Fear makes our rational minds corrode
Empty, paralysed and in shock
Our sense of hope starts to erode

Plane-bombed towers stretch and implode
Bone dust smothers a city block
Fear makes our rational minds corrode

Suicide bombs start to explode
None live to stand in courtroom dock
Our sense of hope starts to erode

Buses are blown up in the road
Red heart of a city they mock
Fear makes our rational minds corrode

Another gruesome episode
We’re held in a violent deadlock
Our sense of hope starts to erode

Where is the truth that we are owed?
Death’s time is set on Terror’s clock
Fear makes our rational minds corrode
Our sense of hope starts to erode

“leave at your own chosen speed”

always,
Dylan inserts a phrase that haunts,
indestructible permafrost,
played in slow and ever slower reverb all life long,
for it’s intuitive and you recognize it too well
as the best companion to the sour ending of another love affair

(but! this one differs; called love yourself)

the sad of a dying love, remembering the steady drift away,
capped by a casual remark that doesn’t sting but
cuts a Y on your chest, a lover’s coroner courtesy,
the bad humours permitted to at long last healthy escape

you’re staggered but say nothing for
speed
is a changeable elf, a mischievous devil,
requiring constant monitoring cause you moving,
but the speed limit alway a reflection of the road you’re on

speed is a tag along to show the overall fit still works,
though now far from the obvious and familiar
and the inspiration modifies,
so you retrofit untill the parts are incapable of
bending to new demands, contours unfamiliar, old plans no good

“leave at your own chosen speed”

for I am leaving you as I leave myself,
beaches erode,  lighthouses corrode, the salt cannot be refused,
the earth demands your return as the lease is deemed
non-renewable and the space where the date shall be inserted,
is parcel of the contract and though blank, certain to be fulfilled

the body erodes, the ***** parts corrode,
and this season of the new year^ comes with the usual disclaimer
recited on the tenth day from today

‘who will live, who will die,’^^

taught to you as a young-in, a child who can comprehend
even before manhood arrives, comprehend that life ends,
all good things and it ain’t no use, born compromised, but
“don’t think twice, it’s alright”

the slate you have written overdue for a prudent clean wet erasure,
so you begin to leave at your own chosen speed,
which is kind of nice, even cool, organizing your papers,
write with contented softness that so long eluded,
now come easy heady peasy

after a life of reciting poetry, good bad and always too long,
the pressure is on and off, side by side, even a dimming bulb
sheds some light, revealing what yet needs revealing

that Day of Atonement annual visitor,^^^ he/she of impish humors,
makes Pandora play a new station,
‘dimming of the day,’
reminder that it gave you a piece of an unowned heart to hold,
leased temporarily but the temp is roaring,
who, boo hoo, for you?

life and love is all about leaving,
the pen in penitent gone dry, no refills in this new world,
wish that **** rooster would stop crowing at
the break of sundown,^^^^  when I'll be gone
I'll be travelling on, for when the new day begins,
that’s my own signature personal gravestone marker,
the sundown poet
------------------------------------------------------------­-------



~the first day of the new year on the Jewish calendar
  Mon, 10 September 2018 =  1st of Tishrei, 5779

  Rosh Hashana 5779

Currently there are:
Thousands of cars zooming down the highway at breakneck speeds,
Millions of lights illuminating the dreary road,
With the power of a hundred valiant steeds,
Causing the cement to corrode and erode,
Thousands of fossil fuels burnt merely to transport other fossil fuels,
Pollutants filling the air and altering our environment,
But these are the worlds most precious jewels,
All to feel the capitalist tyrant.
But hey... At least I have air conditioning in my F150 while heading to set off Chinese fireworks while celebrating the 4th of July.
The American Dream.

Relaxing peacefully on her lap
Her fingers ran through his hair,
And,speaking soft, soothing words
Waves of calm caressed him there.

Delilah used her feminine wiles,
Honeyed words dripped from her lips,
A sense of serenity enveloped his soul
From her tender fingertips.

The secret of his amazing strength
Was reluctantly revealed to her ears
Leading to open the floodgates
Of times of sorrow and tears.

On her lap he continued to rest,
Unawares of her subtle scheming;
Carefully his luxuriant locks were cut
With scissors sharp and gleaming.

Little could Samson have known
The intentions of her black heart,
Her cunning and overpowering charm
Hit him as with a poisoned dart.

Samson’s strength suddenly left him,
As weak as a kitten he became,
Delilah had truly duped him,
Although it seemed to her a game.

As hard as granite was her heart,
No true feelings of love were there
Else, why would she hurt him
With no chance of any repair?

His life had a very sad ending,
Of this most people have heard,
It’s recorded for our perusal
Within the pages of God’s Word.

The lesson to be learned
From this ghastly episode
Is that disloyalty is as acid
That the heart can corrode.

Like a wilting yellow lily
Under the sun’s searing heat,
Samson’s strength melted
Into a pool of utter defeat.

Remember this we should
And be careful how we act
Lest our deceptive hearts
This drama we re-enact…

I pose high my chest of ragged ribbons
And unravel a fist to stretch out fingers in search
Of a hand glimmering pale like a lantern
throughout this grey
        empty space. Once a pavement, now as good as

Cloud. Frozen lake. Dust. Boiling ashes. Skeletons.

I am walking on the slashed frames of waves
As jesus once must have. Propelled to a miracle unwitnessned
To anyone but myself. I am impelled to corrode
Into a statue; to remain a rigamortic rotting jade jewel in the sun
Until I no longer can.
Until they found me...

Perhaps they'd dust me off, thaw the ice from my shoulders,
Rehydrate me and gorge me,
Restart the blinking light in my brain
And refrain me evermore from having to seek.

But seek I must, for the lonliness weighs me down
Further by the day. I take half as many steps now as when I began my voyage.
My memories are like ghosts of flames that play
Snakes and ladders and hide and seek.
I am the lighthouse man and I sail drunken--
A rubicund mishape of bone and scuffed thoughts,
I can feel every soul which once embodied and huddled this place.

It's like they are trying so hard to posses me but even
Their souls have been smouldered to whispers
So thin they ring as mutely as the surrounding mist,
So soft they vibrate akin to an infant’s pulse
Throughout these walls, these scrapyards, these crumbling arcades, this sandbox grey that begs for a scream.
The spirit of a tarantula trembles along my back and grazes it teeth against my shoulderblade,
Praying that I turn to confirm it's being –but it's a game I’ve long grown sick of–


I am the lighthouse man and I ceased having a face long ago.
What I recall of my reflection was a child so young and so sure
Of a different life that

I cannot be sure it's even me.

I am the lighthouse man; a puckered bulb balancing on too-big shoulders, that walked
  through barren flat closes and exited empty handed, the lonely poltergeist,
a bitter flab of skin.

I am the lighthouse man and I am the final Aspen leaf in the pond of the universe,
I see myself reflected in a sole star twirling underfoot and overhead
rowing my ears so thick with disfigured silence so that I wished I was born deaf.
I am the lighthouse man and my mind is a spinning fragment
    my eyes can merely follow and my floating steps merely trail.

It never changes tone here, I can only vaguely trace the time
By the occasional moon. Tonight it shines half chewed,
  Befitting the levelled star a sideways crown.
It is beautiful but I mustn't stop to admire, lest a survivor
Scavenger loses patience withholding the last of their scran.

I am the lighthouse man and I haven't eaten in years.

I am the lighthouse man and I bled for the first time yestardy.
I am the lighthouse man and my bulb ricocheted off the base of my skull
In a telling fairy tale dream. I felt static in my head
And my light's ink spilled across my hands and for a minute I thought
My light had gone out. I tasted blood,
Trickled down from my stinging nose and I had never been so scared.

I am the lighthouse man and I never knew I could die.

I am the lighthouse man. Once the world danced with magic and I was
A walking satellite that grew to want to dissapear.
I am the lighthouse man and my decrepitude is casted in my hands:
Black as the night from the dirt collected over the years.
The few slashes of skin clear enough to see look rust-like and obtrusive, outdone only by
My veins like wonky bruises that vine across the silhouetted bone;
Bridging gear to gear, clinking shivering knuckles
         That want nothing more than to surrender.

But I am only frostbit, not frozen.
Life was and thus must still be.
I am a raindrop, not the whole ocean.

I am a walking lighthouse inspecting and guiding empty seas,
A form without virtue
That ceased feeling it's metallic steps too long ago to recall.
A cubist teardrop falling down a grey giant's cheek,
Waiting to be captured and swallowed.

Or perhaps I am climbing uphill, slowly along the circumference of his forehead.
So slowly I cannot notice the rise. Perhaps I was destined to amble in hypnosis,
En route on this colourless limboid curve until I forget the concept of
             a destination, a soul, a matryr jester to rouse me awake...
             and perhaps it is then that I will be blessed with the heavenly bulb

Of the weeping giant on whom's flesh I disturb.
I am the lighthouse man and I dream of purpose.

I am the the lighthouse man with a penchant to levitate
I am the lighthouse man and I am a God without tool or reason.
I am the lighthouse man and I'll walk this limbo until my feet dissapear.

I am the lighthouse man and I am cursed.
I am the lighthouse man transitioning between lives and never knowing
Causality nor the answer. There are no questions to have;

I am the lighthouse man and I must have been a murderer in my past life.
I am the lighthouse man and I can feel my inner fuses twist,
Falling fainter and fainter by the second.
I am the lighthouse man and I will not make it another night.
I am the lighthouse man and I am a memory-bank full of nothing remarkable.
If I felt this months ago then perhaps I would make due with the my sojourn of an empty house, atop a parked car, and perhaps I would be content with rotting.

But now the moon shines so luminously bright and full and close! So very close!
I am the lighthouse man and I chase the moon.
I am the lighthouse man and I vaguely recall my mother saying 'do not eat the moon,
It will give you nightmares!’ and it all suddenly makes sense now.

The stars are all out tonight and they await my company. I am the lighthouse man and now I run.
I run run run run for the sky in ode to the rest of the bodies that abandoned this place.

I’d hazard a guess there aren’t many folk who don’t know the tales of Harry, Hermione and Ron
and how with a cast of a multitude of friends they defeated Voldemort with aplomb,
rightly these heroic adventures are held in the highest regard,
and will be told forever by musicians, singers and bards,
these stories will be remembered, people will talk of those courageous and brave
and how they turned the evil tide of The Dark Lord with everything they gave,
how they dispelled the magic of horror with the strength of the Gryffindor lion,
but less well known than this wonder is the fable of Tayrn and her Ryan.
R and T arrived to Hogwarts  10  years after He Who Can Not Be Named was vanquished in the great struggle,
Tayrn was pure wizard born whereas Ryan was pure muggle,
both took to wizarding school easily and did well in all their classes,
of course Tayrn was a hit with the lads and Ryan a swoon with the lasses,
but it didn’t matter they gave all folk in their year at Hogwarts an involuntary love shudder
because ace Tayrn and Ryan only had eyes for each other!
Their wonderful sweet love was easy and went without a hitch,
spent Saturdays gazing at each other when they should have been watching Quidditch,
hand in hand they skipped around The Forbidden Forest, their romance knowing no rift,
saying hello to a friendly centur or a flying hippogriff,
they galloped around Diagon Alley, their souls full of cheer,
or sat relaxed and tranquil in The Leaky Cauldron sipping butter beer.
T and R were ace at spells, Tayrn’s best was with a wand swish creating healing
and Ryan’s wonderful arty prowess was painting The Sistine Chapel on any ceiling;
yes they were each other’s equal in the way they weaved the magic from above
and this is one of the reasons they were very much in love.
One night T and R were going on one of their romantic walks
and decided to have a jaunt to a wonderful clearing just near Hogwarts,
they sauntered through the darkening evening with a song on their lips,
swaggered along the green with the music of love on their hips,
as they got to the secluded clearing they were anticipating with glee each other’s hold
but then all of a sudden they started feeling very cold.
They both noticed that the summer grass was covered in a blanket of frost,
the trees were looking pale, freezing, withdrawn and lost,
the air was filled with frigidity and held the hints of scare,
the flowers were wilting with chilled terror, bloom given way to despair,
as Tayrn and Ryan wondered what was the cause of such floral bad health
just a few yards away  the answer revealed itself;
over a hill came a hooded figure that immediately brought fright to the fore
as Tayrn and Ryan paid attention in Defence Against The Dark Arts they instantly recognised it as a dementor,
but they noticed something different about this one, it was nearly trebled in size,
and had a deeper blackness where should have been it’s eyes.
Being skilled at magic they knew what they had to do to avoid any harm
so both quickly fired off their best Patronus Charm,
but these spells had no effect, the huge dementor merely shrugged them off
and they could have sworn beneath it’s hood it let out a derisive scoff.
The enormous dementor hovered over Tayrn and Ryan and from its mouth emerged a hiss,
as it prepared to give the two lovers their final goodbye kiss,
but as it stooped over them with it’s awful deathly hue
T and R looked into each other’s eyes and figured out what they were going to do;
they remembered in one class learning about the bravest man Hogwarts had ever knew
and how he was able to hoodwink The Dark Lord with a love strong, solid and true,
how Snape drew on his love of Lilly to ride through any storm,
even on his darkest night it was what kept him warm,
so Tayrn and Ryan pushed their wands together and thought of beautiful Severus
and how they both too shared the romantic love buzz,
and channelling the wonder of that special feeling thus
they both pointed their wands in unison and screamed Expelliarmus!
Emitted from the tip of each wand was the half of a love heart projected from each soul
that both came together to create the fantastic whole,
in the shine of such love the vast dementor instantly recoiled,
knowing that it’s draining wish was in no doubt foiled,
it writhed around and in the glare of joy did it’s nefarious purpose erode,
every bleak and blank about it started to corrode,
the dementor slowly ebbed away until all of it did go
and in it’s place was left a striking brown young doe,
it bowed it’s head to Tayrn and Ryan and then it flew into the trees,
gliding with majesty on the sweet night breeze.
Awed by what had happened Ryan and Tayrn turned and started to walk back to the dorm,
aware of what occurred was special and not the norm,
but then they stopped in their tracks and at the same time both did say,
“oh my beautiful love, I know  I’m going to marry you someday!”

i spent a year as a ghost and when the equinox came i choked on every sunset i had seen and passed out in your attic, i'll just wait here until you realize the chains don't rattle anymore and maybe you'll wonder what happened to that unwanted guest or maybe you'll just be thankful it's gone, maybe my ectoplasm will drip through the attic floor and into your bed and with  a passenger in your dreams they'll be even lonelier than before i'm sorry i keep corroding a hole in your heart but i can't help the way my ghost-self falls and when it's gone altogether you'll be a ghost of your former self, walking in the shell of your life glazed eyes glazed words glazed world a ghost with a body is the worst kind of all cause they never fade away to heaven they just linger and linger and linger until they ROT and you can't forget that a ghost was there not with that body on the floor and could you have helped them it's hard to tell you never were an exorcist but maybe if you tried hard enough you could have put some of your life in that body or just ripped the ghost free and ended the misery, heart corroded through and i in my ectoplasm will wait in your bed wait for your shell-body to give up the charade each night and with my arms holding you you'll be lonelier than before - i spent a year as a ghost and cried over your bright eyes every night, i spent a year as a ghost but now, i the ghost of a ghost and you the living ghost in a breathing corpse, we're a modern romance horror story of the eternal kind, and when your heart's corroded through i'll hold you so tight but for now i will wait in your attic, putrefying ectoplasm and bitter sunsets, i never felt this much when i breathed and now it's caught up with a vengeance out for blood when i have none to spill i'll just lie here and choke and wait for this to pass this will pass this will pass this too shall pass, you move below and gam zeh ya'avor i pray this for you that your bitter life shall too pass, i spent a year as a ghost and watched you moan every night i spent a year as a ghost and watched you curled up on linoleum the only thing i could do was sink inside and try to absorb some of what you felt but i think all i did was corrode you further, i'm sorry i'm so sorry that my body is acid and my arms just eat you through, i tried to be your friend but i just made you lonelier your dreams are so empty when you're held by a ghost, they say you only dream of people you know so it's no wonder you dreamt of nothing everyone disappeared so fast it was hard to believe they'd been there at all, a mirage a puff of smoke you never really knew and that fled when it got ***** and dressed in all the white clothing you owned you laid on the bathroom floor and breathed smoke you laid on the floor and ground your knuckles into your eyelids as my ectoplasm dripped into your open eyes and cupid was a demon that ripped at your chest and laughed cupid was a demon and you brought that demon to your bed again again i cried i cried and you bled from all the scratches in your chest and s i g h e d, cupid hissed snarled bit but you know everybody has their flaws closer so much closer you held and cupid ripped though to the other side i told you i told you so but you just sit on your bed with your back against the wall and your hollow torso bleeds you sit on your bed eyes blank eyes glazed and bleed and i drip in your chest, i tried to warn you i tried but now i'll just lay in your attic and wait because the chains don't clank anymore to give you some kind of company in your empty house empty life, maybe you'll notice and here you can find me - the floor of your attic was always the closest i could get to heaven.

i cannot face a day without acknowledging a loss.
i cannot fathom such a wilderness grew so close to my place,
my society-free, impositionless place
a tepid forest inhabited
by the requiems of the agnostically murdered
and the cogged wheels of the deceased's clocks.
sometimes they stick and the clockmaster unsticks them,
but they stop up again ever so quickly.
there is nobody who has the time or effort to continually watch the clocks.
and they return to ticking an eldritch song
which may cause pain.
it has not abolished mine, nor shall forth be disseminated to do so.
i am an ascetic mastermind, abiding in my messy pool
of thought, without my womb, without my brood, without my broom
to tidy the mishmash of unruly cobwebs and such.
the fumes cause me to wonder “where is my world,
which i’ve fondled so dearly?”
i detox and recycle memories, it’s to no worth of you
a venomous whisper on a silver lining of a dream tells you everything:
a fanatic’s agenda degrading urbane,
a plummeting depth to deep impact,
i drift away on a molten lava lilypad, and fantasize that...
i am god
but i haven’t found time to juggle your sect
reissuing lessons to mind the sheriff
and i cannot bear to lead me, to my own cultural death.
i cannot receive your moral disease, a signal on my knees
con e preghiere sbiancante. can’t you understand it?
my life is spent with hope placed
on each pair of snake eyes i roll
chance is the meter for everything.
dare i dare go back to my fantasizing,
i am god
ashamed by the lack of hope, and regret
disgraced by the hate and intolerance of man
and i see now their perfect world, is everything i detest.
and the tears produced
form new embryos of emotions
crystalline structures of psychological proportions
which develop into mature,
sentient, and emotion-proof organisms.
which become i.
and i respond vehemently yet come to my senses in a diplomatic tone,
because i am a diplomat.
and i have learned to nail my destiny to an altar each night,
an altar which can sacrifice my pensive motives
and my self-incriminating philosophy
that i should be able to write my destiny, and not
have it planned and read aloud,
read out loud, out in the air, outside.
i try myself.
i tempt myself.
and i return to supplicated suffering about my own mortality
and the atoms i will never see
and the universe i will never span
and the people i will never meet
and the times i will never live.
what if i rivered thirty silver-coins:
◌◌◌◌◌◌◌◌◌◌
◌◌◌◌◌◌◌◌◌◌
◌◌◌◌◌◌◌◌◌◌
what if i
didn’t
?
i might be ****** for this: but i’ll still set fire to the catacombs.
i might be scourged for this: but i’ll still hold on,
hoping there’s skin on my bones.
ecclesia, – a common, a sanctuary, a vanguard from the darkness in the world.
i know what i should do but never ever get it done;
i know what i have been and what i will become.
not defined by a dimension nor reputed by a benchmark
but shaded by the passion and dissuaded by the lashes.
i’ll do anything you want me to,
if you **** the self-inflicted psalms i plead!
the ulcer grows
that sweet cologne
i ***** it into the unknown.
i won’t tax your soul, i won’t stick a price to it:
coins ◌◌◌◌◌ won’t fill the hole -in a business deal (assets corrode)
i won’t tax your soul (i won’t buy it with blood money ◌◌◌◌◌, no)
it’s yours alone (but in business deals,
deficit is prone)
and there’s an aspect {a static} of forever and the inescapable gap
between the conscious
and the desired.
i sit here, ever so comfy and lustrous,
and habitually wait the day
they merge.
my invitations stand clear.
if you cannot come, i’ll wait for you. hidden
in the grillework of my past. but if you cannot come,
i’ll be waiting. hidden in the warmth of our teepee haus,
i’ll wait for you.

if X Marx the spot then why Kant i Locke it up?
*could living hand-to-mouth so long make me so Jung?

My home is made of grit and dirt

The taps run sweat,

the windows are shattered,

their glass clinging to frames

like broken teeth to gums in the mouth of a boxer.

My town is a fighter,

built of scrap metal and machines.

The streets are steel

and the river nuts and bolts,

its gears turn through rust

and parts corrode away.

Time turns it green, orange,

black with oil and grime,

but my city is a fighter,

made of grit and dirt,

and it lives.

1358

The Treason of an accent
Might Ecstasy transfer—
Of her effacing Fathom
Is no Recoverer—
—
The Treason of an Accent
Might vilify the Joy—
To breathe—corrode the rapture
Of Sanctity to be—

An angel told me yesterday
To live
One has to die first
And I did


Now is this life
Where my thoughts corrode
My innerself
And mind takes over
My Senses
And finds no solace
The Chaos balancing two opposites
Continues to lives in past
Looks upto future
But never stays
In
The present


Is this life
Where all one does
Is to pay for
Past
Karma as they call
While one does not even know
How much balance one still has
To pay


How can I live my life
When
Whenever I ask the angels
They let me die
Another death.

A monolithic sculpture stands upon a hill.
Ornate work of marble marks the artisan’s skill.
Clad as a knight of yore, with stony gaze held high.
Pilgrims travel from miles around to fall under his eye.

Epitome of courage, virtue, and respect
effused upon the villagers traits they should reflect.
Elements gnawed at the stone but failed to corrode
the manifold of lofty aims the knight would bestow.

Dark years beset the kingdom causing disarray-
Tyranny, vanity, and deceit led the people all astray.
Artisan's work above, a shining icon of probity.
A resolute bastion against the world’s impulsivity.

A day will come when the people reach distress;
crying out, they beseech the artisan’s redress,
but long has the craftsman been journeying far away
humbly allowing his handiwork, the message he conveys.

I see my life flashing before me

Red siren, blue siren

This fathomless landscape bores me

Red siren, blue siren

These ****** destroy me

Red siren blue siren

My God I implore thee

Red siren, blue siren

To save my life.

They pump me full

Thump thump
Thump thump

They always have.
So full of drugs and lies
That corrode in the past.

They pump me full,
Right from the vein
They drain my blood,
With their disdain

They chain me down,
Right to the bed
They shock my heart,
Inject my head

Bump bump
Bump bump

This ride from hell,
Their eyes so wild
My wound does swell,
Does swell so large

Oh gangrene supreme
They shock my heart -
Cut out my spleen -
The room goes dark,
They shock my heart
Cut out my spleen. . .

Bump bump
Thump thump

Oh needle people,
Sticking me full.
Oh needle people,
Take me for a fool.

Red siren
Blue siren

I pray unto thee now

Red siren
Blue siren

I call out your name

Red siren
Blue siren

Because to these imbeciles

RED SIREN
BLUE SIREN

My life is just a game

RED SIREN
BLUE SIREN

I pray and I say!

RED SIREN
BLUE SIREN

Have mercy on me!

RED SIREN
BLUE SIREN

As these dogs,
They watch me bleed.

Here you see a man and a hand
A reflection of opposing forces
What is and what should never be
An unhealthy, God-awful endorsement

Afflictions corrode from within
Stone-fixed in self preservation
A shattered temple confined
Or anew flower creation

To live, love and be loved
Surrounded by color and contentment
To be lost in the shadows
The wrong side of saturation

Cracked,  battered, distorted and beaten
Shattered a mirror that opened a window
Shaped, fixed, filed and finished
Broken a bond revolved around no

A torn life set in stone
Here lies what are us
A life that should have never been
Metamorphosis of Narcissus.

The air feels heavy in the daylight.
Morning noise falls through the cracks.
Like unwelcome guests.

I do nothing.
But breathe in. Inhale. Corrode
Heretic lungs weighed down by sighs.
Combust. Purify. In fumes of nicotine
And smoke of papal white. Aware
Each breath burning away at life.

Eyes that see no oversight.
Curtained in ******* light,
Fade out of view

The room is shun away
The world lies flourish
I have made an enemy
Out of the Day.

Saying words meaning nothing, transfixed with "I"
it's startes every sentence, and if i could i'd end with I.
Only opinion that matters is my own, mastery is a poem.
syncing lines with words and words weighing me down like stones.
Thoughts so sad they corrode my morals like acid.
sitting on my bed, it starts and i become homesick.
Pathetic as i once was and even more so, can you believe it?
still smiling and laughing at jokes never said, hoping to break even.
We're going out, it's all on me, except for the money and the driving.
your phone is probably blowing up from all the numbers you're dialing.
never not gonna do what we did last weekend, eh?
Slow jamming to oldies in a "Smoke that bud" kinda way.
Chain smoking for fun, and laugh at silent jokes.
planning our next unknown move, totally stoked.
A Queen is just a pawn with fancy moves, you say.
those weren't queens but it doesn't mean we're not kings, i say.
They were ordinary but we made them out to someone extra-ordinary.
Alright lets stop this nonsense, thinking about people who don't deserve it.
my emotions are swelling and empty, complicated i don't know how else to word it.

What is born of this land?
Nothing is born,
Nothing grows
In this desolate land.

I want to wake up the neighborhood
To hear my screams at dawn
But they do not hear anything,
Do not listen to anything that happens in the morning.
I play my music in the streets,
All my poetry and clichés
But they do not understand anything,
No one understands what happens at dawn.
I walk the streets looking windows,
***** children in their rotten rags
And I cry with those who are hungry,
I do not know who cry or love…
I embrace the poor in spirit
And hear all your stories poor,
These poor and pathetic poor souls
It is my right meeting this cold morning.
I go through the streets and alleys damp and dark
And I hear a child crying…
A repetitive and child crying wretched
What is the worst of all choruses?
I see people and their hurried footsteps
Everywhere, everywhere…
I'm afraid to follow my tracks
And I hasten my steps through this city.
I hear the sirens screaming in the streets
Mixing the sound of nightclubs crowded
And the sound of twisted metal
Creating a new contrast, another type of cry.
I sing with you almost every night
And sometimes I wonder: where are you
He left so early and left me here...
Now I’m alone! I’m alone!
God, I try and cannot understand
Reason to justify this life.
I am a pawn in the game you do not see
Every dawn until dawn.
Something touched my whole being,
Something I do not understand and do not try to understand,
Something that comes up every day when I wake up
And after me until nightfall.
Something happens,
Something moved,
Something incomprehensible,
A new friend?
They say that being is almost live
And living is the limit of what you can want.
In fact, something happens that one wants to be here,
However, not all this desire craves.
Nothing is enough
When no longer feels the aroma of flowers,
When the color no longer thrill
And they cannot be sold to look.
Gave me such rare moments
Feeding the future although at present,
But waking I do in all my steps
Get me the taste of things even in thought.
In my noble and poor land I wander
And I feed the memories of liars,
Get drunk me with joy and gladness
And insistent way in the land of lepers.
In my humble vacant land,
Time is proud, ignorant time.
Hunger is rampant around me,
The flesh is weak and soul idem.
I ask as much as the worst of sinners,
Wasting a time that no longer have,
Not differentiate right from wrong,
Share supper with my detractors.
I do not feel the taste of wine,
I do not recognize a smile,
I do not remember the hugs,
I'm finally alone!
I weigh my conscience in the balance of a butcher
And the butcher tape me with ravenous eyes,
There is no any agreement on the price of the meat,
Nor is the first or second.
God, you who are owner of the ages,
Give me the hours its final minute
And cause the whole world to know
That left miserable after all.
Grant then that desire
And finish time with this work,
Free cities this unfortunate
Who insists on knowing what nobody knows.
When there is fever, it makes no difference,
There are times the blood is poison.
Red is the color of anger and sin:
The poet knows when he is sentenced.
If there is even poetry these avenues
As equal in different cities,
To be recognized
For the sake of pursuing life.
Burial in the deepest memory
The giant concrete towers,
The grotesque glass structures
That mimics a new artery.
A new artery,
A new lifestyle,
A new company
And an early cardiac arrest.
As the cars kissing the avenues
Meeting the perfect companion
That tells me in the ear:
"Accept me as the only one"
Finally, fear runs through my veins
And feeding a forgotten feeling,
An absurd desire to see the next day
And try another outlet.
All the streets are congested.
A whole shantytown has just been set on fire
While some locals try to save
What remains of an entirely bankrupt life?
There is a twist
Around this humble heart,
A carnival,
Almost a provocation.
All veins are old and weak,
There is melancholy at all.
Even without poetry,
Without free will, there is life at all.
This city is just brick,
Metal, sweat, concrete and glass,
Cement stuck to feeling
Often beautiful and often ugly.
This city is sand,
Concrete and feeling,
Sorrows and joys,
Poetry thrown to the wind.
Some people learn early, some not -
Live life day in and day out.
Some dance to the song,
Others are lost before the chorus.
Some are always right, some not -
Many are lost in illusion.
While some running, others sleep
And all seek some direction.
Some dream rock bottom,
Others dream of the river bottom.
Some seek independence,
Others are the exception.
Some people win,
There are people who are lost,
Some people becomes the problem
And others think is the solution.
Digress weather
What about the "types" that encounters in this life.
I lose a second in this lost time
And even with so little sense, how rare is the time!
If you have no idea, nor do I know.
Maybe the hunger that consumes me consumes you too.
Perhaps the addiction that affects equal
Is something that arises only between abnormal?
I addiction with its tapas
And in each sip of his cup,
Each exaggerated affection offered
In exchange for a few bucks.
I ***** me with your lies
And assimilate water from your gutters,
I learn new shortcuts in every way
And erase the traces of my own steps.
I chase you in every church and every home
I swallow my irony,
Visit each elderly
And make friends with the hospice house.
Far reaches thy wickedness
And how many hugs another's grief?
Can evil be so inspired?
The point of the very surprised to be expected?
Life bleeds leaving the left chest
The children of the world that the world does not want,
Spread the news that sadness has hair
And more brown eyes than mine.
I notice refinements of cruelty
In this urban masochism
Where poverty has older
And the lie became just a vanity.
I transform
In all more abhor,
I emerge in the mirror
As my own killer.
I suffocate and tie in the dark of my room
Little souls endangered
And throw in the trash the dreams of those who
He believed devoutly one day be part of reality.
I still feel the skin marked by fire
The brand that hurts the brand of truth
And I pray that one day cease searches
And everything becomes futile.
The happiness of fuel
Corrode and fades away slowly
Gradually me satisfaction
With the balance that sustains me.
When I look at my own face, it hurts.
I exhale the body the rest of fear
And I try not to see how strange the line of truth -
Seeking the path that leads to freedom.
Disguise my desires
And repress my absurd,
Hug each nightmare
And hide my darker side.
I try to see something beyond the abyss,
Find something else beyond the walls,
Transcribe all longings
Hidden behind every dream.
I am eternal,
Sinister,
Land and fraternal
While the world lasts.
There is this chest a divided heart
Created almost between two worlds,
The world is inside the abyss
And what one sees behind the walls.
My corner is stumped
As well as the small voice and uncertain
From the little that is hidden on the other side,
My other side of that wall.
What have other corners?
They also have these sides
But what counts in these corners
Also rhyme in other valleys.
Bright lights bother many people.
Darkness feeds inconsequential.
High walls with brass railings gleaming
Are contrasts in painting a colorless screen?
Urban flowers are so amazing
And this depression is so exciting.
Smiles are bitter and needy
And the pain married to vows of love.
These buildings are so interesting,
Where the wet streets at night shine like diamonds,
Where transiting the fair and honest
Munching vanity and rancor.
The cars pass and illuminate so many people,
Whites, blacks and children without color.
Poets are so tucked the irreverent
Assimilating the pain and all that is.
I see lives that trace the same plane,
joy of generations by mistake ,
Marks of time that are pure desperation
Charting together a colorless future.
I see faces full of hope
Burning in public because of their color,
Those who live without even realizing it,
A cold paint drips without why.
Bodies dancing high parapets
Almost always go so early
Challenging theories and concepts
And ignoring all kinds of love.
My steps are so slow
And so intense movements,
The faces are always the same
And I hope again the sunset.
Justice who is in charge of giving clemency
The presumed innocent
Transiting the streets
Spreading hope and love.
I want to have a chance to see the birth of Venus
And the annunciation in the middle of spring,
I want to be like St. Augustine
And read the scriptures by candlelight.
I want to be like Van Gogh and paint sunflowers
Even in December the ink is red.
I want to have new flower garden in the backyard
And the kiss out of my lips is never accidental.
Just want something passionately
Even being so blind and alone?
That goodbye is worthy
And everything to return finally to dust.
The idea comes suddenly
To celebrate as an illiterate,
Prepare a table and invite
Only those who are hungry.
All this turmoil,
All this protest,
All thefts
This legion inside me...
Melancholy has always had its place,
Love, sadness and bitter returns,
Feeling alone and be like shadow in the crowd
And embrace the darkness itself.
Find it romantic suffer
For pain that recognizes pain that always sees
It is more than a disease, it is a love affair
For all that hurts and causes pain.
I let them think I was defeated
With the unexpected attacks
Of those who cry shouts of victory
And they forgot to be buried.
I leave them to play in my back
The guilt of all blame,
Let it burn my entire story,
It does not matter that much.
My lips run on search words
And my eyes run in search of beauty,
Drawing liar’s feelings
That shut all the bells around.
Words come out like blades
In hoarse voice coming out of my mouth
This other me who hates me so much
And all challenges at first.
In the spring mornings leaves dance
Rehearsing his ballets from the rising of the day,
Is this life?
It’s this they call life?
I want to find the lost word
Among the tasks of the day to day
What is so profane?
The prohibited!
I want to meet a new season
Bring me a sense of relief,
Find what they call happiness
And maybe learn what it is.
An epidemic,
Leukemia,
Rimes illustrating
An eternal melodrama.
You cannot have everything!
Not always beautiful are our days
And we keep waking up.
Roses do not speak, but are also alive.
There is hunger for love!
There is hunger and what will?
There is hunger in this home?
If there is hunger, then there.
There is time for everything!
There is time to smile,
No time to cry,
There is time to leave.
I want to run away from home without a warning,
Running between the wheat fields
And let all afflicted
Trying to understand what had happened.
I want to cause confusion,
The same kind that I bring in my heart.
I want water all around
With the storm inside me.
I want to wake up the sleeping
And those who never agreed,
I want to find out who they are
And spread about us.
Lovers of this pain,
Thirsty without knowing
Where else to enjoy,
Where else to call "home".
I shift my gaze
With all the hatred of this world
Of all the ragamuffins and vagabonds
Who recognize me in a second?
I want to break these chains,
Scratching walls,
Promote anarchy
And imprison noon.
I want rain penknives
While tear my clothes,
I cut my wrists
And count all the drops.
A day can be
Something happens
And make to cease this endless grief
And everything changes, anyway.
So lose the naivety
What remains this morning?
I envision the absurdity that all I see
Is still something to be remembered?
Maybe one day
Poetry is done singing
And the light breeze the corner
Everywhere!
I want to get a perfect world,
I want to love what is defective,
I want to explore my own room,
Make another deal.
I want to shake you violently that coffin
And show where all the mice,
Ignite old blankets
Which now they were pretty.
I want to show you I love you
And I hate you,
I can live alone,
But also not live without you.
My madness is productive
At the same time, destructive:
It satisfies the crowd inside.
I refuse to be part of the pack
Strolling in supermarkets,
Feigning patience as immoderate
The suffered.
I like debris,
I collect dust,
Make enemies,
Cultivation dreams.
I constantly change identity
And lose track of reality,
My state is ill
And I'm terminal and disposable.
I participate in this game,
This novel in decline
This disgusting theater of horrors
Where only the blind are honest.
I am thoroughly enslaved
While deprive me of the privilege of choice,
Burying our will
In the deepest pit.
The wall that separates us is low
And we walked jumping from one side to the other,
Often both exist
And others, only I exist.
We are a nun and a *****
Plotting an eternal dispute
Between the two sides of the coin
To decide who runs and who fight.


As simple as saying your name
Spell out the pieces of your body.
I want to understand what God's grace
If your body will never be only yours.
Your body exudes the morning sweat,
Clouds hid the principle of pain,
Pain discovers a new form of pleasure
And the pleasure is expensive to you.
Your blood runs nearly everywhere
And a new world opens up suddenly,
Frighten the fleeting pain
And wait with his only love the sunrise.
I wipe the sweat oozes from you,
You wipe the tears falling from me,
If you can be in the world some endless love
The only certainty is that there was never before such love.


I want to wake you up
To hear my screams at dawn,
Show you what genuine despondency is
And not left me anymore.
I want to recognize me
And take me to your bed,
Not left with nothing
In addition to beating in his chest.
I want to be part of its history
And I want to be a constant presence in my,
The world spit their prejudices
And the fire that also burns in the heat.
I want to break the mirrors
And heal our sickness,
Assaulting what kills us
Every day, forever.
Serene and calm give you what remains
With my last breath,
What's best in me now rests
And rest my mind.
My sweat is true
It is also all the pain.
Blood is final
And it goes to the last vows of love.
The entire storm inside me
Now relax my heart,
Soothes My Soul
And feeds the reason.
I walk by this peaceful land
And growing a new crop of wheat,
I do a incognita a new partner
And the fear is not definitive.
I harvest hope
Where before there was only bitterness.
I am ashamed
And regret.
I accept the entire cross
And fight against the serpent.
I heal my wounds.
And my success is violent.
Time is short
And I want to scream that entire plan,
There is still a flame inside
And only her surrender.
What was misery,
What was despair,
What was hungry,
What was fear…
What was pain,
What was love,
What it had value
And when there was time…
What is born of this land?
Nothing is born,
Nothing grows
In this desolate land.


What is born on this land?
What grows in this land?
Nothing is born on this land,
My private wasteland.

I have lost all control.
Having kids was not my best idea.
I am at my wits end.

Why does my bathroom look like it snowed?
Stop climbing on that coffee table Leah!
I have lost all control…

Do not play in the road!
Who puts pimento spread on a tortilla?
I am at my wits end!

These socks should not be a la mode…
Im selling you kids to South Korea.
I have lost ALL control.

Why is my banister starting to corrode?
I’m going to need stock in IKEA…
I am at my wits end…

My sanity is leaving by the busload.
Who knew crayons cause diarrhea?
I have lost all control!
I AM AT MY WITS END!!!

See me.  Hear me. Converse.
Generally I hate people.
Maybe if I got to know you,
I could hate you too?
I despise various types of self,
15, 16 through 19.
If life is a high court I judge all
for their discrepancies.
Procrastinators need now,
believers need reality,
liars need honesty but honestly
we’re too sensitive for honesty;
speak or hear.  So I speak clear right here.
Hear right. Arrogance needs insults,
the self-righteous need to take a look in the mirror and find their own.
False reflection, false affection.
Attention needs to be looked after,
Naïve views need blindsighting.  
You can’t love hate; if you hate love.
White lies make me get dark,
why bark if you’re not a dog?
Quit *******, deceit carries a receipt.
I’m just a flea itching to bite.
Eternal fuse, refuse to explode,
re-fuse, implode. Exposed.
Corrode societies iron clad prose of civility.
Severe sincerity.

Seashells, twigs, and sand.
Brick, iron, and mortar.
Something as weak as shore debris
will be carried away with the tide,
but what of the iron?
It will corrode and the mortar
will wear away.
It’s the same as the sand castle.
It just takes it longer to
fall apart.
They are also the same because,
at one point or another,
someone took the initiative
to dream them and create them.
True, I am the master engineer
who created the stone fortress,
but before that I was a child
and all I could build was a sand castle.
I put hours into making it perfect,
only to have it rinsed away
by the afternoon tide,
never to return again.
But I suppose that’s alright,
because for those few minutes
that they castle was finished
I was happy.

Everything is happening so quickly
so many negatives surpassing the
insignificant glimpse of positives
that never seem to suffice,
there’s always this light at the
end of the tunnel that everyone
speaks of, yet i continue to see darkness;
a journey down this long tunnel brings
no illumination but only a continuance
of nihility, the damp walls
seem to bring the chill humidity
closer and closer with each step,
the droplets echo the narrowing,
flickering lights dissipate at passing,
the gag sparking stench of sewage
and ***** make the voyage to
light even more unbearable than the
previous hesitant inching towards
the so called spoken about bearability of life,
sudden scintillations of light bring sight
of russet, worn doors, consecutively placed,
discoloured of crimson roadkill,
I open the first door and see a woman
tied and bound, gag in throat,
beads of sweat turning the white gag
to watered milk,
the dirt beneath her nails entwines with skin
and blood dredged by her own fingertips,
to front is a tray of what seems like
torture tools
intrigued, I slam the door
                               and avoid a kiss
                                   from Judas

The next door, I open and see a man
sitting facing the corner,
wrapped in a flickering fan,
staring at a wall of carvings of ticks and dashes,
to see arms of cuts and gashes,
with a tray next to him
comprised of razors and knives
he sits picking at skin of bruises and hives,
tempted to grab the tool and corrode self,
with the reflection of whats within, I slam the door

                                               and avoid

Finally the third door
eagerly stares to
me with anticipation boiling veins,
I press my ear to foreshadow,
I hear a cries; a man of hatred
and a woman of pain
I open the door and find a bottle of whiskey
I take a swig and feel as if Judas kissed me,

Within the third door; walls
with peepholes to confirm the calls
on the left I see the sliding knife
over-panting roadmaps of russet to
the neck of the bound woman,  
the screams are deafening,
they present a vibration,
stuttering thoughts, and releasing the fixation,
prompting the admiration
to view the second door,
I see myself, in door 2
tremors and convulsions
seeing blood expel every vein
as the verticals
halt oxygen to the brain

Departure brings me
to the abysmal realm of society  
where the burden of negativity
proves to provide no proof towards what
differs between the endless, narrow
tunnel-visioned cesspool of bone marrow
and psychosis driven visions and the
narrow pathed voyage of life.

A little taste of tarmac, Bobby
Let me spin my wheels
A little taste of the long flat road
I’ve forgotten how it feels

A little taste of tarmac, Bobby
Make my chainwheel hum
A little taste of the up hill grind
Thirty miles and some

A little taste of tarmac, Bobby
Way out among the farms
A little taste of dust on your lips
My metal soul would calm

Climb up onto the saddle, Bobby
Clip into the pedals tight
Feel my frame respond to you
You always crank me right

Stay with me in the saddle, Bobby
Our ride will be as sweet
As the wash of lactic acid
From your shoulders to your feet

It’s good with you on my saddle, Bobby
I know you feel the same
You push my pedals hard now
And laughing call my name

Lean easy in those corners, Bobby
Accelerating the while
My frame is all aglow now
On your face I sense a smile

Flying home with you, Bobby
You get the adrenaline kick
It makes you sprint the last half mile
And smooth out the left hand flick

A little taste of tarmac, Bobby
I am waiting stem unbowed
Come find me soon and ride me
Before my rims corrode

A little taste of tarmac, Bobby
Make me spin my wheels
A little taste of any road
Or forget how good it feels.

I got real "gems" within
with my heart so polluted
obsolete genes making 'em so deluded
fighting among self
while ringing thy bell
turning my inside into live hell.

High rankers behaving like bankers
cranking up on money
weak got taxes ramped up
feedback mechanism didn't got me backed up
my hand's burning
it's more interested in drugs cranked up.

world within, so bizarre
worshipping 9 days
on 10th exploiting the avatar
immune system's malfunctioning
exterminating none entertaining all
stand up for something, "Nah dude, they'll make me crawl".

condition's critical need some dode
ain't working to flourish, all they do is corrode
making my core scrambled as a puzzle
suppressing every positive struggle
my existence's that of a mine
mining glitter degrading divine.

Your words--
They grate and corrode.
Rice and birds--
Explode.

Rage wells,
It overflows.
No more silent spells,
We're grown.

Carried by the noxious scent of unbridled wretchedness,
The thoughts of the masses corrode, upon impact, the ill-prepared,
Summoning the martyrdom of a thousand misguided sheep.

Inside that womb of madness, the absolutes rule,
And the governing law is Us vs Them.

Enlightenment unravels ... piece by ethereal piece,
And the true victims emerge as civility and patience.
In a moment of revelation, laws become clear,
As we meek and meager exchange freedom for protection.

A hive-mind of revolutionaries under the influence, perhaps.
And I can only wonder ...
Where is the queen amid these hapless drones?

i think a lot
about the me before this all

i think a lot
about the rocky start
about the headstart the Universe gave
about the time i ghosted for 6 months straight
about how i ended up back in square one
about the space you occupied in my mind
about how you evaded my senses
about a chinese-esque boy

i think a lot about the Universe
about premonitions and gut feelings
about beliefs and signs
about how maybe we were supposed to be
about how we finally we became one
about how it seems that you were a gift a day before my birthday

i think a lot about Us
about how it was fleeting and fun
about how it all felt brand-new
about how it was to be in love
about how emotional i got
about how tumultuous it got
about how rocky it became

i think a lot about Abuse
about how it traumatizes you
about how it ingrains into your survival tactics
about how it invades you as a whole
about how it takes a dove and crush its feathers into limestone
about how i will corrode through and through people's soul
about how i got an epiphany
about how i shouldn't be emotionally abusing you
about how i want to become a better person
about how that even though i'm better now
you have been significantly affected by that abuse

i think a lot about the Me all before
about how a silent storm i was
about how guarded and angry i was
about how unpure and unwholesome
about how malevolent and whipped my mean streak
about how independant and unemotional
about how numb i was

i think a lot about the Me now
about how silent after the storm i am
about how guarded yet softened by your touch
about how i'm semi-pure and wholesome to you
about how i sheath out my mean streak when hurt
about how dependent and emotional
about how i feel all at once

i think a lot about the in-betweens
about our 4th to 6th months
about how we were happy content
about how we still bickered and slept it  out
about how good it was
about how much of a happy spot our relationship was
about our development together
about how maybe we were destined to be even more better in the future

i think a lot about Now
about how it feels like a void
about how there's a force so strong
about how it's separating us
about how we keep hurting each other
about how we keep stressing out
about how we keep breaking down
about how it doesn't feel like we're happy here
about how i wake up crying and still fall asleep at night crying
about how our differences keep pushing us apart
about how much i disregard your frequent drinking
about how you go to drink because your relationship has gone to ****
about how our-used-to-be-happy place is causing us so much pain
about how it doesn't feel the same anymore

i think a lot about the Future
about what we're supposed to do now
about how lost we both are
about how i need to find myself again
about how i need to rebuild myself
about how we both new a clean slate
about how we need each other so much more than before

i think a lot about You
about a Chinese boy
about a friendly, sweet and caring boy
about how reliable he is at work
about how witty and smart he can get
about how mentally stimulating he is
about how plain and dull he can be
about how unemotional he is
about how he is a man of few words
about how he shows his love
about how lousy of a texter he is
about how sweet he is
about how mad he can get when provoked
about how i always forget that he cares even though he doesn't show it
about how he always seems so wild and energetic when he drinks
about how he feels a buzz in alcohol that is pretty unhealthy in the long run
about how much potential he has in his art
about how he can scale higher feats
about how i want to watch him grow
about how much of a workaholic he is
about how distant he gets when he's working
about how sometimes i need you during your busy periods
about how much he loves dogs
about how much i'm not really an animal person
about how much he loves kids
about how much he wants to be a dad
about how much i hate kids
about how homophobic he gets
about how he understands me
about how he can read into my soul but doesn't do it often
about how sometimes it feels like he isn't putting effort because he's busy
about how sometimes i want to be validated and showered opnely and be treated like a Goddess
about how i know he wants me to smile more
about how i know sometimes he can't understand my depression but still puts in effort to calm me down
about how for the past 8 months i know every single inch of him
about how for the past 8 months he knows every single inch of me

i think a lot about Love
about how much i love you
about how my love for you can start up it's own universe
about how love is what keeping me with you
about how we both have our needs and wants in a relationship
about how we should be compromising with our differences
about how we should listen and respect each other
about how we should be kind and giving and freeing
about how we should always try and try and put in effort
about how we should always be there for each other
about how we should always support each other unless it raises concerns
about how we should always understand and put ourselves in each other's shoes
about how we should think before we speak
about how we knows each others flaws and cope with it
about how we will be better as a couple in the near future.

i just think a lot

Troglodytism. get betwixt thy cave **** rats. amass!!! beyond the wooded canvas of life.
and lay beside thy corpse of agony
in the pits of all foul'd demon beknownst to thou's angst.

there lay the chalice of life.
Oh to lay in the darkness'
o' to bask in the decadence of no light.

Anti heat
forth go ye unto distraction.
To over sensual
to photopic cancer
all bio centric failure that reveals itself in the concord of vestige

only one

only one who's skin, brines to salt. Only one who's writhed on the depth of the cave
sub terrain.
Becoming convoluted
with ulcers. In the brain.
Stomach
esophagus.
Till veins squelch the blood from oxygen as gills. Sea water.
till muscle over sinews, Myomeres.
till acts of mycotic deprecations elude your own grey. Destruction.
And sap what is left
the bends corrode all health.
You eek out a full metabolism.
You finish all hopes with each loathsome meal intake.
death.

Oysters take over.
They create their home
shell of man.
Disabled to a merman, made, morose.
Barnacles infest recesses,
chasms that held mountains of bountiful moral.
Filled till bursting in the case fit for a brain,
but these ocean vermin walk the tightropes of this goblins neural bag.
Tearing each synapse.
Like the innards of a necrotic recluse.

I am the dying vagabond of the ocean.
Finally succumbing to its ethereal pitch covered floor,
where no reflections mourn for me
and ghost wail me no remorse,
as I metamorphose.
Into, detritus.