Nirvana - a transcendent state in which there is neither
suffering, desire, nor sense of self, and the subject
is released from the effects of karma and the cycle of
death and rebirth. It represents the final goal of Buddhism.

My Buddhist Queen,
Will you take me to Nirvana?
Will you take me to that place?
That place where we’re unshackled from suffering?
Because right now, this is intolerable.

My Buddhist Queen,
If we’re in Nirvana
why does my heart feel so aloof
and its beats, spectral?
Why does my body suffer from rigamortis?
Why am i teary-eyed
and why did you nominate my pillows to do the ALS challenge?
Why is my room a catastrophy?
Why do my walls succumb to the savagery of my fists?
Why am I suffering?
Why do I desire?
Why is karma still existant?


My Buddhist Queen,
If we’re in Nirvana,
why do you occassionally take strolls down to hell holding my hand?
- d.b.d.

Spillin on the paper
     Mind, I'll see you later
                                      Over the top, Over the top
   It's spilling on the paper
      I am here to wait for
                                 My Sheep herd and my scapegoats
   Go 'head and stick around,
                                     If you wanna get the blame for
   My flaws and my mistakes
   All that I am ashamed for
                               You'll feel my pain.  You'll make me sane
                                  My sheep herd and my scapegoats

My philosophy is something iller than the worst disease
Like killers in the first degree
Your gears will never turn like these
I got an appetite
I'm starvin
I'm at the top, just look and see
You gon' make it if you follow me
You just gotta catch that ill disease

          Paper, Paper
     Spillin on the paper
                                     If you still fail to understand
               Good luck
          I'll see you later
                                          Mind, I'll see you later
                                         It's spillin' on the paper
       So stay right here
          Inside my hand
                                My sheep herd and my scapegoats

I've yet to wrap my mind around your funny foreign language.
That must be why I float above you
So I must be Alien
Who are you, what's yer name again
You all look just the same to me
Some ordinary has to be
Some John Doe PoP CatastrophY

       Dear Mr. and Mrs. CatastrophY
                                  Join my herd of sheep and scapegoats
                         I need many more
                    To take the blame for
                      All I am ashamed for
                                                  So that I might be sane for
                                               The existence I arranged for

You send up clouds of deepest dark despair,
And with my dancing i tried to repair.
While i dance in the light of the coming day.
All of those hearts strings broken will end and fray.

Pull back the cover and bare all to see,
Let my hands cover and retain delicate dignity.
This initimacy that belongs to you and me,
I will protect in every eventuality.

You present all to the world and its busy lover,
But never think of me laying beside you in your cover.
For the cameras flash and beauty bleeds.
And captions raise while gossips feed.

"Who are you to touch an untouchable perfection?"
"Your love corrupts like squalid infection."
"Another man to take the trophy,"
As they **** you in some catastrophy.
A plastic heart that splinters violently,
As he is left in jilted unmatching harmony.

Alone again, you sell your story,
To another scavanger that feeds on memory.
The tale thats told,
Leaves you broken and old.
While the lover lives bold,
In his world of hollywood gold.

My lungs are turning inside out again-
and this poem will be void of the use of I
because it is not known to me who that is anymore.
This heart is beating outside of my chest
and my eyes can not focus on one fixed point.
It is troubling to me
words cannot express how my body is handling this.
Situational irony has always been a good friend of mind
and my emotions are diminishing further and further inside of myself.
Repression is to what my mind is prone to.
Ever since the child in me grew roots
someone pulled them out as if they were weeds
so this person staring back at me in the mirror
has always been a figure unfamiliar.
Always someone who longs to go backwards
so she can feel the familiarity of childhood.
Instead she wears a face not her own
and a body who she has trouble looking at most days.
This week the discovery was made
that in order to purge herself of all of this negativity
some weight had to be lost-
seems she doesn't know what that feels like
she doesn't recognize what that looks like-
but she makes a direct correlation between
memories and loneliness.
These nights have been mistaken for sleep
and the dreams mistaken for reality.
It's no question that identity has always been misgiven.

She makes no sense of her poems
and these words she writes down like they're her last.
The shaky hands make it hard to type
and she doesn't last more than a second in self-assessing,
she knows all too well the deep cut of judgment
but clings to the idea of contrastiveness.
Hoping that comparisons will not be her downfall
and that these words somehow make sense.

Again is something she insists on typing
because repetition and consistency is what she longs for-
but it never seems to come from anything but her own mind
and a body that is too in tune with the chaos in her bones
she shakes too much, and feels nothing all at once.
Calamity and clarity are not words she knows the meaning of-
only catastrophe
she puts it on her shelf and is proud of how she ended up with it
worked too ******* the life of others
and no hard enough on herself
but she still sees it a prize.
Even if she's not the winner-
even if she doesn't reap the benefits.

beg the sun to reclaim my mind
seen nothing but a steep decline
ease a little from the race
uncovering pale scars to trace

swooning over blackened clouds
no one pay attention now
starved enough to feed the flame
never lasts to see the rain

scuffing up the jaded ice
breaking into silence twice
running backwards in place again
laughing at the solid bend

subtle esoteric smile
intentions make the night worthwhile
inside your blanket stare i see
the footprint of catastrophy

Ciao to the world. . .my hand is free. . .
hope to penetrate all your misery. . .
stand on beside you feeling my glee. . .
what them can't I can't see, we both can just be. . .
Happy and free. . . .

Ciao to the world. . .where do you see?
Unspeakable motions relenting through notions. . .
That you are the world and I am the world. . .
Ride up beside planted come tree. . .
Choosing to sense, what life doesn't chance. . .
If was so easy to speak without kissing the *****. . .
Learning together, binded by teather on unspeacable measure. . . .

Ciao to the world. . .
What pleasure do feel?
Sensations at leasure, stranded by seasure.
What is so pure then to run with a cure, of being you just you, and I just me. . .
When it doesn't matter. . .
For we are and can be, and always I sensed that, friends with the power to smile on the world. . . .

Ciao to the world. . .
Do you smile on yourself?
Getting it clearer, this sense that's titer so nearer. . .
so great of a mystery as to what cost it in history. . .
What paused it about among,
domeneering a crowd. . .
that ****** on that history and made life this lost mystery. . .

Ciao to the world.. .
It's so great that I see you. . .
Peeling your skin to taste on your roots. . .
Feeling my life has strapped on its boots. . .
what is so moving,
Is something no one can keep you in life from disproving. . .
For this is the part that always puts on the spot,
what idea is given as the source of this proving?

Ciao to the world. . .
Why we need for such pusher, who can't but press on for the moocher?. . .
And feed to the world what we don't aspire,
some even becoming blind to how life truly feels.
Because of what shameful desire it instills. . .
so they take flight to the hills, running their bills,
killing the time without the conception that people of each one's own doesn't need redemption from such a parole. . .
Derived from an old point of a hunt for the dead sea scroll. . . .

Ciao to the world. . .
Where in these hills do we ever tumble under strains,
put down under mockingly with such assumptive pains?
Who in the **** disallows what we all grow so heartedly to cherish,
and then take on to fight against what we don't embellish?
For sake of each one our own, blown from where we inspire,
life is but for pleasure and desire, for, to in happiness respire.
There isn't but hell in this place, in which we feel to replace. . .
Bit by bit, but always making it harder for in this pace, it's such a miserable and unfortunate case. . .
Of greed in its haste, molding most souls into waste.

Ciao to the world. . .
Where in the hell did you go in this haste,
loosing the sense of what built you in the first place?
Not God, nor feeble men,
but love for certain aspirations of good to make this world an ease for many admirations.
For centuries to come, where we behold on in under one world of pleasant desire to fullfill all that we were fighting for,
mirror image of what freedom by hearts could implore.
Sincerely we never need be, for some it's just an ease,
to want always please into the self, stand on top of the shelf like a beaten up trophy headed for disastrous catastrophy.. . .

Ciao to the world. . .
I'm sit in Jardin du Luxembourg. . .Where life is full of smorgesbourg, all we are so different, relenting to one thing of beauty of the peace and quite that we want always beside, be.
How this little part of the world in larger then life city of Paris,
won't stand all around for a day say on the other side of the planet,
because some would want for it to be a glamour for riches drowned in their clamour.. . .

Ciao to the world. . .
I'm sit by a stranger. . .Do you think I feel danger?
Do you see what's even a mistake, life is something not quiet so fake, even when you give a chance to let one other have the better miser dance,
given the glance with such bitter pretense is worth even to chance?

Ciao to the world. . .
I'm gather on all of my new experience. . .Better perciever then most think im deceiver. . .
When who is better then being the deceiver?
Is one getting by, the best of the deceiver. . . .slaughtered at the mind by vivid perception,
because in all case life has taught nonsense ridden by selfish perception of ones own misdirection. ..

Ciao to the world. . .
I'm satisfied to be pleasant without the need for so much in life,
all but to gather on what life is so abundant,
all the smiling faces passing with haste paces, from so many different places. . . . .

This is the ice breaker.

I am always new to a conversation,

years gone by as days slow down.

You may relate to it like a fish out of water.

Breathing under earths clear-blue surface

its hesitation of a world spinning as words are spoken.

In need of a breath of fresh air,

comparing it as a gasp of an after thought.

A finger to the mouth, a cat caught the tounge.

Separation can be too much too scorn.

This irrelevance in term we call chemistry.

The deep secrets we hunt,

for an open country we live without.

Should we walk the talk?

We swim a mile in short term.

The distance a man can take to dive

gives this enough to cancel past premonitions.

An eye length away

we go where the bible parts the seas...

This long trail for a short cut we gut from the book of trust.

We take the scenic route

like riding a bike till it ends with a flat,

making us take a bus,

till it cost too much.

An arm and a leg we kick to swim.

One or the other as we struggle,

we use a foam vest astride by a whim.

This maze with secret illusions,

a movie The Laberenth comes to mind.

Make belive...made up dreams.

Morals of fairy tales.

Stroies told.

Or this fable to tuck you into.

Where there is no grandmother to look forward too.

Who says I love you?

A goodnight that can't live within you.

Nothing but a monster that we hide from under our sheets.

We stress to the progress of nothing but a scary cry of, what if's?

For a wolf like me faking it's false teeth

turns out to be a deciving catastrophy.

Made up and unforgiving.

Living my escape.

It's the farthest away from my problems.

The least of my worries.

If you must try to unpuzzle my riddle.

It comes naturally.

You have it or you don't.

It's easy if you know me...

We are running, always running
The ground beneath us is crumbling
Everything around us turning to dust
The wind is fire on our backs

We're running out of time
The disaster we bred catching us
Claiming and destroying us
That road really is paved
With the very best of intentions
But the walls are lined with the worst.

The past was ours to claim
Shaping a future we can't escape
Cancerous and corrosive,
This was all our doing
We never dreamed of a present so dark
When our past was so warm and bright.

Funny thing about fate and chance
We never do realize what the cost will be
What it could be
How much it will bring us down
Into the flames of a new world order

This is our catastrophy.

The stage is set and players in costume
The catastrophy unfolding in the gloom
Dancing silhouettes of daggers surrounding
The bride and groom

The salubrious nature
of the climate,
could'nt Conceal the
Sardonic smile of
the Sun.
Scorching heat withered
the Green carpet on
the Visage of the Earth,
Turgid & Rigid plants
Conceated defeat to
the Harsh enviroment
and became Flaccid.
Both live & dead,
micro & macro couldn't
Elude the Vindictive
& Reprisal power of
the Earth,
Destructive habit of man
was Remunerated with
the Sadism nature of
Eco-system.
If only Replenishing was
a Custom within our
Volition,
Catastrophy befalling us
would be a Past-Tense,
Trees & Animals may
seem lesser
but there Impact on our
eco-system is Vital......!!

@miamizoliver

silence the everlasting
fire, and the thirst of
your skin,  well satisfed.


never doubtfull,  your eyes
shine of placer, desire, and
complete satisfaction.

humdty in my pelvis, the
silky and sour shine, in the
lap of this gratefull  and loved
lion.

and for a minute,
just in that moment, im
complete, serene, loved, wanted,
a full beast, serened and thankfull

the sorrow, the pain, and fouling acts,
and the brutal theft, are just bumps,
overcomed, erased with the humidity
of your ***.

doubtfull is the one, that  
has not loved, her lie is a heavy
cross, dark, fatal, deadly, her soul
will never love beneath the divine
phalus.

in return, your eyes, truth,
love and venture, loving an
impossible, but loving even so,
stertores of your  loved and
kissed ******.

penetrated, softly and ferouciously,
are the echo of the fire, crashing the
sea, making life, steam, watering the
earth, generating the trofhic cicle,
of life, fire and water, steam of life,
passion between two beasts,
beautiful and loved.

your honney and your
desire, WILD, intense,
evergreene,  are vitals,
for a beast of montecristo,

that just drags, harm and pain,
of betrayal, every cut, every  scratch,
every stabing, made of me, the strong man
that y am.

unbreakcable, and living, loving impossibles
destroying the lies, ending the weakness
of  layars, full of hate,  and envy,
for losing  that, holding our
lives.

after that, and for their weakness
montecristo is the winner, a beast
with a heart, learning to love, the possible
and the impossible, to dissapear in the other,
rapped in her ligth, and her beauty,


the evil and weak of the mondego girls,
only speed up, their catastrophy,
y stand alone before their mistakes, and their
lies and anathems, turn against them,
truth clean the waters, and the fire make the
steam, that generates life, makng a full cicle.

so, threw desire, and mutual passion,
impossible happens, in the name of life,
and love, the desire quimera, could never erase
the time we touch, dispise the difference
full and wild.

generating steam, making life,
roaring, *******, groaning, and
in my mind and in yours, the same
desire, the overwelming truth, our truth,
and the incompresible lie, vain, the
echoes of the false, and ther infectious lies,
corrupting wath was always life.

the false notion of love, and their
acomplisses, with her conning, and the
not aceptacion, vain or insane,
dark, crazy and
incomplte.

Remember when you touched me
as I said "no"
Remember how you kissed me
with such urgency to take that first bit of innocence
Remember as I pushed you away
and you got mad but zipped your pants anyways
and the only reason I followed was because
you were my ride home.
Remember how you had THE NERVE
to ask me for money
after how you had just touched me
and the only reason I did not slap you
was because you had made that poor little girl
afraid
of everything.

But tell me,
you MUST remember when I came to realize
the man I was with was best friends
with a criminal,
a deciever,
a lousy excuse of a man whom took this
hardly-14 year old girl's first bit off innocence
and discretely- her last

You must remember the denial.
You must remember how you called me a liar,
a fake,
an attention
seeking
*****...
You must remember wishing hatred upon me.

My poor excuse for a man,
but do you not remember
the beginning of a catastrophy
that only you
had the power,
underneath those grimy wandering hands,
to start ?

Heavy foot steps and lead laeden words.
Trying to create sense of this emergancy of birds.
Predators hiding lurking in the laminate
sealed in with a kiss the layers are feeling permanant.
Clear obsidion mixed with volcanic ash.
Crushing down on me, im gasping for breath.
Shaking like a mountain just before the eruption
trying to remove myself from this plastic corruption.
Daisies die in feilds..
Deers burn as the air horns call out the catastrophy.

You all need to run from me.

Silence in my self, I am no longer seeking
i need to break free and sing just as birds sing.
Calling out the warning; shaking up the evergreens.
its all interconnected.
Hyperspatail turbulance im screaming in my bed
im worried
im afraid
im trying
its working
i think that the plastic might just be burning
the toxic
the posion
its all gassing off from me
dont breath me
i feel like its something.


I could just be werid. Relaxing in turbines, i think im just trying and poems lead to calm minds.

Make sense of me. Make sense of you.
And you.
And you.
Im caought up in the subterfuge.  Capracioisly grapsing
for what im not sure.

Cattawompus canyons are cut into my heart. Im so confused information on piecharts
, the values dont match
the legend is misleading.
God seems to be warrenting this healing.
Kicking in the door
creating a dizzy storm.
Cyclopeon rage
stolen from days of yore..

Its time to let go.
Its time to grow.

Just understand me . just for a breif moment. I am harmless. I am less. I am lost. I need rest..

A bunch more words too honest too painful. I write poems to unleash all that is shameful.

This hurts.

This is needed.

I am bleeding.

Just so I am.

Just living.

Just leaving.

Just kidding.

Just bidding.

Betting.
On when its all ganna explode.
On when the subroutiunes will need a defrag machine when the bios gets corrupted when the system wears down when i will stand in the light looking like a ******* clown.
Because i trusted.

Why is this so hard?
I am 24 years old and cant drive a mother ******* car.
Fear is a disease that i can not squah on my own
a whole battallion of star ships need to warp into my home and disrupt the radio frequencies that speak to me
in dreams the nightmares unending the face grips and rending my cheek bones are tensing my teeth are condensing milkbones and raw tones

This excitment inside me
burns out the live feed
darkness envolopes mailed sent by trumpet
these echos of my thoughts
repeat the words taought
like liar and loser you dumb ******* ****** acomplish not nothing but your something is ******* just so god ****** worthless they all wait for your face to turn to a frowning grimice of you drowning you floundering ****** you sociatial ****** you cautious cat crawling as dogs get the tasties of life while your wasting your time just complainging this echo echo chamber needs to be ******* obliterated. A star dust deconstruction and rebuilding of the most primitive functions.

Take me from my own head.
I made my bed.
Id lie in it. But. Its made of my own meat and guts.

Friends
.. I need your ******* help.

Just.
Be you. Perfect.

I trust you. Despite what these echos say bouncing in my brain.

Just.

This is too much.

Just.

I think im just werid..

Just.

Please dont run.

I want to know you.
The inner depths of your preeminent soul.
The catastrophy of thoughts that reigns your mind.
The inner galaxy of emotions that consumes you every night.
What excites you?
Moves you?
What makes you feel alive?

another day has passed.
a day closer to the black sky.
and you read poetry today.
you read a book today.
But, what trace have you left on this planet, today?

Who will acknowledge it? Will you be misunderstood? Will a young boy with curly brown hair and silver eyes weep over your words for a hundred years, while listening to our now vintage songs?

Will anyone remember you? Will you matter, after the Earth makes hundreds of thousands of spins around the Sun, which perhaps is circling around something bigger? Will you reincarnate? Will you be alive? Will you just disappear, or will you stick around?

Is there hope for humanity, is there hope for immortality? Will they enable people to live forever, to find a way to break nature, a year after you die? Will people still follow the same traditions, as they do today, will families have lunch together like their ancestors used to have?

Will there be depressed children, stressing and crying and cutting themselves because nobody would believe when they say "It's too much"? Will people still be stuck in the circle of melancholy and nostalgy, held captured by the never-ending routine when the first thing they do in the morning is ask themselves " Is this worth it? Do I really have to go to work? Perhaps I should end this, maybe it'll be easier then?"

Will people still break under their masks that they hold with trembling hands, grasping the clay so hard that their nails break and their fingers bleed, just so their kids couldn't discern what's underneath it?

Will everything stay the same and nothing improve? Will there be a catastrophy and expunge you, the one writing this, the gorgeous stranger you met on the street on a cold winter evening five years ago? Will it also wipe out your elementary school teacher, wipe out the florist from who you bought that flower for your first love and a rose for your mother?

Will people change, mentally and physically evolve along with our brains? Will the names we have to learn by heart - Darwin, Watt, Dante, Boccaccio and Einstein become irrelevant comparing to the inventions that are yet to come? Will somebody prove they were wrong, will somebody speak badly of them? Will someone still adore Dante's Heaven and Hell as much as I do? Will people analyse poetry the way I do? Will anyone ever feel the way you do?
Will anyone ever make a decision like you did, will anyone look up to you?

Is there a reason to be stressed and depressed, when all of this won't last? Is there a point in searching for the meaning of life rather than picking a reason to live that satisfies you both mentally, emotionally and physically?

Will people have passion and hate and freedom of expression, will they be bold or will they become faded? Lost? Encouraged or enraged?

Well you'll never know.

And that's hard to grasp.

It takes billions of years
for ancient light to reach us and
rescue the trapped darkness.

You can hunt among rocks
in the palisades, behind
the ramparts.

There was an apocalypse.

Stem cells were ready
to repair the myelin―
searching ancestry.

It was a tense stand-off
between the headstone and a living dead.

Cannot repay the debt of blue
Sky, sending us
the warnings of catastrophy.

her guilty greys spoke millenia
of catastrophy and destruction. her shattered soul and tattered mind
granted shifty eyes and unsteady feet
to her lean physique.

nothing smiled quite like her in the courtroom. if ants could taste the sickly sweet scents dripping down her lips, they'd infest her entire body.

a tear on her marbled cheek ran away from her lazy eyelids like grass runs from the wind. the tear would not bow to her unending sorrow, but it was aware that it would not be missed if it disappeared.

her guilty greys were on fire in the courtroom. a wild forest fire. she was her very own arsonist. oh she basked in the burns it blessed her with. the jurors didn't know of the flames they were being consumed by (mercilessly, i might add). their bodies were too plain and too close-minded to see the in-between like a guilty grey's creation. she liked that. she liked that she was the only one who could see her own faulty destruction.

monochromatic themes, paranormal and sweet. hathi married it eons ago, when a fairy tale was merely gossip amongst the curious whispers of a neighbor.

in shackles, drenched in shame and jeers from her spectators, hathi stood proud at the prisoner's box like a mountain peak.

a smile danced a ballet across her bright pink lips, two crescent moons waxing upwards. her guilty grey eyes glittered gold dust as she opened her mouth. coughs spilled from her ashen lungs and a warm, bright red trickled down her neck.

but that would not take her voice away.

hathi would talk guilty grey until the day she died.

I have found paradise in the midst of this pandemic.

In the midst of this chaos and atrocity.
I found a sliver of peace amidst the catastrophy
from the taunting void that stares back at me.
I sit watching, looking out, from the inside to the great grey beyond.
Out into the world I used to know.

And I say.

I found paradise in the midst of a pandemic.

At the precipice of all that I am and all that I will be.
Satisfied at the greatest awe, the fluidness of reality
Willing myself to take the leap
Into the yawning hole of life
I am unshackled.
I am untainted.
I am at peace.
And though around there is fire
And though I feel its flames trailing my leg
It's sweet warm caress.
I do not feel the pain.
The heat inviting.
I am unshackled.
I am untainted.
I am at peace.

I found paradise in the midst of a pandemic.



I found me.

The earth in shock
what have we done?
Change in weather
all upside down

Global catastrophy
People say,
the earth has a disease
it's called
mans progress

Litter, litter, everywhere
radiation from past
still around,
people worried
some people care

The earth in transition
It gets upset
earthquakes and storms
natures mournes

The ending is comming
for some
others beware

Global warming
it doesn't get hot
it's a contradiction
It's the new ice age

It's 9:32 PM and I am waiting for your message
like the hysterical ***** I am - you have no clue yet
the ghost of him lingers around and floats on air
or is merely a ghost all of myself?

It's 9:32 PM and I have already been here
The same old pressure in the chest and catastrophy
But this time I switch
This time, the pain I ditch

I swallow the pain like a pill
that slides inside my throat like an usual drill.
If you **** me over, I can leave.
Do not be that bleeding lady, that hurt chick.

This is good for writing poems, it is
but life and poetry do not always meet