you're sculpture to me,
an artist's stain
a splattered canvass,
playing the blues

you're molded to me,
a magnetic clay-mation
I don't understand,
swaying to tunes

you're art to me,
no explanation or
interpretation,
you're freeing to me,
dancing with wounds

They mouth love's language. Gnash
The thirteen teeth
Your lean jaws grin with. Lash
Your itch and quailing, **** greed of the flesh.
Love's breath in you is stale, worded or sung,
As sour as cat's breath,
Harsh of tongue.

This grey that stares
Lies not, stark skin and bone.
Leave greasy lips their kissing. None
Will choose her what you see to mouth upon.
Dire hunger holds his hour.
Pluck forth your heart, saltblood, a fruit of tears.
Pluck and devour!

Die it black, DIE it black, DIE IT BLACK
they say...
Because if you die it white the blood WILL stain
Besides it's not that inhumane, they're disposable anyway.
Like a black trash bag consumed with garbage
One purpose, one dark excuse to attack.
They're murderers, thugs and robbers
and if we just disregard them they'll never stop in their tracks.
So in order to maintain #AllLivesMatter
we'll destroy each and everyone of these hoodlums
until this violently painted black comm(UNITY) shatters.
And as each broken piece falls to the ground
we'll fall to our knees in awe of the gleaming white crown

So dust it off and D.I.E. THEM BLACK
for everything that you thought you stood for
is falling though the cracks.

For this one toned American hell hole can't get any worse if we D.I.E it BLACK
...and put humanity first.

I regret sleeping on that couch.
I was never very good at sleeping alone, and sleeping on that couch only made it worse.
Maybe that's why I clutch my pillow at night like my life depends on it.

A pounding headache is all I'm left with while my battered soul still remains there on that couch.
But it's time that I take it back.
It's time that I make a trade.
An eye for an eye, they always say.

So its time that I step out of my perfect fantasy and face reality, because I've become a ****** human being from searching for perfection and love.
We all know we can't obtain it.
I created my own hell, building blocks made out of self loathing, self pity, anger, the list goes on and on.
But every hell must freeze over.

That couch I slept on?
It's in my own mind, residing in the hell I created, smack in the middle of the thousands of hands that grab and choke and claw.
It's right in the middle of my inner demons.

I may still be sad in the morning, if I wake up...
But I'll sleep better knowing that I accepted the past.
Even if I still regret sleeping on that couch.

So,
Now I lay me down to sleep,
I know that my soul is mine to keep.
But if I should die before I wake,
I know that all of my struggles were not a mistake.

Take a breath, one last breath as the smell of sea salt drifts in the wind.
Go ahead, lean your head back, spread your arms, arms like makeshift wings, and feel as the wind flirts with your hair and hugs your body.
And smile, smile-true and full, as the sun reaches down and kisses your skin.
Capture this moment.
Inhale this, your sweet remedy.

This is freedom. This is healing. This is being whole.
There is no hate, no judgment. There is no sadness, no fear; nothing to bloom in your mind like a rose with thorns of poisons.
Nothing can ensnare you in your nightmares. Not here.
Ignorance is bliss.

Drive till the road gives way to the ocean waves, pushing and pulling, calling to your soul, begging you to release your demons of depression and screams of woe, begging you to allow your tears to mix with its salty embrace. The ocean waves beg you to release your pitied soul to its strong and willing hands.

Take me back to when I didn't give a ****, to when "he said, she said" didn't matter.
Take me home; take me back to my colorful sunsets and sunrises, to my sweet, sweet remedy.
Sing to me, laugh with me and show me that what we left doesn't exist, that it was all in our sick, ****** up minds.

My happiness, fueled by music, fueled by my desire, was lost in that concrete jungle; consumed by the lonesome green pastures and mazes of rivers.

Don't you want to know what the hot sand between your toes feels like? Don't you die to know what joy and a carefree life is like?
Let's go. Cut our ropes of doubts and fears and run. Just drive.

My happiness was destroyed back there, killed by my own mind, cut to pieces by that dreaded silver blade and blown to nothingness by the bullets that took a life.

So, will you take a risk with me?
Will you help me?
Will you heal alongside me?
Will you run with me?

So, won't you take me home?
Won't you take me to my sweet, intoxicating remedy?

it isn't all black and white
the choke-hold of history

shades of red and brown
paint the scenery, too

the documented imagery
forgotten in the fray

a little big horn playing mournful
songs as the cavalry marches on
to the tune of galleons and guns


no passport required
when the port was young

émigré and immigrant
displacing native sons

who also once were pilgrims
breathing in the sun.

am I


special?

see, I thought I was.

but then I woke up
after nothing happened
and you were cold
and I was hot
and I didn't want to touch you
and you felt dead.

and then,
when you woke up too
your eyes never found mine

and your arm felt forced
around me
out of some sort of
unspoken understanding
you thought you knew

and your head was
empty

and so was the jar on the floor
and I wanted you and I wanted
more.

we are rotting-
overtaken by the spores of
our split decisions.

Your eyes


just

don't excite anymore.

C.e.M. 11.26.14

Caught between the couch cushions
of earth and the abyss
what a sick twisted tryst.

whens the last time you really kissed
you know, pressed lips with a mister or a miss

Caught  in situations that have
persuaded a pulsating
aggravation

caught between the oppressive and the suggestive
childhood fades out in succession
because you are still hooked on
your old house

you are the deja vu
of what I
already do.

Excuse me to say that I am already done
I don't like to run
my knees sting from the pressure
but a lecture  
of run on sentences is longer than
a list on
some prison percentages

Caught between deranged and wanting to change
sputtering out the plague

my eyes are on fire
If I close them nothing will transpire
is that required?


Caught.
On an idea of something you are not
and I forgot.

C.e.M. 11.26.2014