
you are in control
of your feelings.  
see that person ahead?
don't acknowledge them.
head down, eyes forward,
mouth shut, heart
closed.
...good, now you're
getting the hang of
it.  now, accept everyone
else's authority but
your own, amass financial
debt, relieve yourself
with the proper drugs,
find someone under
the same
enchantment as you
and call it love.  
have kids because it's
the next step.  raise them
in your image.
then,

watch them repeat the
same cycles
and as you're dying, have
a flash-thought-
  "did I even notice who I was?  what I wanted for this life?"
and as the thresh
ceases to be held you
light a candle of hope-
your love the spark,
your children the fed flame.
you say,  
     "they will sever the momentum I couldn't, they will
          see it."
-after all they are made
to be better than you,
not simply blind copies.
yet as the kaleidoscopic walls
usher you on you wonder,
     "how many of my ancestors have lit this same vela del lecho
         de muerte?  how many were hoping it was their daughter or
            son?"

the security of tradition and
the risk-reward of novelty
played out across
lineages.  both correct
and incorrect in their
own ways...

which one reaches through
the ages and hums
in
your spine?

Your technicolor emotions turn into watered-down versions when the alcohol seeps into your veins. Creating watercolor paint, and with that, you craft me images of a world unframed. Sculpting beauty from hope and wonders you found on the floor.
Perspective lost to the consumption of liquid courage. Making way for actions unrestrained. A little too much. A little too lost. A little too loosely letting your tongue take charge. Amplified by longing. Tainted by the ever-growing ghost of tomorrow.
You will not remember when morning comes. The art you drew in lazy circles around my weary body. The daunting fables you wrote me into. Left to be nothing more than simple fever dreams to reminisce over.

chained around the wrist,
bound with thoughts and regrets
you can't break them without breaking yourself.

there's no escape for you.

a light flickering in the corner of the dark cell,
a shadow appears in the doorway.

"Time", they say

"Time?", you ask, "how is time going to help me?"

sure enough, as the days pass, the flicker turns into an intense flame.
the whole room, illuminated with light.
the chains slowly deteriorate, until nothing is left besides
the clanging of metal within your mind.

you're free.

you stand up to move, but you're frozen.
your hands aren't bound but they're still stuck together like two lovers refusing to even coming up for air.

"why can't i move?" you whisper softly,
the shadow speaks one last time, "only you can decide when you're ready."

Sometimes
I think
I want
a gun
And then
I remember
I'm crazy