it’s the first day of a fresh new school year when
one of your teachers looks you dead in the eye and says,
“introduce yourself.”
your classmates,
familiar to you yet all somehow strangers,
scramble for some short snippet of a way to encompass everything they
have spent the past sixteen to eighteen years accumulating.
when it’s your turn and every eye turns upon you in anticipation for you to “introduce yourself,”
you taste iron in your gums and say,
“i’m not sure yet.”
and every last one of your peers agrees.
see, for the past three years every time someone asks me how old i am,
i start to tell them “fifteen”
and i don’t think that i’m the only one when it comes to this whole crisis of identity.
see, for the past three years i look back on who i used to be
and sneer at past versions of myself,
a babushka doll of self-loathing as i once saw it so eloquently put.
how am i supposed to introduce myself
if i’m going to hate what i see looking back in probably three months?

it’s some kind of family event or holiday when
one of your relatives, or friend of a parent, friend of a friend of a friend of a coworker,
looks you dead in the eye and asks,
“what are you doing with your life?”
your cousins are all too much older, family and yet strangers,
staring wide-eyed because they remember the horror of
getting asked this by every other adult in sight.
you take two short breaths and taste iron in your gums and you say,
“i’m not sure yet.”
and everyone rushes to assure you that it’s fine not to have decided yet,
as though anyone ever actually sticks to the career path they choose when they are just
eighteen, seventeen, sixteen, fifteen, fourteen, thirteen.
when i was thirteen, twelve, eleven, ten,
took every single interaction as an attack upon my person.
i was selfish and self-absorbed and, quite frankly,
one of the most problematic kids that i know.
not in the “scene kid who won’t stop talking about anime” kind of jokingly problematic
but the kind of problematic where i thought it was okay to
repeatedly ignore a gay friend’s request to stop throwing around the word “******.”
how am i supposed to tell you what i’m doing with my life
when less than a decade ago i was everything that i have now come to completely
and utterly hate?

it’s a social event full of friend-of-a-friends,
people who are complete and utter strangers,
meeting you for the first time so of course
they’ll look you dead in the eye and ask you,
“what’s your name?”
suddenly your heart is in your throat because there is power in names,
power that you will never shake,
and to be quite honest you have too many names to pick just one.
in a split second decision you have to assign this new person as a peer, an acquaintance,
figure out who you are mutually in contact with.
when the silence stretches a beat too long,
you taste iron in your gums and say,
“i’m not sure yet.”
maybe this time it’s not as appropriate of an answer,
and all your friends are looking at you strangely.
see, everyone i know has a different name to call me.
my best friend calls me ‘jack’ and my mother calls me ‘claire.’
my teachers struggle to figure out which one i prefer.
see, once upon a time i read an essay about how names have power.
you summon spirits by their names.
you control demons by knowing their names.
an angel’s song is its name.
i tried to divide myself into tiny pieces so that no one could ever have full control over me.
i have accepted a handful of aliases and nicknames that i respond to
sooner than the one on my birth certificate
so that no one may ever own me.

i write a lot of poetry about not knowing where i’m going.
the problem with dwelling on these things is that i am still going,
going,
going with still no destination determined.
how long can a train go in a straight line before it derails itself?
how far can a train go before it runs out of fuel?

hi, my name is jack. i like
outer space and poetry,
physics and creative writing.
hi, my name is jack. i am
not an earthling-- my home is in the stars,
somewhere far away for which i am still searching.
the marrow of my bones whispers for me to just go go go go go--
but i can’t drive on the highway without inducing anxiety,
and i don’t think i’m quite smart enough to become a rocket scientist.
i’ve just got to cross my fingers and pray
that somehow they’ll pick me to revisit the moon someday.

Insomnia is not the, uh
End of the line or some transcendent sign
That tells you that happiness and comfort are reserved for other people only

Take a deep breath to ensure the cheap death of the sleep theft
That robs you of your right to not dim the lights and go unconscious tonight
Stay awake and aware
Put foot to the brake and delay your despair

Mourn the loss of a fate that did not graduate
Into all that you’d hoped for and tried to create
Life is never translated perfectly from your grandiose dreams
To what actually seems to be the case
That the world is confusing and unforgiving place
Don’t cry over a book shedding some words making the leap from page to silver screen
Rejoice that you even have source material

For me, it was getting caught up in the fantasy of a girl
Who, for a little while anyways, redefined my entire world
My life's atlas is still undergoing edits, so she gets some due credit
And like an inquisitive child testing out his hypothesis on a lightswitch
She’d disappear without a sound and wait around to just be found
Awesome, awful, top of the world, bottom of the barrel, there, and not

And... not.

...

I was foolish enough to be a rollercoaster seat who genuinely believed that
The person who chose me wasn’t merely in it for the ride
But for something inside
Some kind of feeling
Only I could have supplied

But at the end of the 60-second 60-mile per hour loops and swoops
The bars come up and the passengers leave
And the seat is left there wondering
“Didn’t they like having fun with me?”

I’ve been brainwashed
to this strange spot
of abstained thoughts
there’s been days when I praise God
But today’s not
I gotta claim faith debt and hit rock bottom
And do to my demons what the so-called faithful don’t
Talk about ‘em

So for now I’m gonna let her light go dark
Because I’ve been blinded to the fact
That when I’m attacked
I can still create my own spark

I can climb outta the hole and
Get back in control and
shrug em all off and
the only thing she deserves is a scoff and
a few verses dispersed with perverse curse words

...*****.

I’m diagnosing myself with fictitious symptom syndrome
This apparent disease squeezes by my dilating eyes and disconnects my
god ****** diaphragm and derails my dialect

But as long as my skeleton stands up straight
And I have stories to create
Then yeah, I think I’m okay with putting off sleep for the night
In exchange for believing that everything is all right
Because tomorrow morning, I’m waking up at 100%
With the intent to reinvent myself and represent myself
As a glasses free Clark Kent

The following statements of truth were brought to you
Not through, but circumnavigating fated parameters
Of insane, yet normative, largely uninformative
Mechanisms that formally give birth to *******;
And instead, strategically splicing said bounds with
Ideal variables derived from the courageously quixotic,
Unrobotic, and outraged agents of, and for, capital Real:

The train of corporate reasoning derails so fast
To follow is to snap the head backward,
Far past angles within measures of pleasurable fit
And open gates to deluging tangled circular
Failures of logic that trick and co-opt the proletariat.

We are Present-Ambassadors with broken flux-capacitors
Demonstrating a consistent tendency toward error
In efforts to obtain diplomatic access to a future where
The same reemerging deficits do not manifest unfixed.
One of said deficits may include all positive freedoms.

For the record, it shall be noted that civil society
Currently arrives implicitly to find it compliantly fine
To promote systems of labor designed to illicit behaviors
That will eventually undermine the actors of exhaustive work
And make benefactors of those complicit in crime.

As case studies of this paradoxical paradigm, we observe
Nations signing trade agreements aligned with
Selling more of the goods whose extractions have
Cataclysmic exactions upon locals contracted not to resist.
Those who take issue with this are directed to appellate institutions.
The projected scarcity of over-consumed poisons causes fear
Which leads to faster hoarding and more ex(t/p)ensive death.

Thus, most human behaviors presently inflate pricing, popularity,
And rapidity associated with committing system-wide suicide.
As shackle-some power consolidation bends toward a transnational peak
I hereby slide-tackle these forwarded trends, seeking goals of the rational.

Silhouettes in moonlit mazes
your tears are complex superstructures.
Superclusters wrinkle I, negative energy,
tunneling through chasms forbidden;
you and I float.

Comes  a sound, depth charged sleeper cell,
a bloop, a mystery, an unsweep,
a whistle, a Julia, a train, a slow down.
Heard by 350,000 zombies.
You and I sleep.

A child derails a train, safe to say,
that the world has its trapdoors.
Its a mystery, they say, but what do they know?
About us and our death.
You and I disorient.

Your two ******* hide a heart,
A mother board center of circulation.
Your body’s iterative delusion
Graces mine. And dissolves me.
You and I disintegrate.

We need to hack the heart,
With absurdity and farce and slipstream:
Into subspecies, we, simians,
We are grateful, gratified.
You and I evaporate

Skim milk masquerades as cream
Wolves self-ordain themselves as custodians
Of the “good” of sheep and that they’re a team
In the quest for universal good, poor proletarians.
A fattened up emaciation
That derails the pursuit for accountability
Paving way for many a loophole
A stranglehold on emancipation
The sheep simply merely sign a treaty
With fate to elongate their back breaking life before taking a stroll
In either heaven or hell, that’s if an afterlife exists.
The wolf menace is thus a malignant cyst
To “body politic”
Posing mind boggling potential harm, worth incisive critique.

Happiness & Misery

I tend to compliment
My confidence
With complaints
On how common place
My plain
Life is
The great times
In complexity
Simply
End
Too quickly
Being me
Became a meme
A trend
A fad
That lasts temporarily
As I change
The wardrobe
Of my beliefs
To best suit the situation
For times of war
Or times of peace
Offering myself
A sacrificial ME
Should suffice
For their superficial
Needs
Supplying their demand
Of wants
The difference they cannot see
I
No better than them
No better
Than what they seek
Not realizing
I
In this life
Is all I need
To proceed
To “ever after”
Happily

The other
Side of my brain
Supplies
The pain
And suffering
Inside of me
Ushering
The alternative
Reality
To my native
Faculty of thoughts
Felicity fails
And the facility
Of fury
Derails
My train of thought
This casualty
Casually causes
The worst case scenario

The battle within
Never ends
Each state of mind
Debates with
Indubitable facts
And stats
To seal my fate
The future lies
In mystery
Happiness
Or misery?
The answers hard to see
I still don’t cant find the key
To unlock the doors
To happiness in misery…

She derails me.  
breathtaking, magnificent, tongue dumb
words fail and sense blurs

punch drunk love fear.
an unfamiliar juggernaut
on a collision course with sanity, confidence, self worth
unfamiliar, unwarranted doubt.

Paralyzed dumb,
I have no explanation.
Nothing taints a true childlike expression
I stray into unattainable delusion.
expectations, trailing tangents, delineation.  

Peacocking:  false representation of self.  
Benevolent intention falls victim to accelerated dissonance
Nano lies upon nano lies build a plastic truth

Why am I doing this, and why can't I stop?
She would have loved the real me..
The tongue tied, school boy all awkward and sweet
Do I go for a kiss or just throw rocks?

Oh well, she's gone now.
The fake plastic boy scared her away.

Oh, Time, you are my mortal enemy.
Woe to those who wallow in your foul play.
Like a monarch ruling one’s sanity,
You dictate my every move night and day.

From your iron shackles release me now,
A slave to the drudgery of routine.
For when a youth to you I did not bow,
Coming of age entails pain unforeseen.

Family forsaken as work prevails.
Rest is absent amid hectic duties.
Allocation of your daily wage derails
Your subjects from life's priorities.

Perhaps when I’m senile I’ll smile.
But for now, I will mourn all the while.

I have ideas that never seem to stick
Like a spark that falters on a half-lit wick
I think “Eureka! Wow, I've done it again!”
But when I mold my thought-child that’s exactly when
I get booted off for no ticket on this train of thought
And the project derails into an old vacant lot
That lot is a notebook at the foot of my bed
It’s labeled “ideas” but it should read “drop dead”
My ideas are all just orphaned on paper
Their father held interest, but started to taper
“I’ll get to it sometime!” but no clock reads “some”
I just like the feeling of ideas under thumb
Is it arrogance? I hope not, just a stream of dumb luck
Or maybe I’m just afraid of being told that I ****

Lips move in frenzy and I start to drift.
All fall out of sync and the loudness is swift.
A train passes by as mine derails.
I pull the brake but the friction fails.
I see many faces alive but they bleed.
They still shout with an unfathomable creed.
Back in the mass again where I was,
I feel uneasy to know that there’s no pause.
A cloudless sky runs with haste.
I see people eating with no sense of taste.
Surrounded with the filth I begin to wonder,
If in this storm there ever was a thunder.
I lock my jaws and unlock my mind,
with numerous toungues spelling curses behind.
I infer, I dceree and I pass my chance,
leaving my inmates with a courteous glance.
Now I am happy and I kiss my luck,
blaming the noise with which I was stuck.
I see a doctor to ask for a cure.
He sounds pretty sound and he knows it for sure.
In his words he tries to be quite precise,
”They talk a little crazy disproportionate to their size,
of things they know and out of their sight.
They run with a torch that bears no light.
They laugh, they mock and hinder your way.
They bet their back as much as they may.
They mumble, they chatter, they faulter and sigh.
They look back a lot to disguise a lie.
To hide their faces they wear those masks.
They’ll answer to all even if no one asks.
Their demeanor to you looks absurd because
according to them, ‘the effect precedes the cause’.
They always get paid to wear and tear.
It’s in silence they die. It’s loneliness they fear.”

Tired of runnin’
And fussin’
And sparin’ the details.

We got it good now,
A house, a family, you can go to school.
You won’t learn about us, baby,
They don’t give lessons on strange fruits.

The road derails, your smile retains:
Hope.
I pray you’ll never see blood on the leaves.

I tiptoe hence from
crack to crack in the
asphalt of our parking lot
trying not to hit the yardlines like
we did in marching band
practice, carefully, steadily
with six steps to a stripe
six-to-five six-to-five
left right left

and I'm trying not to notice
that the trees, their leaves are
turning now to the colors of
the hairs upon my head

copper
and ash
blonde brownish
honey
and the sweetest of
auburn
on my left
right left

and I'm not doing a very good job
of not noticing these things
like how I pretend not to notice how
you smile when I'm not looking but
you are, you're smiling, you're
looking at me and perhaps catching
glimpse of the rainbow of follicles
emerging from my scalp

which is great and all, but still it
makes me nervous makes me jittery
pocketwatch in my ribcage
tickticktick

I scuff my foot across the yellow
paint of parking spaces and joke that
we would have pretty children
because that's always been a topic
that's one of those half-joking, half-not
topics that all
boy and girl friends have even if
they aren't boyfriends or girlfriends they're
just friends, it's still a tender subject
and today I'm feeling
brave except for when I
trip over a word and widen my
eyeballs in embarrassment
until they can see the very
tips of my eyelashes and I
feel very odd indeed
because I realize no one thinks of that
except of course for
six-to-five six-to-five

and I've mapped out my life in bottle caps
and those pepperminty things you
can only find at wedding receptions

and I ****** them in a jar until I stir
them into prophecy and they tell me
if you were another boy if you had a signet
for a seal and possibly a stallion or at
very least a cloak
or a practicality for inventions more useful
than those of divinities
but you aren't no you aren't

and in another life were you a
nine-to-five nine-to-five
and in another time you could've passed
and we could laugh our days away by
the fires and read Whitman to our
Siamese and drape ourselves with kaleidoscope
quilts in lavish armchairs and just
breathed

honey, honey for your toast

breathe, don't cry
crying is for
the weak

and in another life I could've smiled
without abandon I could've
let your fingers brush my jawline let
you read over my shoulder and occasionally
turn the pages for me and I
could've seen our future and let you tell
me I was beautiful and possibly loved you
...but I can't love you.
This is not another life.
this is mine I tiptoe fragilely
from crack to crack and breath to
breath to keep myself from falling off
the edge and so I murmur quietly in my brain

ash blonde brown auburn burgundy and
six-to-five
yes, six-to-five
and let me close my eyes to blink

you tell me
you're not foolish enough to tell me
what you really think
and you laugh and I tell you I'm stopping this
train
of thought before it derails itself and causes those
catastrophes where thousands die
of head-on collisions and
butterfly feelings
and stricken-through unfinished

like I'm in a game of hide
and seek but you're pretending
not to know where I am hiding
so I can be the last one
left
right left

so I halt myself at six-to-five
and let you kiss me anyway

you don't know that in those
few choice words
you've given myself away

Wandering the streets in vain,
A darkened soul calls my name,
Her haunting voice draws me near,
The path I take, will soon appear,

The fog as thick as yesteryear,
Clinging to my pores and hair,
My tired feet can’t take no more,
Seeping blood upon the floor

A dancing light, leads me below,
Underneath the watching crow,
Frozen as the light draws near,
The silent train of yesteryear,


She cries for me to save her soul,
The train derails out of control,
Arms reach out, push me back,
My legs are caught upon the track,

And silence falls….


The fog retreats from where I lay,
With phantom limbs upon display,
The curse remains for all to see,
No legs remain below my knees.

You’re laboring under the false assumption that I’m willing to work at anything right now.
You’re laboring under the false assumption that any part of me is working how it should right now.

Here’s something: When you connect one wire to both sides of a battery, the plastic coating of the wire starts to sizzle and melt and smoke.

When I think, that thought leaves my brain for a while, pulling a new train of different thoughts behind it.
I have a small room, and soon, the train has laid tracks all around the carpet, along the hideous green walls.
Tracks everywhere.

I’m left with a choice I can’t make.
If the train derails, then I can’t think, and that terrible void comes back.
If I let the train lay tracks back inside my head, I turn into the battery.

Is that what going crazy is like?
Is this it?

Didn’t I already say I don’t want to go there?

The mind can only think so much
Before it wanders
Before it dampens
Before it derails

The heart can only take so much
Before it withers
Before it crumbles
Before it falters

Sever the ties before they tighten
Sever the stems before they bloom
Sever this love before I shatter
Sever these memories that loom

Because the mind can only think so much
Before it wanders
Before it dampens
Before it derails

And the heart can only take so much
Before it withers
Before it crumbles
Before it falters

This surge of irrational thought patterns wears down my being
Haunting my mind with nonsensical worries which should mean nothing to me
Enticing my head with vivid illusions and lies of false truths

Malevolent ideas that have no significance in the grand scheme of things
Oscillating my fabric of reality with an uncertain rush of doubts
Rendering what I see as myself to something that is not
Establishing a suspension of disbelief towards everything around me

Yielded necessities clash against that which derails my advancement
Ominous messages from those who care make their way towards me
Underlying statements of advice warn me to stop over-thinking

Thoughts manifest into problems, think nothing of your thoughts themselves
Heed these words, I shall—halt the process of excessive contemplation
Introspection will lead nowhere at this point for these thoughts must stop
Neutral outlooks on the situation are what are needed to rightfully proceed
Knowledge in regards to my own illogical tendencies will be necessary

Alter your mind as a whole to reflect the required change
Breathe with certainty that your thoughts are clear and dignified
Open your view to the world around you and liberate yourself from these closed corridors
Utilize your senses to realize that this chamber of thinking must be abandoned
Traverse new areas to free your mind from these troubled memories

Invert the dimensions in which you reside
Traject yourself onwards—leave this pursued train of thought behind

Traveling forward with this new gusto set about myself, I reflect on times past
Hastily trashing that which bogged me down, the road ahead was cleared of its fog
Extraordinarily so, times became relaxed and easy

Maelstroms of regret and shattered mindsets blockade your head
Overly patient, you wait out this typhoon of ambiguity
Rectify yourself and brave the turbulent winds
Extremes are absolutely nothing to you—you are stronger than this

Diligent minds are those which can surpass even themselves
Inside the realm of thought rests millions of subdivided worlds
Freely explore all of these living experiences by nothing more than your own will
For they are your only true escape from the original thought which distressed you so
Ill-mannered it may be to simply run from the issue by means such as this
Cautiously move on, though, because this may be the only way out
Until you can truly settle yourself to a state of agreement with your soul
Loiter on in this passageway of existences and immerse yourself within it forever
Till the end of time may bring down its scythe

Insidious antiquities may curse you yet
Till you pace yourself and analyze this gateway of all

Gestalt psychology has taught me to look at things as a whole
Edging against my eyesight, the thoughts which I rightfully abandoned attempt to break in once more
Trifling memories which are to never be recalled again claw at the locks
Seclusion from inconsistent beliefs is my course of action as I move to the future

As I write, my fingers think.
My mind listens.
My ears talk.
My mouth smells.
My skin tastes.
My eyes feel.
My heart sees.
The page I'm filling with words embraces my soul.
The only thing that never derails its proper function inside this case of imperfections, my body.
Bonded to my delusional soul, the only ink that writes for me.
And as I write the words dance to the melody of my insanity.
Creating psychotic musical notes sang only by those who suffer from my same neurosis.

And as I write, we all frolic in this enchanted world of dementia.
And this I write, tomorrow will no longer exist.
In the world others call "reality".

And as I write... my maniac self laughs at normality.

None but the marked
shall rise in the dark.
Hell-bent;
the earth, shall they raze.
They took up the oath
to ever-revoke
mortality for immortal praise.

Lifeless, and hopeless;
a thirst so atrocious;
an eternal,
unquenchable lust.
In death, shall they grow;
to blood, they're betrothed.
Their hunger derails their disgust.

Sink teeth into skin;
to the flesh that's within;
bleed dry
the carcassed wellspring.
This world, once so grand,
'twas undone by their hand;
dereliction, their only decree.

The shade of the night
brings naught but delight
for those
who burn in the ray.
From out of the grave
spawn the crimson depraved,
feasting 'pon the walkers of day.

*When sunlight strikes west, 'til dawn, do we pray
against these abhorrent butchers called "They."

I lay here feeling warm and a bit sickly
Bringing myself back to where I belong
In front of a piece of digital papyrus and my fingers caressing the keys
And creating life in forms of fiction and nonfictional word play
Writing of things I’ve seen, things I’ve done
People I know people who have touched my life in one way or another
Persons who have decided to leave my life
Ah let them go to live their own
All is well
And I have learned that now
I say good bye to the one who made me experience love for the first time
I say good bye to the one who makes callous remarks to ones he held dear
I say goodbye to the one who acted as superior as they wished they were
I say goodbye to the new born youth and wish them luck and my the spirit of life carry you
I say good bye to the one whose time I wasted and to them I give an apology as deep as my insecurities for I wish I was stronger to confront them when you were around but at least now you know what makes you happy
I say hello to the one who is in the pit of despair as I was but only 2 years ago
I say hello to the one who is in a moral quandary not unlike mine all those summers ago
And I say hello to the one next door whose footsteps remain to be right behind mine, my dear friend I love you and I shall help you, all of you for you would and have done the same for me
And I fall to my knees and bow my head onto the gritty ground in praise of the radiant beauty of the soul that has picked me up and taken me to what seems to be the realm of relief
Words cannot express the thanks and worship I have for you
I say good morning to the one who brings out the human in me
I make lunch for the one who feeds my heart with love so pure and true
I will take you where ever you want; you want to be with me
That’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard
No wait that is your voice so sweet and honest it’s like the blast from the shiny brass trumpet in a jazz jam
Oh, my life has been renewed
My life has changed
Yet again but it has never stopped
Nor shall I
I will continue to grow and learn and unavoidably get hurt along the way
I had what I thought was the most important thing in the universe taken away and completely and utterly destroyed
I lost my faith, faith in it, faith in myself, and faith in others
Until I saw that nothing had changed I was just facing the wrong way and not listening to my inner self
I am now back on the right track and I will fight to make sure nothing derails me

I chase the waves and ride the current
but my feet are stuck in the sand
as I stand on the shore
the tide turns around my core
sinking my ankles under more

The water crawls up to my knees
Leaving scratches from the shells beneath it's fingernails
it ties them together with ease
I sway forward and my body derails
I no longer breathe the breeze.

the scale derails
im walking on egg shells
it might as well be nails

I am so distant from you all
Im alone in the halls
I cant be a normal girl.

So carefree-
gossip, makeup and the malls.
Thats not me

alone.
I was.
I am.

But Not Forever.

He spoke of God
In a lucid  whisper,
Probing questions rolling
Off his manic tongue
Like the crunching wheels of a train
Well-rehearsed in the verses
Of the Good Book,
And the third rail...

Having failed shock therapy
And the system,
He rambles in public spaces,
Eyes glazed by the passionate brush
Of a missionary
Who missed his calling...

By a manic mile...

As he smiles
On the corner of Bliss
And Insanity...

Switching seamlessly
From:
Probing preacher
To:
Choir teacher
To:
Sister Hillary...

The hand-waving,
Foot-stomping sister Hillary
From a baptist chapel near you...

Watch this,
Dear commuters,
On the 5 to 9 patrol...

This train runs Express
From Hopeville to Reality,
Local to Utopia,
And derails at Bellevue...

This probing preacher/
*** choir teacher/
*** foot-stomping sister,
Rambling on the corner of Bliss
And Insanity...

Could be you!

~ Pablo
(#TheThirdRail)
2/22/2014

If your plan's to love me then that plan's wrongly scheduled
If your plan's to love me better speak before I'm taken
Before my faith in romance is shaken and my soul too is broken
Come while I'm still outspoken, & the door to my heart's open
when I'm too honest to lie and still running on inflammable emotion
with strength to sail the ocean, when my boat's masts aren't rotten
and my love hasn't found her way into my corrupted doubtful mind
If your plan's to love me, say it while I still want to find
you so much that I believe love's blind
come and tell me while I can still really believe
before hope and trust ultimately take their leave
right now when I still find pleasure in emotional explorations and risks
speak before poachers cut my tusk
money's bound to be a curse that instills in me doubt
Tell me while I'm still caught hustling and running about
and in need of a compass to give me direction
when I haven't learnt to control my unrequited *******
the long journey to my mind
If you're planning to love me
Come while I still want to find
so much that I believe love's blind
come and tell me while I can still believe
before hope and trust take their leave,
lest poachers cut my tusks, beautiful tusks of optimism
Tell me before I'm coated by gorgeous pessimism
Don't wait till I'm too addicted to frigid ice of my desolation
to launch your frontal aggression
Put your plan to action whilst my mind's weak and heart's strong
before I find a place in this lonesome emptiness to belong
say it when I still can wholeheartedly host someone in my arms
before I'm totally cold and can no longer cuckold
Tell me before my train of thought derails and bee of despair hums
Don't keep me waiting any longer for patience is a weight
after all I think I've had the longest wait...
Speak, you might live to appreciate the single moment of courage
for something precious out of that moment you salvage...

As I trigger my mind with absence
A sense of void derails me with bitter taste
Vacuous face manifest my eyes
As hollow is the world weighing lightly
On my shoulders
Feelings of pleasure
Is just null
Am I so empty
To walk the world alone

Forgotten in the lust of the moment
His memories dissipate in the warmth of her movements
Her swaying curves encompass his mind
And her heated breaths eradicate his conscience

Her whispers illustrate his inner thoughts as she bares her skin
While his hands ambitiously caress her natural self
Recalling betrayal, his grip on her vices tightly for an instant in time
As she sensually digs her lips and teeth into his neck

The lights dance with feverish passion in their ambivalent escapade
As his memories ignite into a collective blaze of clouded lies
Her voice breaks the atmosphere with a powered summoning of excitement
While the bladed steel in his back pocket speaks to him briefly

Frozen like ice, the edged iron derails his controlled contemplation
Heated like flame, her crimson lips reassuringly invite his aged soul into her dimension of hellfire
Confliction between two halves disperse the balance within his plane of existence
Differing feelings unable to become one

Failure to merge two views of life
Alongside inability to accept separation of what was once whole
Leads to an amalgam of bewilderment and hatred deep inside the darkest corners of deception
The triggered fuse detonates inappropriately with his free hand now attached to the hilt of silver

Shadowed recollections of the others' tears invoke his fury with every stab
Purest inhibitions of hidden urges shatter sustained reality with every slice
Broken trust of ill-fated bonds reverse his mentality with every gush of blood
Tainted sight of misperceived intentions annihilate his reasoning with every anguished scream of her voice

Collapsed, her distorted body lay lifeless and unrecognizable on the carpet floor of the room
Scarlet liquid of distilled life now dripping menacingly from the edges of his manifested insanity
Hazy emotions interrupt his logic as he stumbles away from the scene he attempted to avoid
While erroneously dropping the reddened murderer to the floor with a crash

Wringing my hands
Whistling to no tune in particular
Wrestling my ego

And I’m losing
Badly
It ***** me up
Every single time
I’m onto something
Something legit
It gets in the way
Bosses me around
Screws me over and over again
Whispers nonsense in my ear
Derails my flawless plans
Turns people away from me
Makes me despicable

But if it taught me anything
Anything at all
Is that you should always keep going
Always
No matter the odds

So here I am
Still wrestling
Won't give up

Your fear
Shaking me
To my core
It derails me
I'm afraid
Not that
You want
To leave
But due to
Anxiety you
And I
Will part
For my frail
Heart cannot
Bare
To be away from you
You are
The support
I've always needed
And I'll fight
Always for you.

It’s all ******* bits and pieces this existence of ours while we ride this ever spinning crazy world we inhabit, that’s just the thing, even if we are complete ******* it just keeps on rolling through the cosmic plane, the penny you left on the train tracks derails the railcar full of medical supplies for sick dyeing orphans, you wipe your genitalia on the boss’s keyboard knowing that in time his face will smell like *****, unloading your loneliness with displacement on the little blue hair taking too long to count change at the grocery check out.

It  doesn’t matter, none of it ever matters, the world’s not going to stop, not even going to slow and pause for breath, and nobody cares about your problems. But sometimes you find someone, someone so incredible special, someone who seems to understand, someone who really gets you, and for a little while its better, we can lie there in the dark and promise never to leave each other, we have someone to hold onto, someone who proves we exist, at least for a little while anyway.

It’s how you interconnect these bits and pieces, these singular moments into the mosaic of your reality.

Don't you hate it when your train of thought is moving consistently and then something derails it?
Another idea or just a random thought pops into your head and displaces
Your concentration, this happens all too often now
With technology improving attention span goes down

and the more it goes down
the less kids play outside
and the less homework gets done

So as the sun sets all I can say is
Distractions are constant but attention you can afford to pay

you just gotta learn what you're paying to
and if the cause is really worth it because
the time you got on this here planet
is all you've got

As the train of life sped through,
The rails,
It clinked and clanked,
Up and down went it's head and tail

Before it realized,
This was all just a game,
The path is all that stays,
So now

Pump in, burn all the coal,
That runs your core, your soul,
Keep weight balance in check,
Your thoughts,
Or the train derails,
Not the ideal plot

If there is now rail ahead,
Its time to change your track,
Your path,
Move on to a different journey,
Or the train derails, and you wake up on a bed, or get rubbed on your back, as you cry
And Life begins again, a new path :)

Upset for being thwarted
by the silence that echoed in the living room
when they read the fruits of his planned poem
that sleeps and let its verses rest.

From the blue and starry sky to the blackness of closed windows,
I dreamt of seeing a dark world, full of painted stars;
I dreamt of seeing human people and the moon man
walking, bringing hope to my naked face.

I have never been Shakespeare or Rimbaud, I'm not Poe and won't be Neruda.
I'll be myself and nothing much, for being this way,
because every word I speak or write will be deaf
and will hardly vary as time goes by for me.

And the music that sounds, sweats from my depths,
and the chords, the steps they dance,
the happy faces, scattered people, strangers,
don't get lost, never get tired.

I'm the variant poet, the oscillating poet...
I'm like a bird that glides in its imagination,
I'm the accompanied poet, lost in loneliness,
I'm a full train that derails.

On this side, the future - on the other, ancient mansions.
On that, decassyllable ladies, machines and sparse letters
suspended, watching old lanterns and scarse memories
from this youth, myself and I in my lying emotions.