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i find the crossroads
i have a tendency to
walk into
during times like these

it’s empty here
except for the invading gusts
of mannerless winds
that don’t say “excuse me”
or “please”
as they pass me

i await for a vehicle
my preference would be
an expensive one
like a really nice rolce royce
to make this quick
painless but pricey

i can feel weight on my chest
about such a lightness in my life
i have people
but there’s this recurring
lack of soul
that makes me feel
ancient and aimless
like lost history
that everyone is familiar with
but no one truly knows
anything of

i feel like the homeless men
i pass by on 137th street
they go by unseen
might as well be six feet deep
in a cemetery

i observe my helpless will
crave for the ability to slow
my mothers inevitable aging
as it shuffles through files
and memory after memory
in search of some hidden
ancient
wisdom to stop time

my dwindling creations
collect dust
in a digital shelf
while i deal with the rust
i’ve allowed to form
in my bank accounts
credit score
and stomach

there’s so much maintenance
towards the inflammation
in my life
that there’s no more antibodies
for anything else
so much struggle to hold
this boulder up over
my neck
which makes me strong
but this constant sweat
leave no more water
for tears

i don’t crave opportunity
i don’t need a friend
i love my lover and my mother
but they ain’t meets to an end
of the never ending fear
of simply not being enough

i crave release from my own responsibilities
i find this tug of war between
sacrificing the self
to overcome it
in order for the greater goods to be
fulfilled
as well as this death of my ego
while
making sure my soul
is still grounded
to be *******
exhausting

i crave a pasture

allowing me to float over the singular blades of grass
allowing me to become
weightless
in the face of all this
pressure

i remember being a boy
and in my island the hills
and mountains and beachfronts
have their own voices

i remember distinctly climbing highly
or swimming far out
or exploration between the tree lines
to be a form of soothing
not therapy
but rather warm rejuvenation

where i wouldn’t think about
my finances and debts
or my relationships and ties to
characters i love
the ones i tolerate
and the ones i’m trying to love
i wouldn’t think about
stability or a consistent routine and schedule

i’m all grown up now
and my creativity compared to
the vast
and endless universes
i’d hide in
as a boy
are a forest fire
compared to my candle
at twenty three years old

i lay here silent
in the middle of this crossroads
waiting for that kid
to come hold my hand and teach me something
because he had the right answers
or at least better answers
he cared about the right things
he genuinely saw
the divinity
in all
and now i’m old enough
to struggle finding the silver lining
in anything

i remember being so creative
that life was almost missing suffering

where the lack of it wasn’t even anywhere near my awareness
and i wasn’t anywhere near as brave
or strong
or wise

it’s almost like the more i know
the older i get
the more i go through
and the more bills i pay
the less of a human being
i become

where the
****
is this **** car
already

hurry up

-melancholicreator
i crave a pasture
“dame un respiro profundo”

me dices
“mi soldado de guerra”

soy un soldado
vagabundo

averiguando por cual lado el debe pelear
ambos polarizados por su ego
y perpetuamente alimentándose
a través del proceso de convertirse en un hombre
aun siendo tan joven

los escombros esconden los traumas
del arte de esa muerte en particular

tu forma de nutrir,
de aceptación y desafío simultáneo
es un cóctel que me emborracha
lo suficiente para volver
a batallar

eres medicina
para una alma
derrotada

crees en la razón por la que luchó
entre tiroteo y faltas de triunfos
no te dejas de mi lado

“tan pronto sigas”

“tan pronto vuelvas a mi cuando herido”

vuelvo a salir con mosquete en mano
y sangre
en la bayoneta

en estas batallas que llevo
encontra de mi
tu me recuerdas que la victoria
solo vendrá al enfrentarme con el espejo

y cuando salga sangrando

se que mi doctora estará allí,
dandome otro
grito de guerra
para volver a salir.

-melancholicreator
mi grito de guerra.
i’m convinced we let go
twice

once
in order to
leave ourselves broken
and alone
on a cold floor

till we flatline

then once more
to realize
we always were

broken
and alone

we
always
were

ironic
ain’t it?

it’s special
that kind of silence
somehow comforting
only after the eeriness
of no one caring
truly
sets in

and no one is supposed to

i was surprised to learn this

especially as a child

i learn it every day still

especially as a man

and you’re lucky
if momma does

some mommas don’t
some mommas can’t

yes
as a man
i must learn
to bloom

not only bloom
but to hide
the uglier colors
and only display
the primaries
the strong ones
the vividness of manliness

never my grays
and blacks
where i tend to color
most of my mind

i sometimes hate it
and sometimes i like it like that
there’s no lines
or borders i can’t cross
i’m not expected to be
good
at it

i’m asked to
handle things
and to listen
intently
while i can barely
handle the echoes
to begin with

nobody asks about those
nobody needs to
nobody should
not even momma

why would i worry her?
she’s the only one
ever around
when lingering drumming sounds
rise

it’d be nice to be asked
but a lot of things would be nice

and this silence is nice
sometimes

most of the time it ain’t
but i lay
alone
drama free
and no amount of company
can take that peace from me
or piece from me

givers give
and
takers take

beware the silence
that roams that
strong silhouette of his

for he definitely
opens up fully
to his shadows

and his shadows
really listen

he doesn’t have
to let go of them

they never leave
in fact
they’re his followers

and after a chat
and a quiet cry
he goes back

to momma
and no one else

as it should be

as it is
and
as it will be.

-melancholicreator
love ya, momma
i witnessed it traverse across and rip the sky open
in one big swoop

like my zipper when i
**** on the curb

careless

maybe if i cared less
it wouldn’t have affected me

this meteorite of reality

crushing all i have

i am nothing
for i am to them only
what i provide and prove
nothing more

give
give
give

silently stars cry
as we all enjoy and benefit
from the glimmer and light dance
as we all look away
while they dwarf into voids

there is a man
somewhere
in some corner of some bookstore
or bar or apartment building
filling his lungs and soul
with tar
while he wishes it was
the world
which he could watch
burn

instead of himself

and as he’s practically forced to pick a side
and pick another pick me girl
another job application
a college major
a plethora of healthy habits
yet still amongst so many
and so many choices
he sits alone

what brings despair is cheered upon
what he accomplishes is
stomped
like a bug
burned to dust
at mach speeds

the same curb he ****** on

graffiti on the wall behind it

it says
“live
love
laugh”

he
definitely
laughs

has he brought this
ying and yang of life
upon himself?

why does it all seem just bad
sometimes?

why is the joy and genuineness of people
so fleeting?

why is it ninety nine percent
utter *******
and the rest just
dark matter?

only sometimes
fluctuating into a
big bang
of the real
version of us

he tries to live
he tries to love

is there really a
*******
difference?

doesn’t one just **** you
quicker than the other?

or at least feels like it?

i’d rather laugh

i’ll just face the mirror
face them all
face all of it

and just
*******

laugh

it’s all
comedy
anyways

just let
me
****
and
laugh
in

peace
and

in
  pieces

now that
is what
i call
a genuine
choice

and i call it one
as i call my own
horrible hypocrisy

it’s the only

*******

  choice

left
tell the men in your life
that you love them

and prove it
pressure upon more pressure
on all matter making me

the weight i carry
for simply being
simply existing
might tear into your fabrics
into your spacetime continuum
baby

this love wasn’t linear but
the ticks of our clock were

a blip in life
a grain of sand
a distant twinkle of a star

specifically a dying one
i feel the big crunch of my core
collapsing in on itself

no more wishes,
no more darting across space
like we own it
dear

watch me
destroyer of worlds
stars and all others alike

watch as i consume life and
time itself

and hopefully sink the
memories of you
into my void

deep down there

where the hunger
is willing to eat it all
in order to forget
a soul starving for love

and willing to
float
onto
**** near
eternity

alone,
just eating everything
in its path

yum.

-melancholicreator
why do people have to lie
where we are now is the causation
of thinking someone gets you
that they understand what you mean
where you're coming from
that they treat you the same way
you treat them
gently
like the world’s most empathetic nurse
despite the blatant risks available

and the *** is
thrilling
because it is like
fighting but
we want to hurt
each other
a dance of
mutual combat

i am your photographer
of war baby
i am
horrified
by your truths and
scars and death
not because of their
imperfections or ability
to stain my mind
with schizophrenic ptsd
riddling
throughout
but because i am a casualty
of your purpose

and much like war
you’ve relentlessly sold me an idea
and shown me how much of myself i have to give up
and to betray
for your manipulative propaganda
in order to soldier on
towards an empty promise
this patriotic love
is a cause that remains lost
like bodies in rubble
a love i have a tendency to incline to
this serviceable love
is scarce amongst rust and ruins
and instead of cultivating it

you rage war

          against
      me                        and


force
             my
                                  battle


cries.

-melancholicreator


(thanks for the experience…good luck)
i was only just getting to know her well
and just when i developed stronger feelings
i realized i knew too much
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