Imagine a treadmill
for your brain.
That never stops
speeding up.
Slowly, at first,
you savor each step.
But boredom pushes you
faster and faster.
No longer tasting.
Only inhaling
the adrenaline.
Because unless you find the next page,
the next post,
the next video,
you risk facing
the combined gravity
of reality
converging upon a single point
of agony.
And so you scroll.
To keep stress away,
the roaring anxiety at bay.

the sheets feel soft
atop the loft
where another second waits
yet no matter how
you pull yourself
no price is just too great
the midday sun
a scheduled run
even with games to play  
and when it's dark
thus doubly hard
it's impossible! I say

Me: What's so hard about the first line?
Also Me: There's nothing difficult at all! It's just like baking a cake.
M: In what way, would you say, this is at all like baking a cake?
A M: Cakes, in a way, are a composition. They can come in a variety of flavors, from mundane munchies to extravagant favors.
M: You comic, that's pretty much everything in life; are you hoping to seem as if somehow you're wise?
A M: Before the first pour, a whisk or a spoon or something more, one must consider intention, constitution, and culinary inspiration.
M: it's a cake, that you bake, where the flour is the base, sugar the taste, and colors meant to decorate.
A M: No need to simplify, I ask that you rectify your pompous pontification.
Myself: writing, baking, what does it matter. We write, we bake, that's all that matters.

The following is a rather sleek
Slice of life, reality
A far removed from, masterpiece
Embodiment of last night's epic greed

Two of you are in the crowd
One a bit sensitive to loud sounds
The other, by messy hair, becrowned
Both by fate to a place, now bound

The first is a fine partaker
Life of the party, no doubt
Likely excessive by nature
Natural habitat? A crowd

The second is a binger
Show after show in the dark
No soul anywhere, a ginger
Full of critical remarks

But despite the obvious differences
By chance, you two might meet yet
Both looking undeniably a mess
Under the bright golden arches, I bet

People are always curious about why I’m a cynic. There is never a reason to be; a cynic doubts without reservation. Though in some sense a follower of pragmatism, one sees so little. There is no beauty in the world, because all beauty is a construct of perception. I’ve been cynical for long enough (I hope) that I can speak for my version.
It’s simple.
Step 1) Take a critic.
Step 2) Define them: someone who prioritizes the flaws above any other characteristics in a subject matter.
Step 3) Put them through hours of mental torture and sadness.
Step 4) Shoot them in the foot for no apparent reason.
Congratulations, you have successfully evolved a critic into a cynic.
To all the people who have been a victim of my cynicism, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to impress my own misfortunes upon you, I just got rejected. I hope you understand.

picture an awkward scenario
as bad as the cringiest tv show
that's funny, despite being no joke
threatening to consume my world, whole

there was a girl from home I knew
from childhood, and with whom I grew
romantically ambiguous, but cool
great lifelong friend, through and through

but here in college, I have met
a kindred soul, who thus has led
a life of forced and rushed success
and, like me, is now rather depressed

and yes, I fell in love with her,
as if under a familiar curse
an emotional and unquenchable thirst
for companionship, and far, far worse

and here does the dilemma arise
a barrier guarding the sought for prize
peculiar, in where its roots do lie
one so dangerous, that I may now die

oh, of the sheer and utter shame
from the depths of which, i cannot be saved
for of the two, one I now betray
along with the other, have the same name

the clicking of keys
the lack of a breeze
ring in your head a bell
at the end of it all
when pieces all fall
what does it mean? pray tell

the diligent student
the men and the women
who're paid to buy and sell
from the highest paid suit
to hardworking prunes
and the unemployed as well

when tires skid
sad wife and kids
nothing guards against death
take the day
liberate, be brave!
yet all must draw last breath

valhalla for winners
and hell for the sinners
but what if you don't have faith
no matter the tithes
your friends, your life
through absence, will you, betray

Appreciate
Take time to pray
because when it's gone, that's it
you think there, still
roll around until
Ah, I gotta take a ...

seemingly out of nowhere
it takes form, in the shape of a sharp comment
a rough touch, a raised voice
the embodiment of entropy
disregarding the fragile peace of sanity
surges with the strength of an emotional riptide
threatening to drag me into its tumultuous depths

my avatars left formless
a terror to loved ones
like wild fire, without restraints
burning the rope bridges of relationships
ever consuming
until I'm left gazing at what I have lost
a lonely recovery amid the ashes of regret
my soul screams
"I had a bad day"

Morning afters
Am I right?
Pounding headaches
Sun too bright

Walk of shame
Pregnancy scares
Greasy, tangled
Missing hair

Familiar stenches
Foreign limbs
Awkward glances
Weird breakfast whims

Soon comes the doubt
If it all really happened
love marks found out
What a mistake I’m now trapped in

Missed calls and messages
From those close and dear
Who’ve been desperate
To suppress their worst fears

9:15 says the clock
Put on various pieces of clothes
Visit a starbucks
Get a soy latte with sugar, dark roast

9:25 am
Check facebook
Check twitter
Get a bite by a food truck

9:35 am
“Where are you?”
It’s your mom
“I’m just getting some food”

9:40 am
“Where are you?”
It’s the one night stand
DON’T OPEN IT DUDE

9:45 am
“Where are you? Why are you late?”
It’s your boss
Wait, today’s friday.

When you ask:
Who am I looking for
in a companion?
Most people say
they want love.
Or care.
Or comfort.
I want someone
who thinks me clever.
Who gets my jokes.
Who feels the romantic word
like a caress,
phrasing, like a gentle kiss.
Who deems me special
like I've always wanted to be.
Because I need me to see
that I love me,
just not unconditionally.

it's quite akin to anxiety
the product of crude society
bastardized, perverted piety
leaves you useless, sitting quietly

Be judged for inefficiency
contradicting proficiency
pesters the mind malignantly
wasting time, effortlessly

The emptiness, magnanimous
to further destruction and not less
travels fast, as if poisonous
rules the mind with an iron fist

just goes to show that motive
must be forever be promoted
if a day comes full and bloated
of nothingness, its hopeless

For here exists no escape
no medics to resuscitate
beware its woeful, siren way
when trapped, you surely dead, will lay

a second chance is b'yond compare
to silver or gold in worth
unlike the simple, gay affairs
it's forgiveness, undeserved

for every race a prize is earned
and the grueling toil, a wage
but when the jury has adjourned
retribution must be paid

though critics rush to state a case
where criminals still walk free
while evil runs it's crooked ways
death claims both the strong and meek

so before you go your separate ways
offer them another chance
it's not like you have never had
a bit of fire on your pants

and when you get another try
do not let it fail in vain
you never know when you will come by
another "try try again"

I'm drunk
Like dionysus’ friends
Hazy stupor
On a friday night with no end

Gross debauchery
Flying high as a kite
Gonna crash tomorrow
Cause that's what I like

Don't console me
I made this choice alone
Like i always feel
When im holding my phone

Reliving the glory
Of my wildest endeavors
Time’s past
Its now gone forever

shot

But who cares?!
I do, I just try and forget it
Crushing fear
Shot after shot on credit

Because **** future
Cause it *****
Like your mom
I dont know
I'm drunk

Cause im dope
Cause im on dope
And ill mope
Until im done

What i wrote
Is an ode to today’s array
Of depressing truths
Silver linings and sun rays

Hey *******
Use your ****** brain
And get us out from
Under these refrains

Tired
Growing weary
People glaring
A hallucination,  right?
Or is it real
Is this all ruthless
Cruel hopeless reality

Whats the point of living if I've
Already lost whats worth living for
Take my heart,
Its a sight most sore
Worth as much as a ****

ha

Slow descent into madness
A sinking, tar like blackness
from, the weapons of mass destruction
My selfish will to die
A cackling "I'
"Life"
"Mine"
"try?"

Shot
Shot
Shot

woe! for today is a day of chagrin
the lowest hanging fruit called sin
the best of friends, nearly a kin
and yet, their break up makes me inwardly grin

when laughter permeates the easy air
of conversations between us, a pair
a taylor swift song, so plain and bare
but no, resist it! ****... no fair

we were meant to be
fated, a lock and key
destined, a mid summer's dream
oh, and model indecency

what the hell are you thinking
this is kool aid you're drinking
standing on the titanic, sinking
what relationships ought not be, intrisically

but despite the prudence
and your held back glances
nothing stops loves, or
more accurately, lust's advances

most endeavors
include a honeymoon effect
but all have a wall
a hurdle so great
that if overcome
will change
the very essence
of who you are
who you will be
a great transformation

why it is like this
I don't know
I myself
have yet to climb
sucessfully
get me
out of this place
and escape
this wretched
meaningless existence

Train tracks, notebooks, bridges, buildings,
and a billion other things
in nature, you will rarely find
yet to us, they, order bring.

If they're really so common place
from windows to honey bees.
why does my heart so awfully ache
the great distance now I see.

For basic math does specify
that lines with exact same slopes
in either directions you try
meet not, no matter the hope.

Valleys, mountains, forest of trees,
no distance is quite so far
but what to do, if geometry
quietly keeps us apart?

Now I realize that fate and time
do often travel in lines.
our future, I may never find,
and for that my soul does cry.

Will it be simple accident,
Or depend on God's great wrath?
For now, I will traverse to find
a perpendicular path.

I was told
in grade school
that diamonds are made of coal,
that
immense
immeasurable pressure alone
would give us
what we want.

What if
my lattice structure
the inner composition of my being
was imperfect?
Would I not collapse
my core rupture
and my remains combust
leaving behind nothing
to remember
my existence?

I heard
that the way these jewels are polished
was to throw them into a vessel
with a thousand little pebbles
to grind the the surfaces smooth.

The layers
eroded away,
do they mean nothing?
Are they inconsequential?
A burden
to our respective existence?

I believed
that I was someone special,
hidden gem in the rough
all I have to do is trust
that I can be anything.

Now I know
that I may not be
out of the ordinary.
That I can not be anything
I want to be.
I can dream
I can achieve
I can discover
I can live,
but of all the things in the world
I cannot be
a diamond.

I have been once before this told
that the true meaning of insane
was to repeat any result
and not have expected the same

and despite all that here i am
with my head in shock and shambles
too fast, too soon, in love again
so much for learning from gambles

whatever i was meant to be
mature or yet another farce
oh torture and its parities
i fear i must with reason part

shall i long for proximity
or pine for needy attention
become nuisance implicitly
face certain, solemn rejection

or should i now hope not at all
bury myself in burning pain
of misery henceforth recall
and enter a state of insane?

i am not a blithering fool
i know that lasting love takes time
that feelings like rain drops will pool
that mind and heart slowly align

yet of no matter what i think
trying truly to go to bed
i know i will not sleep a wink
because you're stuck inside my head

i just think that it lacks subtlety
to type out words so loose and free
from rhyme, they are but conscious streams
deserve not, the name, poetry

and, in my opinion, it is a sin
to explain a poem, it's adolescence
to spoil the hidden secret within
for the art of lyric is not a whim

my poems are so much better than yours
for they sound like the songs of yore
and if they do contain a lore
it needs no explanation, of course!

now, take this with a grain of salt
for those who tend to be appalled
by the insensitive, one with the gall
to criticize and not applaud

or appreciate the messages
written by one's fellow poets
this act, which mutiny, approaches
unfeeling soul, the heart, atrocious!

i'm actually just kidding around
with ideas of an unknowing crowd
whose opinions are just so... profound
for some reason, it makes them proud

and who might I be speaking to?
what sane person is such a fool?
a younger me, lacking reprove
had the daring to be so rude

i can feel
your scorching gaze on my skin
searching, probing
and then easing
when you find
that my author
was not that stupid
to create
a debacle

for poems are sheets
designed to capture meaning
ad infinitum

happiness
saddness
permeate
culture
etched into
paper
taking no form
fluid
changing
free

The physical symptoms are unmistakable. The tightening of the chest. The quickness of breath. The mental longing that doesn’t go away, that doesn’t falter or get distracted. This is what love is at the very surface, but man is it hard to control. It’s as if everything else in the universe suddenly took a plunge in stock value and the only thing worth investing any amount of time in was that person. I don’t know who it might be for you. For me, it’s a girl. For me, it’s someone I’d like to spend the rest of my days with, the rest of time with if possible. It is someone I would die for, and more importantly, someone I would live for.
Sue me. Martyr me for the cheesiness I’m spewing. That doesn’t matter. Literally nothing else does. It means something, it means I’m human. Above the hopeless expanse of responsibilities and tasks exists still a space in my soul for someone else. Well, to lose that is to be human, too, I guess.

Maybe I love too easily. Maybe that’s why I have felt the sorrow of “so close and yet so far” one too many times. Every time, I tell myself it will be the last time. And every time, I still break to pieces. Within this shell hides a sensitive hermit crab, dead without shelter. Unrequited love is the pair of satanic tweezers that unleashes the hell of nakedness. I hate it. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts.
I’ll be alright. I’ll live another day, fight another fight. It’s. Just. So. Hard. It’s like the worst disappointment in the world has the behavioral traits of a moth. Why do I fall so easily each and every single time? Am I a fool? Is fool just another name for a hopeless romantic?