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Your expression is all the taste I need.

With the orange gumdew drops on my tongue

Crackling firecrackers on the sinew

All drugged up with euphoria

Expectation to shove you off after I'm done with you.

Caressing your cheek til the morrow

Til yellow corona peeks over the flat body of water


Watch you turn and leave

Feel the pit of my stomach churn but lips clamped shut with how I feel

like yellow dandelions bursting to soar away forever.
A departure, all the same.
May 2017.
Thrilling at the thought of leaving you again,
Not realising it was really me who I was going to leave.


dead state


Mistaking your smiles for more than what it really is worth,
After learning so much yet still failing the tests anyway,
Setting this bridge on fire when you're still on it.

best conditions

Prose breaks down as stanza hears your screams, freeform falling into the dark backward and abysm of time,
the hot asphyxiation leading to death throes and need for release.



im sorry


I'm leaving.
Three steps.

misdirection
erasing my existence
departure
Leave them before they leave you.
May 2017.
It's getting a little crowded in here, don't you think?


I can only have so many colours and voices in my head telling me what to do.


Ego, id, superego.

Eis.


Her body reminds you of a far off distant memory that screams of lessons


Of the separation when the day you discovered lust


Of the discord that kissed you when you were left with no one


It's impossible not to feel anything

So let the waters carry you off.

Let her presence not be an eldritch one, but a welcome one.
Now, not that kind of head.
Would be nice, heh.
May 2017.
Give up on her because you know friends aren't meant to fall for each other.

Leave her alone because you know that she can do so much more better.

Sever the emotion at the root so you can feel better about yourself.

**** the love you feel.
Now he slides off the side of the rearview mirror, with none but a ****** smear, an etch on their hearts and scars to remember him by.
May 2017.
Dance. Or rather the lack of it.

Do it, because you want to, because you need to.

And all the sounds you were looking for,
And all the taste your tongue lost.

Surrender power to desire.
Translate desire into longing.

Crank it up, swallow her voice, digest it and nurture it.

You know what you want.
You know what you are.


We are one.
To find someone else that could understand you..
and then realize you were wrong, eventually.
Slide down the slippery ***** and go mad.
May 2017.
From a blank slate, there is curiousity.
With curiousity,  abstractness appears.
Beyond abstractness, patterns tumble.

Seeking meaning, patterns into logia.
Overseeing what was lost, into sense.
Unless I'm mistaken, birthing loss.
Loss, yes loss. Sprang forth emotion.
Master of none, jack of all.
And a motion that never knew toil.
Thrumming tunes that bought ache.
Emotive, encouraging yet eccentric.


Life, is a much diluted, many splendoured thing, it brings forth things we never know if will work out, never know if what we need is behind that door.

Only when there's an equal force acting on us, do we stop spinning in place, do we stop being us, do we stop and stare, for we'd have found something to cherish.. or crush.

Victory is only worthwhile when there's someone to see it, but what use is victory when you're all alone again, all spent and used up?

Enter your desire, to be used, to be abused, to lose control, to be vague, to be understood, to be one again, after eons of separation, an empty vessel, to be filled with the other's soul.


From my hidden desire to have you
I realised I was looking for myself
And when I found myself
I didn't know what to do with myself
So I gave up finding a meaning
I gave up everything so to find myself
A prose with no mosaic
So I went into it
And I found these scriptures
Blank again
To the top again

Where I found power.

From desire, there is surrender.
From surrender, power.
No confession, no obsession, just mortal acts of indignation.
May 2017.
His obsession with the pursuit of her

Enough to give one


Pause.


He had built concrete, rods made of rust,
A tower,


So he might be able to peer over the walls she had built.


kissed his scars opened new wounds


A maddening pursuit, he was told.
It couldn't be that the door was closed before it ever was opened.

Could it be?

you think too much.
Jo-hanna,
Harlot.
May you quell your hunger soon enough.
May 2017.
The one who observes, the one who rules.

The one who dominates, the one who conquers.

The one who pushes forward, the one who never lost.

The one who lingered, the one who planned.

The one who led revolutions, the one who extinguished strife.

The one who paused, the one who waited for his time.


And he lived.
Oh, above all he lived.
Still high on his horse.
Wait for him to fall like Napoleon did.
May 2017.
Tonight his senses are dulled,
Perhaps from the morning rain to afternoon dew.

The hat he wears, to further cancel out the tunes he feels bleeding into his psyche.

A flower blooming on the battlefield of love, of dance.

He numbs himself further.

Only now is he whole. Complete.

Music and video flash past his eyes and ears, enveloping within the eye of the seer.

The poet lays his writ to rest.


It is going to be a month of perdition, after all.
Little does he know, he was complete ; only submerged with the world.
Not in any other aspect ;
Now, begin to watch him drown as well.
May 2017.
This is what I get.

For holding onto an empty space, with my fingers outstretched to hold something I thought was there.

but it wasn't.


The hot asphalt searing, killing all of my nerves and screaming of how foolish I was.


Oh, that's what I get.


Loving so hard I forgot how it felt to hate myself.

Neurotic ******
Malevolent malice

Why it's come as a surprise?
To think that I was so naive,
Maybe it didn't mean that much,
But it meant everything to me.
Make it all, go away.
We just want something, something we can never have.
May 2017.
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