Melodies of my soul in soft dulcet tones,
play through my mind once more in the night,

Emotion vibrating through my very bones,
to keep me company until the mornings light.

Words in the shapes of harmony and verse,
that give voice to my heart in purest sound.

To speak of an empty lonely universe,
and of a love my spirit never found.

How can flesh endure when a soul cries,
in relentless voice, in such a sad refrain.

While lament will pass at suns early rise,
A lonely soul knows, the song will come again.

Pretty life goes by--
A cord wire and silence
Between you and I

May God have mercy on our souls,
Boredom is the drug with most effect,
By the time we know we're sinners we'll both be dead.

These drugs that make you think like a different person;
Whyyyy would you ever think you were worthless?
Tomorrow's only the same if we leave it that way,
And God knows just how perfect you are to me...

Now and forever
Now and forever
Nooooww and forever
Now and forever
I swear, I swear.

(Dododoo doo dododoo do)



* farewell

clue time   game of bluff-man blind   fuss of obstacles scold up my mind -(the-vermin-are-quite-rife) / portrait, ambitious portrait   racing a train - broadsword toward - a fertile pocket of prissy death ;/ crown, fist and sprawl in the court of The Charmers   sole hissy-fit upon your knees

I have dreamt
of falling stars,
although the
beauty of
your heart's
tears grow
farther in
light than
the reaches
of the heavens,
will you soar
forever in the
the secret skies
of my embrace?
In this moment,
let us heal
our wounds,
for we will
behold time
in this endless
love song

My mother cannot find her camera,
and I wondered if I'd left it with you.

My stomach churns like the deck of a ship
amid a raging mid-Atlantic tempest,
its bowels tender and full of friction,
a morose resentment of an azure message sent.

The Dungan name supports its own;
the pain of one is felt by the majority,
an empathetic woe of a blessing understated,
our emotional reason ranging far and true.

One text sent and the world turns dim;
I've tried to manage the mania and valleys
of the experiences endemic to our core,
but the truth remains that I've not healed at all.

I can envision the late New York nights,
our Hoboken studio glimmering in the sunset,
the white walls imprinted with our fingertips;
open bottles of wine half-drank scattered around
while the subway roars underneath the Hudson
as it zips to a jolting halt.

Meanwhile, the scars embedding my skin
have healed themselves through and clear,
yet the bruises around the perimeter remain,
their coarse outlines distant reminders
of the pitfalls of the love we once shared.

Fire and ice juxtapose into a glass of lager,
a cool glide down the warm embrace of my throat;
nightly cocktails of Lexapro, Lamictal, and Hydroxyzine
haven't succeeded in easing the terrors
plaguing my core in the brightest of nights --
it is surmisable that these wounds are lethal,
but I refuse to succumb once more to your flaws.

My mother cannot find her camera,
and I wondered if I'd left it with you.

Whether it lay with your father and his bourbon
or your mother and her manipulating lies
or your brother and his ignorant resolutions
or your friends and their misogynistic gazes,
I cannot say,
yet I felt compelled to outstretch my fingertips
as a solemn branch of the willow tree
waving in the wind, scattering in the breeze,
an innocent attempt to brush aside the despondency,
a sprout into maturity to digress from the winds
raging between us while residing so far apart.

Never truly have I possessed a hatred so seething
than the alps of brimstone in the frame of you.

My mother cannot find her camera,
and I wondered if I'd left it with you.

Perhaps I should have remained in oblivion,
restrained myself from the shackles of your presence.
Still, I refuse to conform to the demands of those
unaware of the true nature of my nightmares,
their benevolent intentions disregarding my truth,
white wisps of flowers stained with brutal crimson,
inching its way down the crevices of my mouth
while I reel away and encapsulate the open flesh
I'd just bitten through with this impulsive decision.  

But still...
my mother could not find her camera,
and I'd only wondered
if I'd left it with you.

I

Please, pretty pastoral blue
with the force of a stem through muck
tangled up with the rose's hue
lift me up and lift me higher
drag me throughout the earth,

i can taste the dirt in your fingernails and it tastes beautiful...
so beautiful, for it belongs to you
and you don't belong to words or images or interpretation
you are you and you are my saviour in every way as I'm yours

so Please, take me apart
and take me away
i am not this poem nor this painting
i am not an art as i would like to be
and neither are you, but together we conjoin to form an embryo of melody

like bubble's dispersing their seeds to the sea
at the fastest hardest softest gentlest stupidest cheekiest sexiest pleasantest frame viewable
as well as the sparks out of frame.

If I die only to be reborn I know you'll be with me

like a thorn in my heart waiting for its day to be found,
snagged, ripped and knitted into a cardigan to keep me warm apparently forever

only to be slipped and slid until wrangling unbound;
you are a metaphor too cheesy to put into words—
so **** sounding forced I'll just say i love you
i love you
i love you
i love you

i love you so much it hurts to straddle this trapeze rope weaved in leather tobacco smoke
That holds ongoing lies aswell the truth that would break you and i know you've your own trade's –i wasnt born yestardy–
(although at times when i wake up it can feel that way)
Yet i use that as a sort of faux sawdust justification; the truth is that I’m too weak to face my weakened state
and confront it head on, until today... so please please listen when i say that
I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love
You.

II

I played too much music too loud and now I'm sound-numb
sounds dumb, dont it? did you expect me to be handling
the transition well? Whole family is dying and I just want to be wanted
And my thoughts can feel like such a burden
So please, tie no jealousy to my concerns
cause if your mind was like mine half the time you'd know
not to even ask,

and you dont,

most of the time,

yes, she is the emerald rowed a million lifetimes or more
caught in its blink-length transition to gold...
too beautiful for words or colours to even briskly define
and I am yours and in my fantasy of you you are mine,
two wisping spirits whispering esoteric bitemarks in the dark!
hear that thunder? that's my heart.
hear that struggle, that's my breath.
think its going strong? that's the cocktease surge before my death
and my death is so holy to me as yours is to you and hers to ours

I spent the day binding the clockarms over wrinked beige
every day feels  the same

although i do try so hard to be your star
i spent the day tracing papertrails trying to make the lexicon fit our names
but its as good to me as sanskrit, as the dirt is to the seas that birthed it
and womb it still.
You sleep at my side and transition your nightmares into mine
one quiver at a time,
hold me close, this preaged preworn deformed flesh of mine is not my skin,
hold me closer, feel my skin become yours as fingertips scape out a chin
and a neck, curling trickling like tiny raindrops downeth
to the place once signified and defined as ***** sin
not the art nor stretch-marked temple it is

Blossoming blossoming blossoming in chaotic collision and marking love

Beyond a touch or a name or a place

And yes, i still feel her
Calloused and pliable as playdough

Rubbing palms and clasping
Together into a cocoon
To awaken tomorrow as a whole new entity.
I feel more whole for my confessions although
You hate me for it,
I feel more myself for my confessions
And I’ve never felt so lovingly distant...

Being optimistic, I just say 'who knows what tomorrow will bring'

And strum this whisper into your snoring song.

So please,
Be here tomorrow.