you've been on my mind a lot recently

polluting my thoughts
contaminating my very being
with idle inklings
and constrained affections

making everyday tasks
near impossible

I'm going insane,
but I love it.

So often I feel as though I am seen as summer rain,
someone who does nothing but
nourishes thirsty flowers in dry soil,
precious and beautiful and unable to do any wrong

when in reality, there are unseen, hidden parts of me
and secrets I’ve only been brave enough
to whisper to a few, bits of my past
that are journal pages ripped up
and swept underneath my bed

And you are my deepest secret

I took advantage of how you felt for me
and I made you feel like you
were dirt, contaminating me because
I was innocent and perfect and could do no wrong,
but that was a lie I tried to make you believe,
because I had convinced myself
it was true, for so long

I hate that I hurt you

And I hate that I will never
be able to take that back

I cannot stand the thought of you
walking around today, or years from now
thinking of me as a mistake, a waste of time,
a thunderstorm who did nothing but uproot
such special feelings only to
destroy you in your vulnerability

But I pray you don’t think of me at all,
and that you’ve forgotten me

because I cannot stand to think
you’re out there, somewhere
remembering me as someone
who broke you.

“I may be grown up but I’m only seventeen.”
The faded blue chairs were in rows, as could be expected. The building was old and the air was littered with dust; just like you would expect. The light shimmied through the draperies and tapestries and slithered across the floor in tiny slits that cut the room into pieces. The dark worn floors boasted years of scuffs and scratches. They were no longer mahogany for they were nearly black with age and dirt. The whole place was frozen in time. Even the air was reminiscent of years gone by. When you walked in you could expect to find memories nestled in corners or peeping out from one of the many books strewn around. The place breathed nostalgic fumes. Some might have called it “stale,” but many others would prefer to call it “alluring” or “curious.”

This was not her case. The door ****** the life out of the place as it slammed shut. The reverberations could be felt throughout the entire structure. Her anger fueled her along at a violent pace, sending chills up the drapes and swirling the dust into tornadoes of chaos. The floorboards rumbled and squealed in sheer terror under her feet. If you were here you would likely have tread softly and listened carefully just because you hoped the place was talking to you. But since this is her story and not yours, that is not the case.
She threw her body into the nearest chair and the force almost sent her backwards. The girl and the chair hung in time for a single moment, teetering on the edge of balance, but nothing happened. She kicked her feet up on to the chair in front of her out of utter disrespect.

Each breath that she blew carried venomous thought. Every air molecule expelled from her nose was laced with despise until it fell to the floor, devoid of life. You could feel the place shuddering with every breath. Or maybe she was shuddering. But it wasn’t important.
The girl let one lonesome anguished tear roll off her face, but since she was too strong for crying, she ****** her body out of the chair with every ounce of hatred she had inside. In one swift motion she swathed her face with her shirt to obscure and erase the tear. She stood there, filtering the air through her shirt, refusing to acknowledge everything the place had to offer. She dropped the weight of her head into her palms and bit her lip against the pain. She pulled her face back only to check the shirt. She knew it would be stained. She knew because every other time before it had been stained. She listened for a moment before she glided across the floor toward the nearest window.
When she finally came to a moment of rest, the place sighed in relief. The dust rested and the floorboards managed to quiet themselves. The drapes relaxed and everything paused again, settling back into a time of long ago. The place embraced her like the wind embraces a leaf. It helped her along gently as she was carried away.

Not wanting to be discovered, and not wanting to overstay her welcome, the girl carefully hid her soul behind the heaviest drape and emptily marched towards the door. She traced her finger along the scorch marks that marred the wood. The scars ran deep, evidencing a strong fire that had ravaged the place years before. The door oozed sympathy as the young girl shared her pain. Her heartbeat pounded out her sadness and resounded through the door and back to her. She clutched the **** in her hand and pushed it open. She slid through to the outside. She did not look over her shoulder. She did not carry a glimpse of hope within her. The flame in her heart was extinguished with the closing click of the door. She was outside. She watched as the place got smaller as she walked away.

His name was Devlin. “Dev” for short. It could’ve been “Devil.” It should have been “Devil.” He was the one who called the shots. This was his game; his rules. She was just a player who could be benched at any minute; suspended from the league in the blink of an eye. He knew the world. He had been learning it for years. As if the world was something that could be learned; that could be acquired. He missed the most important lesson for he never learned how to love. He had mastered affection and words spilled off his lips like honey. But love was not yet something he had come to possess.

Regardless of his material possessions, Dev knew he was missing something. He didn’t know what it was or how it could be acquired, or if it could be acquired. He only knew that the gaping black hole inside him was consuming him. There was no fulfilling this insatiable hunger. There seemed to be no solution. Only temporary fixes could easy the longing but with every dose the hole grew deeper.

           She too, knew that beneath his smile there was blackness. Not emptiness. Just blackness. There was no value, no gradation. No. There was nothing to hold on to, nothing to hope for. She would have enough black to cover the entire world if she had wanted to paint. But she was honestly looking to survive.


                Time had gone by, but only by the measure of light. Time had not elapsed to heal her wounds. She had covered miles on the feet of one thought. She had traversed only into one idea during her journey and yet she had already reached her destination. It was easy to fall to your subconscious when your body was tattered. When she stepped through the threshold she almost imagined the place. But she stopped herself because she didn’t want to take the chance of contaminating it.

                Her eyes were closing and the soft carpet looking appealing in all its graying and deterioration. The couch and bed looked inviting but that was suicide. She was fighting the urge. She had too. She had tried to purge her mind but one insignificant monstrous thought plagued her. “Don’t go to sleep until I get back.” Her eyes lingered closed for a moment. How beautiful and welcoming this blackness was. It was gentle and comforting. Her eyes jumped open. How long had they been closed? Surely no more than a few minutes. Fate laughed in her face once again. “I told you: Don’t get to sleep until I get back.”
                The first one was the most painful. Even though her eyes were blurred from pain she could still see the look in his eyes. She had to look. The simple thought of closing her eyes would earn her several more. She clutched the threadbare carpet with all the dignity she could muster and stood like a soldier before a firing squad. Every wince squeezed the tears in her eyes closer and closer to escape, but she held on through the miserable pain. It wasn’t even his hands that hurt anymore. No, it was the iron, or the bat, or even the brick that hurt. When it was his hands, he sympathized with the contortions of her body. He felt her pain. When it was some other object, there was distance between them. Six, five, four, three, two… She could time the blows. When he wasn’t so angry they came faster, just to put the girl in her place. When he was enraged, they came slower. Each hit was followed by an explanation or justification. “You have to learn the hard way.” or “How dare you get blood on your clothes?” The indignation in his voice made her sick. “Don’t look at me like that!” “I love you.” Over time she had learned to smile over time. To lessen the pain.

                …Her face was burning. Every fiber in her body wrenched with pain. Every breath brought tears to her eyes. The shaking was uncontrollable. She never should
have fallen asleep…

                You see on the inside he was just a child who never knew love. But that was her job. To love him. He was one of those “monsters,” or rather a vortex, something to be awed and feared. A display of powerful destruction. But that was the point. He was ******* up everything good while furthering his own self-destruction. He would eventually collapse in on himself. It was inevitable. It was not a matter of time. It was not some probability that fate would determine. It was not plausible to think, no matter what length of time you were thinking for, that time could, and would, heal all wounds. This was not something that would fade into the background and blend into a dull gray. This was not something that could be fixed by a miracle of God. There was no twelve step program with guaranteed results. The only thing that could happen was the elimination of time. If this happened, then there could be change.  


                She had figured it out some time ago. A long while back before she knew the place. The only answer was destruction. You might even call it ******. But since it involved no bloodshed or munitions or hatred, it seemed to be a good idea. Even the victim was ultimately willing to go through with it. The only factor stopping the girl was love. Her love for him. She did love him. She truly and justly loved him. She loved everything about him. She loved him for chaos and instability. The only solution was to destroy time. Without time, there is no way to measure. There is no structure. There are no rules. The only structure is what you make in your mind. That was the easiest way to escape, the easiest way to ignore the pain, to ignore the love.        


                  However much she thought about it, she never thought about it enough. The hours she spent on the floor in utter stillness were useless. When her breath was shallow enough, she nearly died. Her shirt was stained with blood. It was severed from her hip to her elbow. Her face was swollen purple and blue. Four of her ribs were shattered. Her left ankle was swollen. Her eyes were sealed shut by dried tears. Her lips were pale and chapped. She could not breathe out of her nose. It was filled with blood. Her pants were a rolled in a crumpled ****** mess several feet away from her. Her legs were patched with bruises. Her fingernails had blood under them.


This was love.


Eventually. Not relative to time. Not relative to the beating, but relative to her. She crawled over to her pants and began to restore her dignity until a foot crashed down upon her hand, jarring her body into a fetal position on the floor. She forced her eyes to stare at her hand turning from pink to white to purple. She hung her head in shame and hoped for mercy or forgiveness. The crushing weight of the foot began to ease the slightest bit. “You didn’t learn. You never do.” She stood perfectly still, waiting. The foot lifted. He pulled her to her feet and bestowed a kiss upon her forehead. “That’s why I am here: To teach you.” He took the crumpled pants from the floor and removed her bloodied shirt. Then with **** of his head he motioned to the floor. “You will learn the meaning of humble today.” She lay back down and tried to glean warmth from the carpet. She was cold. Desperately cold.

Army men
City girls
Turned nurse

Hands held over
Slowly-contaminating
Breaths

Mason jar IVs
Cleansing white
Handkerchiefs

Masks
Yellow on white
Death in the air

Blood in my mouth
Hair
Lungs-everywhere

No new people
In months.
We know what it is.

We have Typhus
And it's not going away
Until it has ****** the breath from all of us

Until we are all dead
6 feet under
The ground

I am a cold, bleak and weary melody;
Forced out of guitar strings, alone,
a solitary piece made by a starving man.
My low notes bring down the sturdiest ship,
dragging its corpse to lay down on the sea-floor.

I am a low pitch plea of woeful "help me";
a drowning man swallowing water as his
mouth seeks the air.
My voice is wispy smoke of years of no use,
contaminating the very lungs from which it originates
from.
And sleep, she is a blissful siren.
Bringing me to underwater caverns-
chanting and humming melodies as the pressure
takes me down under and my eyes close in surrender.

I am more dead than my corpse will ever be;
just an empty sea-shell-
no pearl, no life.

Breathe in the freshness
of the arduously picked commodity,
That you hold between your lacquered fingers.
Don’t let synthetic ingredients
dissolve your thoughts
and obscure your vision.

The liquid remedy we sip  is drenched,
With pain and protracted nurturing
Carefully fostered
through inclement weather
drink in the story that comes with it
That fuels caffeinated conversations.
Refined and defined leaving us blind
to the painted secrets of lives that were once lead
different lives intersect,
different thoughts and opinions interject.

Leaving lipstick kisses on the porcelain skin
Sipping away worries and pain.
Inhaling the smell of impelling advice,
fragments of sugar coated anecdotes melt,
integrating within, interfering
with the raw, strong, sharp taste
that can pierce through.

the rare intense, earthy aftertaste
is tainted with artificial garnishing,
suffocating the fresh natural essence
neatly contained in the teacup
ready to serve and ready to present
taking shape of the porcelain guise

Don’t sprinkle it with processed collaborations
of sugared doubt,
Contaminating your imagination
Manipulated by dainty voices
Resonating in your head
Like the delicate teacup
You anchor with your soft hands
Weighed down by the overly sweetened tea.
No longer holding significance
of the vast fresh fields it sprouted from
Forgotten and drowned
in the voices of someone else’s drum beat.
cloudy vision reflected in the saturated tonic
you sip elegantly, pasting a smile
suppressing your own desires,
under someone else's acceptance.

You open your mouth
And sputter your poison
Dissolving into others' ears
Climbing it's way up
Up into their brains
Just like a tumor
I hear the rumors
That resurface too often
And explain the truth
Denial, they tell me,
Just proves it's true
What do they know?
My mind is mine
My thoughts are mine
And I like to
Keep them that way
But you reach in
And grab the truth
Then spin it with
Your snake tongue into
Your weaponous poisonous acid
Contaminating other peoples minds
You're supposed to be
A friend of mine
Until you join in
Why won't you stand
Stand up for me
Set it all straight
Because I can't deny
Or it's considered true

Speaking is an art
words like paint
we smear and spread out our ideas onto canvas

If you paint too fast-
**** it
you might make a mistake

Did you know paint can expire?
you think come one, paint?
paint can't go bad!
then you try and use it and its separated and chunky
and boom
your whole piece is ruined.

Words can expire too.
did you know that?
phrases and metaphors age turn ugly and contaminating just like the paint
they might have been usable once, but now
you'd better get some new words.

Like, when referring to someone who uses a wheelchair
people don't say they're crippled.
because that word has expired!

The same way simpleton was used to
refer to someone with intellectual disabilities
was is the key word there.
please for the love of god don't call anyone a simpleton

Lunatic was once used to refer to people with psychiatric disabilities
don't say the teacher who gave you homework on a Friday is a lunatic!

******* was used to refer to people with intellectual disabilities
but now you should NOT call anyone or anything *******!
because it is inappropriate and insulting

This isn't about taking away your words
it's about what you are taking away from people with disabilities
when you use language like that.
what you are stripping away from people
when you decide to use a word like

*******
gimp
deformed
disfigured

Freak
insane
lame
******

*****
spaz
stupid
whacko

Knock it off!
when you decide to use those words
it takes away from anyone who has a disability
or anyone who every will.

Use a different word
use swear words
find a thesaurus.

Get some new **** paint

You made me do it, your hand,
it covered mine, bound it in iron,
directed it, carved the words,
not literally or directly
but through the ******* mind games
and the way you looked at me
the way you pretended not to give a ****
when I know you loved me
(love me).
You stared me down
and screamed the words
without even moving your lips
I might have missed it
if I had looked away, I wish I had.  
Mind games, ******* mind games.
You put the words into my head
you engraved them there,
dragged my hand across the page
and the awful ugly hateful
self destructive words spilled out all over, contaminating it.
Accusatory, true.
False, true.

The air conditioner hiccups,
as the second half of
Cole Berlin crosses himself--
a face deeply creased by consequence,
looks to the west,
a surrendering sun fractured--
broken by hundreds of stories--
tons of concrete--
mountains of glass,
and the gentlest gloom.

Mr. Berlin's body devours itself--
as the critics and even the diehard fans
run out of time to play "remember when".
The reality enters,
at first no more than an annoying stomach pang,
then growing,
feasting,
shouting,
until each cell knows--
no time for the comeback.

Whatever beams of sun were once banded,
now dismiss themselves,
as night subs in--
Mr. Berlin, closes the curtains of his mind,
falls to the floor,
"Sorry folks, no encore this time".

A week he lay festering,
no more a replica--
only a ruin.
A fly in a web,
rotating on a world without end,
the record, it spits, skips, smolders in ditch,
contaminating the soil,
the virus gently purrs perfection,
no hiccup, no hallucination--
only swag up for collection.

(I'm ready for war *****, I'm ready for whatever..)3
I'm ready for war *****2..Uhh
(Yeah I'm ready for war *****, Yeah I'm ready for whatever)3..(I'm ready for whatever2)
(I'm ready for war *****,  I'm ready for whatever)3
(Im ready for war *****4)..Aye
It's whatever...Uhh

I'm going to war against America, **** em, forget them , They don't care about us ******, they just want us dead, confused & nothing.(Yeah2)..They just want us to **** ourselves, real ****, The CIA got all of my ****** so mislead Yeah..Aye they brainwashing the kids, Aye what's been happening in this world is alot of evilness up in people contaminating their spirits, since before Christ was  even here man, Yeah real spit,..I'm spilling the beans,.. Yeah I will take my chances, (dying2)..for (being somebody2)..I wanted to be , instead of thinking the same,..Im programing myself mane,I'm so ready for war *****, Yeah I'm so ready for whatever Uhh..MK ULTRA still exist, & we the people need to do something about (this2)..is more than just an conspiracy theory,.. It's the truth my *****,..The biggest conspiracy is that we are free dude,*****

No fake it, till I make it type of fucc **** going on in OFTR
This is (Only For The Real..2)..business
(ONLY FOR THE REAL2) ENTERTAINMENT

Yeah mane .*****, Yeah..Aye man, I'm fighting for what is mines..I'm standing up for the truth Shawty..(I'm ready for war3) *****..OFTR ENT, we ready for whatever.. ***** we the leaders, ***** we the elitist, ***** we the achievers & ***** we achieving man..

/(Yeah *****3)
I'm ready for war *****
(Yeah *****3)
I'm ready for whatever man..Uhh/2

Only For The Real Entertainment
Young Ston

Centuries have passed
My bloodline ready to find the next entity
That lurks in the night

From parent to child
A gift is revealed to help battle the challenges
That sneak through the lights of the stars

Only one
To my knowledge
Has made it to main waters of history
To be immortalized by the surf
As a slime contaminating its clarity
But like the poison of a spider on human flesh
Death only builds, instead of the blind view of a cleansing

That was centuries ago
Now there is me
Seeker of the night
The world slowly gathering at my heels

Centuries have passed
My time had been sweetened
Like the nectar of wine
Everybody is drawn to its taste
Once they brave the looks of its bottle

Centuries have passed
Waiting for that bottle to be opened
Buried in the sands of time
Revealed by an explosion
Unveiling an ancient vault

Centuries have passed
Yet everything inside seemed so...
Familiar
Everything inside recognized me
as well as everyone
Faces renewed, faces new, and faces old
Some most surprising
From my angel of Earth
to my Starlight Healer

Centuries have passed
Waiting for these moments
Moments that saved me from the heaviest drops from the sky
Moments that saved me from the devil's insanity
Moments I rise in my own fight
Creating a new race

Centuries have passed
Waiting for just one thread
To lace into a steel rope
To carry its spirits to a better light
Am I ready for such a move?
I AM

American
Whiteness
the greatest mental illness of all time
even before they were diagnosed
the world has become safer
because the world finally
has funded a wall around America
a padded room institution
where the dissociative disorder
can destroy itself
and not everyone else in the process
the casual crisis
is an emergency
whiteness the coup d’état
is wreaking havoc
on the human soul
domesticated whiteness
riskiest to do business with
spilling blood all around the world
quarantine the biohazard
whiteness on its journey of impunity
when my family was most vulnerable
to the morbid lust
of the mental illness of whiteness
we gently genocidally refer to as social construction
which is really the deconstruction
of the black human
and the origins of humanity
American
American built by the pieces of my family
glued and mortared by the blood and sweat
spilled from them
the most dangerous deconstruction site
in the world
biological warfare
spewing
leaking
uncontrollably
contaminating humanity
polluting its evolution
at war with symbiosis
for the purity of fascism sake
a coup d’état called American whiteness
which is also been a long
untreated dissociative disorder

She came into my life like an atom bomb
Annihilating every concept I'd molded.
She left my life like a cough fades
Harsh, but too gradually for me to notice.

He came into my life like the transition of seasons
And I was awed as I watched it happen.
He left my life like a collision of cars
Horrifying, but to quick for a reaction.

She came into my life like the morning sun
And I was awed as I watched it happen.
She's in my life as a ray of hope
Like a sinner's sweet redemption.

He came into my life like a shattered stained-glass window
All edges and cracks and broken beauty.
He fought my grasp with comparisons and words
Until I simply stopped holding and let him be.

She came into my life like a reflection in negative:
Completely me in every sense save color.
She gripped to my life the way I did to hers
Because we understand like no other.

He came into my life like a god to humanity
Ethereal and shocking, a showstopper, a freak.
He left my life like a punch to the gut
Unexpected as it stole the breath from me.

She came into my life like a drop of sour lime
Contaminating the sweets I wanted to savor.
She lingered in my life like a pungent reek
No matter how I try, I can't be rid of her.

He came into my life like sight to the blind.
She left like the stubborn scent of lavender.
He came into my life like a wounded animal.
She left like a shooting stars motion-blur.

I came into life with a whisper and a frown.
I came into life, hands outstretched to ****.
I came into life with all the knowledge I'll posses.
I came into life against my own will.

They come and they go in firework bursts of time.
They affect who I am like the smoke leaving ashes behind.
They come and they go in Kodak flashes of memory.
They affect my growth like acid water to a sapling.

There's beauty in the cloudy glass of lifeless eyes.
There's hideousness in the taught rope of blood ties.
There's peace in the chaos of rampaging thought.
There's madness in the lucidity of a single gun shot.

Life is gifted only to those clueless on how to live it.
Death visits those who know it far too well.
Life is fickle, a trickster without conscience.
Death is decided, a guide to the warmth of Hell.

Humans are wise with the possession of neglected logic.
Humans are wise with the knowledge of priority.
Humans are ignorant in the abundance of prejudice.
Humans are ignorant in the concept of conformity.

We are a small sample of the incorrect way to exist.
We revel and bathe in our wrong and enjoy it.
We are cutoff from what may be an intelligent universe.
The cancer of the galaxies, we are Earth.

Beyond this planet
Beyond this galaxy
Beyond the Andromeda
Is a blissful unity.

This galaxy is an ant under a magnifying glass
And to the galaxy of universes of cosmos
We are an experiment of exponential proportions
Intriguing from a distance and nauseating up close.

Our galaxy is a mobile hanging over a child's cradle
And, ignorant to this, we see ourselves as its center.
Should the child wake and the mobile cease to spin
Earth would end and, unconcerned, we would let her.

We came into Earth like molasses poison
And eroded at everything we found fit to touch.
We leave Earth like a disease cowed by the immune system
Though we are far too numerous to be hurt overmuch.

Zeroing in to see a face in through the violent cold fronts
There is naught but fear and pain to describe us.
Stepping back to see the entirety of this planet's sickness
There is little to see save bags of organs and blood and dust.

There is more than one that sees the futility in twenty-two billion lungs
There are others that know the worthlessness of eleven billion hearts beating
There is more than one that hopes for eleven billion lasts
There are others that see an Earth red and bleeding.

It is no wonder we do not know our own beginning.
It is no accident we are intrigued by our lack of meaning.
It is not unpredicted that we only see as far as our arms can reach.
It is not unbelievable that we cannot excel beyond our means.

Welcome to the void of complication in our simplicity.
Welcome to a glimpse of metaphysical existential reality.
Welcome to an explanation of the current and that far gone.
Welcome to a belief twenty-two stanzas far too long.

You throw it around like its feather light.
I can't count the times you used it on me-
1
2
3
4
5
….
oops I ran out of fingers,
and yet its still a joke to you.
Even after they DIED because of what you do.
Maybe its not just you,
but one
person leads to another
one
person makes a difference.
You do not have permission to use it like the RUG you wipe your feet on every time you walk in the door.
All of the dirt left to be BURDENED by its material.
Plot twist they are the rug-
every muddy shoe contaminating their fibers, being ingrained in their deepest threads.
Eventually it will be thrown out because it is no longer useful.
No longer purposeful.
You cannot just throw it around and expect no repercussions.
Plot twist-
Your mouth is a gun and it just fired bullets-
The bullets are the words you spit without thought, soaked in poison.
You are a toxic being,
and-
OOPS!
-theres goes another casualty.
Not your problem right?
You will always be the gun left loaded and off safety.

The way that love makes me feel
So terribly out of my skin...
It's like I'm shaking it off of my shoulders,
As the breeze cools me within.
My muscles bare and naked;
A suit of skin upon the grass.
Pale, young, and lively,
As it is reflected in the glass.
The confidence I had before -
The everlasting faith within myself -
Has reached a state of stagnancy.
For now it lies upon the shelf.
Out of my skin, you all can see
The truth of what
Is truly me.
My thick skin,
My rough exterior,
Is the means by which
I decline to be inferior.
For love feels like a sign of weakness,
Though I know within my bare heart,
That it takes a brave little soul indeed,
To take chance to be torn apart.
And as I may worry,
And as I may whine,
For you,
It seems
Quite worth it this time.
So see me now,
Without my skin.
Shrugged off my body,
Like wrinkled linen.
I removed it so you could see the purest form
Of the love I could soon possess.
Without the dirt and the bugs on my skin
Contaminating what I must express.
And inside I know it need not be perfect,
But for you I will try to make it so.
I've bore out of my flesh,
So now I must confess,
To the emotion that scares me below.

She stood for so many silent minutes staring out that frosted window, replaying each season again in her mind.
  Tapestries of memory swiftly unraveled by such frigid winds.
Ice claws at those swollen eyes with fury but no feeling remains

      So much time has passed since those golden days of spring, when they danced in the firefly's flames
    They trusted the rain....made love in a home of dew and droplets wearing no more than laughter
Soon life went though that rain became storms that swept away those cherished joys

     House became home while secretly lacking the heart within its' foundation
   Hopes hung out to dry in the warmth of the sun returned scorched, little more than ash to hold
Dreams belong in the darkness so together they packed them away for safe keeping.

____________________­______

No longer can she stand alone in the bitterness of winter, such gloom contaminating every facet of existence

     Stolen away the joy and hope that once existed, no more than raw flesh and bone remain

Fast falling from that cliff into the rocks below a sense returns that her spirit's free...


Tidal waves of time had carried those boats to different shores where they returned to she and he
Forbidden mentions of us or we...affections now buried somewhere in some sand...

I could feel the earth moving,
my life playing the music, reverse.
On me, the hot sun was showering it's fury,
cast on me was some dreadful curse.

The light had darkened and the dark did light.
The ***** evil attacked me with all it's might.
The harsh wind slapped me every time it passed.
The black cat had definitely, my path crossed.

Every corner had an abyss waiting for my fall,
if missed, I was to be burned with a fire ball.
Tartarus had opened it's gates for me,
My much feared beast had been unleashed.

Tick tock, tick tock, the clock did chime,
darkness within me started to grow and shine.
Consumed in it everything that was pure,
the curse had begun, now it's pain I endure.

The angel within me was flying away
to Tartarus, to be cruelly slayed.
Now I had entered the land of Tartarus
to live the blessing of the curse.

As it's queen, I walked on a carpet of skulls
drank the holy drink from the fountain of blood.
Wore a dress of the sinned man's flesh,
and was crowned with teeth and bones coalesced.

Surrounded by voices and shrieks of the ghouls,
only darkness inside me remained, contaminating my soul.
On the earthy land,I slaughtered the king of hell,
and the curse of becoming the queen, on my head fell.

I now walk with darkness on my shoulders
sins turning my heart colder and colder.
Will I ever live again or die everyday henceforth?
Eternally withering away with a heart filled with remorse.

©2014 Purvi Gadia

Here i Lie:
Disconsolate
Discouraged

Worn down to nothing like the teeth of the Pharaohs-
the  resilient, tiny grains of sand contaminating their food, interminable grinding of bone

like  defeat, rejection, failure endlessly chipping away at and disintegrating the substance of my soul.

Is there hope?
There always is,
but its once-bright warm caress of light
has faded to almost nothing,
the last minuscule bit of candle wick

now fizzles out, its dying breath a trail of swirling black smoke,
oily,
fragrant,


Gone.

Dear, Mr Adam Lenzra
I had a dream,
that death was having conversations with little children
Playing in revolving doors,
So that Russian roulette would be in sandy boxes with more then one bullet in the door  
They say, Heaven needs more Angels
All Because of Revolving Calamities from Hurricane Sandy
all the way to Sandy Hook Elementary

They say when
Sand and ocean intertwine
tectonic plates shifts
So to Every action there is a reaction
Mother earth reacting 2 our actions
Contaminating her with our actions
Sun give life, but man bring death
systematically incorrect
Money lusting, wall street mob
With corrupt with ideology in their system
Building dreams on fantasy
But, In Reality nuclear bombs, atomic bomb
White house effect, failure 2 elect
carbon dioxide becoming the new oxygen
modern day trickery we're consuming
Government feeding

Click, click, click!
Take a picture
Maybe you can document this
the government is lacking exposure
Click!
License to load up and click
Click!
Lusting for their finger to click
Click!
Gun laws are being extinct
Click!
You too, can have your own two/two on you hip
Click!
All you have to do is sell your soul
And follow their click!

Let me hook your attention for a bit
death was having conversations with our little children
Way before Sandy Hook got hit
Modern day trickery
we're not blinded from the truth  
We just ignore the truth
Kids killing kids everyday in our neighborhood
We just ignore the truth
We joke around
calling this the black KKK's
But in reality
revolving those doors on government floors
Will cause chaos on ever Media floors
Lets change the Channel for a bit
Click !
So they censor the News, not showing you the truth
But they won't censor the music that is killing our youths
Click!
The projects is a project, and they have feelings too
Those Parents in the project are grieving
For those children that are lost by gun violence too

Let me hook your attention once more
If the State didn't separate it self from the Church
The attendance would always be a hundred percent
Teachers wouldn't have a problem checking their attendance
Christ would always be present and never absent  
So when people say, " Heaven needs more Angels"
I simply say, "humanity we need to put Christ back where He belong"
On His pedestal!
All the way from nursery, to elementary, all the way to universities

But I tell you, I pray
For those Sandy Hook Elementary children
And those project children
That are dead and gone, because of gun violence
I hook your memories into my *****
like Christ does His Church
And feed on your memory for a life time
So that death wouldn't  have conversations
With my generation to come...

Your memories will live on, as we  remember falling dreams..

R.I.P
To falling Dreams

By: Leon Dylan Labastide

I see a white speck on the horizon, like lint falling, a ship moves to a distant place.

“Africa,” Rosa says, “Where there is a dense jungle and then long bare stretches of savannah grass.”

Ellen speaks, “This day is grey and so are we. Rain falls on this beach with rough sand. We come here to say goodbye.”

“I feel all the faucets of my life have flowed into this body, purifying and contaminating,” says Anna, “The grey sky and the grey sea are one and I do not know whether the sun rises or sets.”

“It rises. The day of our lives is new and fruitful. We are but 19.  I think of colorful clothes I will wear, traveling, dancing with men,” says Rosa.

“It sets. This body is inky with pain which tugs the sea in like the night tide. Soon it will drain into the Earth, leaving the seafloor bare with sticky starfish and unopened clams,” says Ellen.

Anna speaks, “I wish I could pause this day and keep it forever suspended above me, like a dancing dream mobile. Or I will keep it in my pocket and we will all forget the consciousness of time. Rise and let’s leave this symbolic scene.”

No we will go on.

“Glory does not find me here,” says Rosa, “But I am made for it. I will work in tall important buildings. Men will know my name. One day, we will walk along the Seine.”

Ellen asks, “Where does my body reside? I will try to conquer it. I use it and I feel it’s power. Power is intoxicating for a woman, so much more so than a man, for there is little power born into us-- we must find it in the world. Men do not conquer me as they believe they do when they touch me. I will be the emperor of myself. I am wielding something virile and bold, I have yet to learn it’s true power. I will use it, I will use it.”

“My body resides under my hands,” says Anna, “It is solid and I believe in it. I feel it’s potential. I will keep it from those who do not realize my claim, and who will try to take it for themselves. I fear contamination in the loss of purity. I see banks of snow, I see a dandelion before I blow.”

Rosa says, “This day is not clear. I demand for the clouds to part. I will sit on the banks of purgatory until my fated day. The sea does not break at my defiance. I am in misery.”

Ellen says, “This day is not clear. I leave this sand spot under the sky. We are too close to it and it is hot at the touch. I await the natural clearing. I say goodbye, I will spend these days inland.”

Anna says, “This day is not clear. I never wanted time to be. I have no solution for it.”

i'm constantly stuck between
bones and blood and amphetamines
i keep thinking that
i can have it all if i just find the right scene
and i can see toxic thoughts like toxic waste
contaminating the oceans of my mind
a bitter aftertaste, a better nursery rhyme
the glowing eyes of my demons
reflecting off the blade of a knife
and the half smiling rings on the coffee table
are the only things keeping me
company at night
i never thought i'd ever describe pain as
"bright"
"vibrant"
"almost warm in the right light"
i'm stuck here, falling apart
a glass object breaking in slow motion
becoming bones before tomorrow starts
fissures turn to fractures, an explosion
kids these days call that abstract art
who i am hates who i used to be,
and who i was always wanted to be
this
a human typewriter who knows
how everyone's stories begin and end
a tree limb that never breaks, only bends
the back end of a horse
a street with a dead-end
a best friend a godsend
wind me up and watch me pretend
turning circles and spitting up my
heart on my bedroom floor.
"this is as good as it gets, my friend."

Cheeks been complaining
That old chick keeps on whining
Collagen doses she's been consuming
useless... obviously not working
sagging, deteriorating and contaminating....

I swallowed
the sound of your name
like it was a star--
five points,  
the type they
teach you to draw
in kindergarten.

It hurt
on its way down,
stalagmites of constellation
catching on my uvula,
hanging on with
astronomical strength.

But this is no cliffhanger.

Do you know what happens next?

I stopped breathing.

You've never deserved
your name,
you know.
"Light giving,"
it means.

Oh,
and how I gave into
the sublime
fallacy
of it.

Because
all you ever did was steal
the moons from my irises.

You treated me like
I was the dirt beneath
your fingernails
(you forsake
the dust on your windowsill--
but don't you know
all dust comes from
the wondrous galaxy that
dwells before us?)

I reached out to you
only to get
c u t
          o f f
at the hands

Still,
I couldn't let you
go,
didn't know how to.
Even when my flame
was reduced
to these weeping cinders,
even when the idealization
I held between my palms
found itself exiled
to this mausoleum
of severed trust,
hatred blossoming
in rosettes against
crumbling tombstones.

The epitaph reads,
"At a loss for words."

Tell me this:
what sort of
"light giver"
doesn't believe in
in the possibility of magic--
in the pinnacle of light itself?

You always thought me
a foolish girl
for dreaming--
naive girl,
silly girl,
wrists blooming
in paper cuts,
always one fairytale
away from insanity.

Until
one day,
I stopped believing
altogether.

And all it took
was a single glance
from those eyes--
glacial sapphires,
your grandest seduction.

Hell itself would have
hardened itself to tundra
at the sight of them.

You always had a way
of contaminating
the things I loved
with a frostbite so lethal,
I would have
gladly dismembered
every hypothermic part
of myself
(every fragment of soul
you ever touched).

Like a shooting star,
I fell for you--
hopelessly.

Catastrophically.

And then the heavens went
dark.

How much I craved
Experience
When I was a child
Almost broke me
(It did to some extent)
How I craved
To be full
Emptiness invaded me
Much too
Young

At six,
Determined
Driven
By this looming
Emptiness
To teach myself
How to ride
A bike
Not allowing myself
To give up
Until I had accomplished
That goal

“Maybe he will be
Proud of me
And tell me.
Maybe he won’t
Sit in there
All alone
(Without me)
Anymore.”

Dad,
You never
Taught me
To ride a bike
Like you were
Supposed to
But maybe
You were teaching me
Something else

Maybe that’s why
I taught
My younger sister and brother
To ride a bike

Maybe that’s why
I taught
My youngest sister
To walk
And she took her
First steps
To me
In your mother’s kitchen

Maybe that’s why
I was so
Determined
Driven
To give them
Something
I never got
But always
Felt

Maybe that’s why
I was so
Determined
Driven
To prevent that
Emptiness
From contaminating
Them
Much too
Young

Maybe
You taught me
Strength
Instead of
Skill

Maybe
You created
That irrefutable
Initiative
That still
Drives me
To this day

I owe my
Resilience
To you
And your
Absence
And me
And my
Emptiness

I forgive you
I forgive you
*I forgive
You

You know, when the police show up,
and take you away; it's imperative to know the narrative, and....
When you know just the right thing's to say,
an actor without a conscious, or desire to face
the days to come.

I'm a pretender, and a liar and a fake.
snakes slither contaminating my mind...

a laminated love letter that I just can't seem to leave behind,
I hide inside, and aside from my faceless faces

I can't remove the deep pain withering away
every last bit of my rotting insides,

I demand prosperity, while I live the life of a degenerate
taking whatever will **** the pain, anything to make
the pointlessness feel legitimate,

and if I die tonight, take my body and turn it to ash<3
let there be some hope tonight, It's a profound
intervention- invented from experience of locked doors
closed minds, and drooling humanity.

I can't fix this world; and the world can't fix me,
it's just another way to avoid moving on
seroquel dreams, and klonopin pulsing through my veins
I'm a fool, a ghost, just the shadow of a man
that used to hang pictures of his heroes on the wall
king, gandhi, teresa, dali, nhat hanh
and one day it came to an end,
and the pictures; burned, and ****** on
just to put them out.

god please, let me live and die by my accord,
for this world was never meant for me,
yet, my dream is to see the world turn
and burn away the greed, desire, and hatred

I'm just so tired, and if I'm lucky
the police will never return
because

I just wasn't ready for them to blow my brains away
like a million pink blossoms blowing in the wind,
and excuse my slang, because I believe it will end
with nothing less, and nothing more
then one loud BANG.

Conceiving you felt like death.
Slowly drowning in despair.
The pressure rising to my head.

Only in my womb for a month,
Longing for a mother
That wasn’t actually there

I heard you crying in anguish
It mocked me continuously,
You felt contaminating.

I sank to the bottom,
Laying there, lungs filled, bursting in pain
A dark presence swept over me.

There are a million ways to bleed and
You were gutted out whole
No sea water but my own tears.

She took you from me.
Or
Did I take you away from myself?  

Regret and
Heartache
Paralyzed me