Pupils dilate
Heart palpitates
As my skin grazes yours
Stomach flutters
With every word you utter
As you come walking through my door
Intentions pure
Both of us floored
Your eyes sincere
With a body so revered
Thoughts so adulterated
Lustful and Saturated
Lips quivering
Goosebumps shivering
As I meticulously trace the lines
Of your collar bone, so divine
Devotion to this desire
Impatient indulgence feeding the fire
Framework consumed
By the pull of the moon
Madly muttering
High pitched stuttering
Hymns of fervor
Neighbors confuse with ****** ******
Raising my hand to your mouth
As I progress further down south
Learning your secrets
You tell me no lies
Never want to leave this
Echo of space and time
Pouring every ounce of my soul
Into watching you unfold
Blossoming effortlessly
Before my very eyes
I become hypnotized
Synchronized
Intoxicated by your scent
Following through with every intent
Injecting your body with no need to repent
Yielding to my advances
Here’s to second chances
This is our moment
So we might as well own it
Bet the bank on each other
Discovering my soulmate
My best friend
My lover

Anxiety.
The evil twin of an adrenaline rush.
Heart starts pounding, forehead, palms are sweating.
Pupils dilate and then begins the nervous twitching, the restless attempts at sleep.
Staring at a digital clock. Is it morning yet? No. It’s 2am.
And all I can think about is what I should of said differently.
Maybe a minute sooner. Or a minute later?
I can stand at the pulpit of “Just relax, Don’t stress, Don’t worry about it” all night and day, but I couldn’t possibly practice what I’m preaching.
I continue resisting, but my efforts are worthless I feel.
Cursed, will I bear this disease always?
An invisible cancer, no can see it, but my heart is burdened
Heart break, heart ache.
The fear of no equilibrium, and now my fear is reality.
My chest now has been torn into and the contents have been burned.
My mind rushes to help, but logic is defeated by the guessing and the unknown.
Am I mad? Am I alone?
Please. save. me.

Every word is not
expressed in a precise way,
learn to navigate to each
verse and comprehend.

Poetry is not a roller coaster,
dilate your heart and you'll feel,
each sentiment is not just written
but hidden in mystery.

I walked through my forest, stepping over humongous tree roots, green covered veins pumping life to the heart of my peace. I was familiar with this place. Towering trees, trunks thicker than cars shooting into the skies, although those contraptions were not known to this unsullied place. I stared in wonder at the extraordinary beauty as I did every time I came here. It was quiet, still, a place of undisturbed silence. It beckoned me to it. This was my forest.

I navigated my way through the dense woods, my foot becoming caught in a root, causing me to fall. My skull felt broken, as if pieces of it were missing. I put my hand on my forehead, something wet covering it. I put my palm out in front of me, regaining focus of my vision. Blood. The sudden realization of what happened hitting me harder than my fall. I had never been hurt here before.

I felt my pupils dilate, my body beginning to shake, with one enormous release of air I let out a scream that rocked the frame of my body….as I thought. I looked around confusedly, breathing in again and attempting to let the air out with a high pitched shriek. Silence.

I thought back to all the times I came here. I had never spoken because there was no one to talk to. My footsteps never made a sound. My joyful cooing over the supposed beauty of the forest never traveled past my lips. Even when I fell there was no thud. No sound despite the loud shattering of my heart. Suddenly, this was no longer my forest.

The enormity of the trees were suddenly overwhelming, the crisp air suffocating, and the piercing silence deafening. This forest was unusual, there was no wildlife. No birds chirping or squirrels jumping from tree to tree to disrupt the quiet. No breeze rushed through the unbreathing lungs of the dead wilderness. No brush covered the sun starved ground. Not one leaf ever fell from the plentiful amount of trees that went on seemingly forever. Roots stretched across the forest floor like hideous snakes.

Everything I once found beautiful about this place is now twisted and ugly. This was my forest, a place of peace. A place I could go to forget. Or was it ever that? Was I just tricking myself into believing that this place I could not escape was everything I ever wanted. As if I had a choice of coming back. As if I ever left.

I know now what this place is. There is no hope, there is no beauty. I can no longer pretend that what I see is anything but grotesque. I lay on the ground and watch as flames appear, the reflection of fire in my eyes, devouring everything that once was and ever will be of my forest.

I don’t know how long it was before I realized that I could finally feel the warmth of the sun on my skin. How long I laid in the ashes of my sorrow before I realized that there wasn’t just a nothing after my forest was gone. Before I realized that I was staring into the sky, not a black hole.

I felt sensations I had never felt before. No, I had a long time ago before my forest had ever grown here. Slowly I sat up, surprised to find that my body no longer ached. Blood no longer coated my forehead. All that was left of my forest was ash. My forest was gone.

Then I saw it, pink petals spread as if waiting to receive something long overdue. A splash of color amongst the charred blacks and greys of my past. I stared in wonder at the extraordinary beauty. A breeze rushed through the reviving lungs of my hopeful perseverance, carrying the ashes of my denial away.

A vibrant green covered the ground, roots no longer hindering it from spreading throughout the area. Getting up and walking to the flower only to be cast onto my knees once again. How undeserving I was. I stared at it, doing something I had never done looking at my forest. I smiled. This was my flower.

lost in the forest
i've misplaced my mind
gone for so long
i can't figure out the time
my eyeballs dilate,
the mind becomes twisted
i'm living in hell
at least i'm consistent

You take a seat next to me, and I brush up against your smooth, porcelain skin.
My pupils dilate, the anticipation of your attention captivates my soul.
You say nothing, but your cerulean eyes scold me for my past sins.

Your holier-than-thou ego clashes with my happy-go-lucky mood,
My spirit whimpers and suffocates once again,
My newly repaired heart becomes unglued.

After being forsaken by your eyes, my gaze fixes on your chaste lips.
The daily struggle persists, I fight the urge to kiss the immaculate pink flesh.
For the only thing I shall ever receive from that part of your perfect body are relentless quips.

Like a hopeless, abandoned child, I follow your every move
Yearning to be your untainted doll, like a puppet on a string,
Falling all over myself, feigning euphoria, desperately hoping you approve.

You are the inclement wind, I am the decrepit, shredded leaf.
You shove me along, disregarding my waning will, placing me wherever you want.
You do this merrily,  without thought, shame, or grief.

You concoct schemes, working tirelessly, reminding me that I am far too easy to replace
When you become weary of me, you toss me aside, allowing the demons in my head to besiege me.
I am isolated, petrified, and after the devil has his way, my emotions vanish without a trace.

Yet, I will linger, waiting for you, everyday, until I grow old and die.
My soul lusts for the times when you will love me once again.
I covet the days when your amorous words and merciful, cerulean eyes made me feel so high.

Slouched atop the bookshelf resting his fluffy head
against much loved Rudyard Kipling's finest.
He watched the day to day stories of King Anthony
'The child ruler of the world' and his beloved younger sister Anya.

Avoiding arguments downstairs in the dying segments of daylight,
the boy's reassurance to Anya showcased rare moments of humanity
not seen by Little Weissel's beaded eyes since occupied Holland.
Amongst his stuffing was still memories of his first best friend,
in which many a day was spent quietly hiding away,
listening to the sound of boots roaming around the house.

King Anthony reached his hand out in full view of the aged bear's face
and plucked him from his perch.
As warm as the bear felt to him, he felt to this plush relic, whose eyes
would dilate in the melt of such moment if only they could.
From his arms passing down to her trembling ones;
she was looking for solace in the wake of mother and father's quaking
voices in the kitchen.

For Little Weissel it seemed like 'what was old is new again'
and now after spells after neglect he was experiencing a second
lease of life.
As the war downstairs fizzled out into quiet evening, King Anthony and Anya were locked together, both tenants of sleep with
Little Weissel just as lovingly clung to as the first moment he'd been clutched.

Maybe in the new harsh terrain, the scabby mass of the little bear
could once again feel the need to be needed as any good plaything deserves to be.

I’ve heard that pupils
dilate when looking at
something you love.

After 116 days you
called and I didn’t
want to talk but
you insisted so
I interrupted and
asked what color
my eyes are.

I even told you I wish
I had my mother’s green
eyes envious of my sister
for getting to wear them,
and that on a lucky day a bit of
shamrock can be found in
the muck of my eyes.

After that I’d widen my eyes,
and ask what color they were
that day. You’d always say
green, telling me exactly what
I wanted to hear.

I could never forget
the icebergs you call eyes
because they never did
change in size.
So a week later
I called and told you
exactly what you didn’t
want to hear.

And I no longer mark
days lucky or unlucky
based on what I see
others seeing in me.

Friendly herbs we light on fire
Breathe it in with our desire
To fulfill our every wish
Take one more hit
Your mind gets higher

Like the smoke as it keeps rising
In the air and unsurprisingly
It starts to disappear
Take one more hit
Nothing to fear

For all your friends stand right beside you
Every word they say confides your every thought
And now you’re mindless
Take one more hit
You’re filled with kindness

Everything just makes you happy
No explaining but your laughing
All the time for little things
You pop this pill
You want to sing

You own the world with every step
You feel alive with every breathe
Your body’s light you feel no stress
Take one more hit
You’re like a jet

The sky the clouds are moving fast
You think of now and not the past
You hope this feeling continues to last
So you take one more hit
And now you cast

Cast away from all your worries
They say one thing you’re in a hurry
To do it all that which you please
Take one more hit
It’s all a tease

Now you’re back to everyday
You wish it never went away
You try to eat, but it tastes plain
Take one more hit
It helps some way

What’s this? Again, another pill?
You take it in moments at your will
You anxiously wait, you get the chills
Take one more hit
You feel the thrill

Your body shakes you can’t stand still
You’ll talk for hours right until
Your tangent minds forgets to think
Take one more hit
Your eyes don’t blink

The light’s they trail from here to there
The colors combine and stick to the air
Your eyes roll back but you fight to stare
Take one more hit
Your nostrils flare

Then tomorrow comes you try to eat
But something’s wrong you body’s weak
Your head just throbs in so much pain
Take one more hit
You feel more sane

It soothes your brain, relaxes your mind
And you sit there and wonder how people are blind
To the good things it brings, it just grows from the ground
So you take one more hit
And start looking around

Your eyes are blood shot and you stare at one thing
You’re so high to the point you don’t hear your phone ring
When your friend shows up, you have one more stop
He says stick out your tongue
You feel two little drops

Now all of the lights are reflecting your skin
You can feel them vibrating from within
With inside your mind, within your soul
Take one more hit
Now you’re thoughts take a stroll

Your cheeks they hurt from a permanent smile
And your eyes will be huge for more than a while
You get up and leave cause your walls start to breathe
So you take one more hit
What should you believe?

You try to look up at the sky
But then the stars fall in your eyes
They dilate straight into your mind
Take one more hit
Time passes by

So many things are left to do
Countless knowledge you never knew
You have the world for your dreams to pursue
So you take one more hit
But then who are you?

Nothing's how it was before
You’re on your knees, you grab the floor
“This world is ****, can’t take no more!”
Your mind is lost what is this for?

Your precious life it makes no sense
You wonder if it’s all pretense
So many thoughts it’s too intense
Take one more hit
Now your aura’s immense

You feel your body levitate
You think and now appreciate
The little things that we create
Take one more hit
Now you start to debate

So you lay your body on the floor
And you close your eyes to see no more
But behind your lids are colors and shapes
You take one more hit
Still there’s no escape

You open your eyes and what do you see?
A road to a world in which you can lead
A new life, a new purpose without all this ****
Now you know what to do
So you take one last hit
As you walk down that road and say

“My knowledge is me, and my life’s what I do with it”

Book One


Prelude:

As Romans before them, they built the city upward—
layer ‘pon layer as the polar caps receded
layer by layer—preserving what they could, if someday
the waters may recede back into the former polar
ice caps; restoring the long inundated coastlines.


Home:

A man sat upon a tall pub stool stroking
his ginger beard while grasping a pint loosely
in his other hand. An elderly gent stood
next to him. The older gentleman noticed
that the ginger bearded man’s pint sat almost
quite near the bottom of its tulip glass.

A woman with eyes of amber and hair
as chestnut strolled through a vineyard amongst
the ripening grapes full of juice to soon
become wine. She clutched a notebook—behind (10)
thick black covers lay ideas and sketches
to bring the world to a more natural
state—balancing the wonders and the merits
of technology apace with the allure ‘n’
sanctity borne to the natural world.

When the ginger bearded man finished the
final drops of his stout, another appeared
heretofore him—courtesy owed to the elder
gentleman. “Notice dat ye got d’ mark
o’ a man accustom amid the seas,” (20)
he inferred; gesturing the black and blue
compass rose inscribed inside a ship’s wheel,
imbedded into the back of the ginger
bearded man’s weathered right hand.
                 “I have crewed
and skippered a many fine vessel, but I
am renouncing my life at sea—one final
voyage I have left inside of me:
one single terminal Irish-Atlantic
voyage t’ward home.” (30)
“Aye d’ sea can beh cold
‘nd harsh, but she enchants me heart. Ta where
are ye headed fer d’ place ye call home,
d’ere sonny boy?”
     “’tis not simply a where,
‘tis a who. Certain events have led me
to be separate from my wife. For five
eternal years I have been traveling—
waiting to be in her embrace. The force
of the Sea, she, is a cruel one. For (40)
it seams: at every tack or gybe the farther
off I am thrown from my homeward direction
to stranger and stranger lands… I have gone
to the graveyard of hell and the pearly gates
of (the so called) heaven; I have engaged
in foolhardy deals—made bets only a
gambling addict would place. All to just be
with Zara. I am homesick—Zara is my
home—it doesn’t matter where (physically)
we are located, my home is with Zara. I (50)
was advised to draw nigh the clove of Cork
and wait; wait for a man, but I was barely
given a clue as to who this man is,
only I must return him this:” the ginger
bearded man held out a dull silver pocket watch
with a frigate cut into the front cover
and two roses sharing a single stem
swirling upon themselves cut into
the back.
   “Can it be? ‘Tis meh watch dat meh (60)
fat’er gave t’ meh right before he died…
I lost it at sea many a year ago.
It left meh heartbroken—fer it was meh only
lasting mem’ry of him… Come to t’ink I
was told by a beggar in the street—I
do not remember how long ago—dat
I would happen across a man wit’ somet’ing
dear t’ meh, and I’d accomp’ny dis man
on a journey, and dis man would have upon
‘im d’ mark of a true sailor…” (70)
    “Dear elder man,
my name is Abraham; the mark you see
represents the control that I have on my
direction—thought it appears the Sea retains
some ascendancy… Yet now, it appears,
the Sea is upholding her bargain—though
a bit late... Do you, by chance, own a vessel
that can fair to Colorado?—all across
this mist’d island no skipper ‘ll uptake
my plea; they fear the sharp wrath of the Sea (80)
or (if they have no fear) simply claim my home
‘is not on their routes…’ i’tis a line I’ve
heard too often. I would’ve purchased a vessel,
but the Sea, she, has deprived me completely
of my identity and equity.”

Zara, with her rich chestnut hair sat upon
a fountain in a piazza—her half empty
heart longing to savor the hallow presence
of Abraham, and stroke his ginger beard…
Everyday she would look out at the sea (90)
whence he left…
     All encouraged her to: “forgo
further pursuit”; “he is likely deceased
by now”—his vessel (what left) scuttled amidst
the rocks of Cape Horn, yet Zara could feel
deep-seated inside her soul he is alive;
Alive (somewhere) fighting to return home.
Never would Zara leave; never would she
abandon post; she made that promise five
years ago as Abraham, ‘n’ his crew,
set out on their final voyage; and she (100)
would be ****** ere she broke her promise—a promise
of the heart—a promise of love. Abraham
said: “You are my lighthouse; your love, it, will guide
me home—keep me from danger—as long as you
remain my lighthouse, I’ll forever be
set to return home—return home to you.”

Out from Crosshaven did the old man take
steadfast Abraham en route to his home.
Grey Irish skies turned blue as they made their
way out on the Irish Sea, southwest, toward (110)
the southern end of the Appalachian Island.
The gentle biting spray of the waves breaking
over the bow and beam moistened the ginger
bearded face of Abraham; his tattooed
hands grasped the helm—his resolute stare kept him
and the old man acutely on course.
A shame,
it struck the old man, this would be the final
voyage of Abraham… he: the best crew
that the old man had ever came across; (120)
uncertain if simply the character
of Abraham or his pers’nal desire
to return home in the wake of five long
salty-cold years—a vassal to the Sea
and her changing whim. Never had the old
man seen his ship sail as fast as he did when
Abraham accorded its deck—each sail
set without flaw: easing and trimming sheets
fractions of an inch—purely to obtain
the slightest gain in speed; the display warmed (130)
the heart of the old man.
        And thus the elder
gent mused as he lightly puffed on his pipe
while sitting on the stern pulpit regarding
at Abraham’s passion to return home
(as he calls her):—maybe dis is d’ reason
d’ Sea has fought so hard, and lied, t’ keep
Abraham from returning home… Could not
bear t’ lose such fine a sailor from her
expanses—she is known t’ be quite a jealous (140)
mistress…
      But for all Abraham’s will and passion,
the old man insisted for the fellow
to rest; otherwise lack of sleep would cause
the REM fiddler to reap his debt—replace
clarity of mind with opacity.
Reluctantly stalwart Abraham gave
in and retire below deck—yet the old
man doubted the amount of rest that he
acquired in those moments out of his sight. (150)

For the days, then weeks, in the wake of their
departure from the port-island Crosshaven,
the seas were calm as open water can:
gentle azure rolling swells oscillated
and helped impel the vessel forward. The southern
craggy cape of the Appalachian
Island pierced the horizon. Like a threshold
it stood for Abraham—a major landmark;
the closest to home he had been in five
salty long years—his limbo was beginning                               (160)
to fade, his heart slowly—for the first time since
he left port in eastern Colorado—
started to feel replete again. The Great
Plains Sea—his final sea—he would not miss
the gleam of his lighthouse stalwart on shore.




Book Two

Oracle:**

Upon a beach, Abraham found himself alone—gasping
in gulps of moist air like that of a new born baby first (10)
experiencing the breathe of life; he felt as if he
would never become dry again… the salt burning his skin
as it crusted over when the water evap’rated
into the air; Abraham took the first night to rest, the
next day he set to make shelter and wait for a rescue
crew; out he stared at the crashing waves hoping for a plane
or faint form of a ship upon the horizon…days and
nights spun into an alternating display of day then
night: light then dark—light, dark, light, dark, grey, grey, grey…

Abraham (20)
gave up marking the days—realized the searches are done—
given up after looking in the wrong places (even
he did not know where he was…) the cold waves and currents took
him to a safe shore away from his ship and crew, in a
limp unconscious float…
From the trees, and what he could find on
the small  island, Abraham occupied himself with the
task of building a catamaran to rid himself of
the grey-waiting.
Out he cast his meager vessel into (30)
the battering surf; waves broke over his bows and centre
platform—each foot forward, the waves threatened to push him back
twofold… Abraham struck-beat the water with the oars he
fashioned; rising and falling with the energy of the
waves; Abraham stole brief looks back with hopes of a van’shing
shoreline—coast refused to vanish… his drenched arms grew tired;
yet he pushed on knowing he would soon be out passed the
breaking waves; then could relax and hoist sail; yet the waves grew
taller—broke with greater power… Abraham struck-beat the
water with his oars—anger welled—leading to splashes of (40)
ivory sea-froth instead of the desired progress
forward; eventually, his arms fell limp beyond the
force of will… waves tumbled him back to shore as he did the
first night upon the island…
Dejected Abraham lay
in the surf that night—the gentle ebb of the sea added
to insult, but hid the tears formed in the corner of his eyes—
salt water to salt water… the next day Abraham took
inventory of damage: the mast snapped in multiple
places, the rudders askew—the hulls and centre structure (50)
remained intact; the oars lost (or at least Abraham cared
not to search); over the next weeks he set to improve
the design and efficiency of his vessel—the first
had been hurried and that of a man desperate to leave;
the bare minimum that would suffice—he set to create
a vessel to ensure his departure from the des’late
accrue of sand and vegetation; Abraham laboured
to strengthen his body—pushing his arms further passed the
point his mind believed they could go—consuming the hearty,
protein-rich, mollusks, and small shellfish he could find inside (60)
tide pools or shallows—if lucky, larger fish that dared the
nearby reefs.
Patiently, Abraham observed the tides and
breaking water; he wanted to determine the correct
time to set off to ensure success—when the waves would not
toss him back to the beach; the day: a calm clear day—only
within few metres of soft beach did there exist any
breaking waves, and those that broke were barely a metre high;
loading provisions upon the vessel, Abraham bid
farewell to the island (out of wont for the sustenance (70)
it gave not for nostalgia) grasping his oars, he set forth
to find open sea—where the waves do not break and set you
gingerly on foreign shore(s); Abraham paddled passed the
first few breaking waves, his heart pounding with hope—he stifled
the thoughts (celebrate when the island is but a subtle
blue curve upon the horizon); as the island began
to shrink in his vision, the sky to his back grew darker…
the waves started to swell—moguls grew to hills—Abraham
stroked up and rode down; the cursèd Island refused to shrink…
if not begin to grow wider… stroke by stroke Abraham (80)
grew frustrated—stroke by stroke frustration advanced into
anger—stroke by stroke anger augmented into fiery
beating of the water!—Abraham struck and struck at the
Sea—eyes closed—white knuckles—trashing!—unsure which direction
he paddled…sky pitch-black, wind blowing on-shore Abraham
bellowed out to the Sea in inarticulate roars of:
hatefrustrationpitydesperationheartache!
Towards
Abraham’s in-linguistic roar, the sky let out a crack
of authority! a wave swept the flailing Abraham (90)
into the ocean—cool water only heated the rage
in Abraham’s mind—his half empty heart only wanted:
to sail home, become whole  again—sit under and olive
tree and stroke the chestnut hair of Zara as she drifted
off to sleep on his chest while he would whisper sweet verses
into her ear… Abraham’s rage, beyond reason, forgot
the boat and all clarity, he tried to swim away from
the cursèd island—scrambling up waves only to tumble
back with their breaking peaks—salt, the only taste in his mouth;
churning his stomach to *****; his kidney’s praying he (100)
would  not swallow anymore… his gasps stifled any curse
Abraham’s head wished to expel onto the Sea—yet she
swore she heard one final curse escape his lips! at that the
Sea tossed Abraham (head first) into his ghost-helmed vessel—
all went dark for hostile Abraham…

Contemplating back
at his rage—knowing the barbarian it makes of him,
Abraham peered into the band inscribed into his
ring-finger and saw the knot tying him to Zara—shame
at his arrogant-uncontrolled-fury sent Abraham (110)
into a meditative exile inside of his mind
(within the exile of the island…) in his mental
exile Abraham spun into deeper despair at his
two failures—even more at the prospect of failing the
vow he professed onto Zara: return home—home from this
final voyage, grow old with her on solid ground, never
to die apart and cause the pain of losing a loved one
without the closure of truly knowing the death is real,
to die by her side white, white with the purity of age…
Abraham’s destitution turned inward—his fury, the (120)
lack of control, the demon he becomes when rage surges
through his muscles; equiping him with untamed strength without
direction or self-possession—so much potential, yet
no productive way to use it… Abraham’s half-full-heart
burned, ached with passion and anguish—all desire
focused on home, his return, but the mind’s despondency
and insistent ‘what-ifs’ kept poor Abraham prostrate in
his mental cave—all his wishing for anger and vi’lence
to force his will, it did more to retain him upon the
cursèd island than bring his heart closer to fulfillment: (130)
his long awaited home…
Out of his mental exile did
Abraham’s irises dilate and contract with blinding
illumination—self-pity is not what make things happen—
it would only serve to anger Zara—nothing other
than I can be to blame for my continued absence; I
am stronger than that!—looking at the tattoo in his hand,
he remembered the reasons for the perennial brand—
the eight-spoke ship’s helm: the eight-fold-path—I must cut off my
desire for anger to be the solution and focus (140)
on the one path to Zara—the mind can push the body
further than the body believes is possible—the star:
the compass to guide me via celestial bodies
to where my heart can see the guiding beam of my lighthouse!

And I
want you to realize
what your lashes hide away.

And I
want to be behind those eyes
when you look at me that way.

And I
feel my irises dilate, and my glance falls astray
from those orbs that mesmerize and catastrophize
my love struck brain,

And I
Just wonder, as my heartbeat flies...
As my gaze takes in the flush of your cheeks... (as I flush mine)
Though that gaze won't dare rise
to those laughing stars on your face.
I wonder... Tell me, since I'm suddenly shy.
Do your eyes... does your heart dilate the same?

her pupils dilate
venom drips from ruby lips
osculating eyes
entice long-awaited love
devouring humanity

I don't like to tell stories. I like to tell people. Personally, I believe anyone can tell a story - be it a good or a bad one. Stories are simple. What makes a story alive, however, are the people in it: they make it come alive, they make it pulsate, and breathe, they become the story itself, with its bumps, with its ups and downs, its hills and mountains and oceans. Its veins, its lungs, its heart, its brain. Even the most simplistic, uncomplicated, dull story can turn into a blossoming flower, alive with the passion and hatred of the people in it. I like to tell people. The human soul, stripped to its bare backbone. The human soul violated, mutilated. The human soul in all its earnestness. I like to dissect human emotions, to trace back ambition, desire, fear, eagerness, disgust. To take all that makes us human and to carefully twist and bend it to my tastes and preferences. I do not care for the story. I care for bravery and cowardice, I care for cunningness and lust, glutony and barrenness. I care for the living, flowing blood of a story: namely, its people. You tell a crime. I tell the criminal. I tell her deepest desires, her greatest fears, I tell her insecurities, her pride, I tell the way she takes her coffee, I tell what she dreams of at night. You tell a love story. I tell the story of love itself. I tell the way a heart beats against a rib-cage, the way it flutters like a bird trapped; I tell the way palms sweat, throats dry. I tell the way dopamine and serotonine pump through the veins and make pupils dilate. I tell emotions. I tell humanity. The story matters little. The story is a shell, a mere curtain dropped before the real show has even begun. What interests me, what fascinates me, what makes my brain moan with pleasure, is the fate of the human soul, bared of all pretence. So tell your stories all you like. Tell your petty complicated mysteries and your unrequited loves. I take the soul and bare it, and eat it raw. The soul of the story itself: its people.

My birth’s eve is enigmatic
A day I shan’t relive
Tugging on my piety
As the light flooded my eyes
Both have witnessed heave and **
Finesse and outright folly
As I stumbled throughout life’s corridors
Prodding walls with eager palms
I screamed out at perceived darkness
Then fell once more unabashed
This time further than before
Through the stony grasp of destiny
Into an incubation tub
Turning anxiously to and fro
My pupils dilate once more
As I part my lids, take light in
I reach to touch, to understand
And feel a plastic wall
But I dare not wonder where I sit
For my heart is renewed innocent
I wish to stay wrapped in this cloth
Until my body is dispossessed
Deteriorating in time and space
But my soul would be perplexed

How can I reach the unreachable..
teach the unteachable who's  comprehension is unbelievable
But the fact  is unbelief is more than lack of knowledge..
Cause the truth is even Satan knows who God is..
Is it blindness...
truth on deaf ears..
the embracing of silence..
should there be surprises ..
when behind your eyelids enter a random act of violence..
A vision of darkness ..there's no light that why the pupils dilate the use of the iris..
But when use to darkness and the lights hits one close their eyelids..
I.e. Christ the truth the way the light..
Being unsaved is like living in the womb..
Darkness equivalent to that of a tomb..
Flashes of light is like labor contractions..
The unknown conviction hinting..
Considered a distraction..
Pushed out now watch the eyes reaction..
To the light cause from darkness there's a detachment..
If given a chance a adjustment happens..
An embracement of the light..
A rebirth Christ in action.
How can i reach the unreachable..teach the unteachable ..
With a script the director unknown Its more than the shout of action..
Living life like a movie unaware that the villains not acting..
Now could u imagine..
A movie set full of madness..
All the cast dead like really dead from a stabbing..
No equalizer the villain the only one left standing..
You may say excuse me..
Life is not a movie.
Truly
But a witness not performing there duty..is bystander..
No innocence exist...
No bliss in ignorance...
.Cause we all birth into sin.
So many questions with wrong answers given like the truth don't exist....
How can I reach the unreachable
teach the unteachable
who I tell to this body of Christ they should enlist
But  when a pass is given and the shot is missed..
It negates the assist..
A reason for the lost of the game..
The thought of a lost soul has me ******..
I'm the point guard I help the scorer sustain..
Chris Paul with rock which is the gospel..
Passing the truth like Paul the apostle ..
Too many people out for a win like Christ didn't settle the score...
Adam severed the relationship but Christ rebuilt the rapport...
I am trying to reach and teach but there's no trust any more...
Pointing u in the direction of excepting the Lord..,
Embrace the word of God that double edge sword..
Them cuts is conviction..
The sword swinging is What it means to be a witness..
Led by the spirit A Christian
Yes we are made in Gods image..
Trying to reach every soul because the wins and losses count..
Life is not a scrimmage..
How can one soul have a  blemish..
Only dirt that can touch the soul is the ***** hands of sinning..
How can I reach the unreachable teach the unteachable..Who mistakes knowledge for ignorance...
And reject truth because arrogance..
You know what a ferret is
What a parrot is
Animals are the next up for engagements
After the Supreme court embrace same *** marriage's
Lost Adults raising lost babies empty minds in  carriages
I listen to the Holy Spirit I'm not a heretic
But are we aware of what a heretic is
Its like a Dare teacher addicted to ******
How are you using, what you're teaching people  to be against
How can I teach a nation afraid get off the fence
Hey Christians stop with the lukewarmness,
To take flight is not when we fly out of Gods mouth as spit
How can I reach the unreachable..
Teach the unteachable
Who are led by drug abusers and systematic fads
One day you on ecstasy ..
the next day your a family man..
A tiny king  a little K a foolish dad
It seems  that this generation is curse
Its witchcraft in children's movies Brave
Deep conviction I say what I have to say
The truth hurts can't force me to behave
Gun in my face my skull may but my soul will not cave.
How can I reach the unreachable..
Teach the unteachable
Not by my power but by Gods might and grace
Daily I reach for Gods face...

As your fingers tickle my skin as they would a piano
And as my pupils dilate as they would after the unexpected flash of a camera

I surf the waves of ice as they crash against our boat
And I’m bewildered by your Oscar-worthy acting

And the way you pretend to help me navigate this boat
But in the end are just pushing holes through the hull

It’s bizarre the way you colour my cheeks
And make my eyes rain

The way you make my lips curve
And make my voice thunder

All in a matter of seconds

I wish to see the mountains
but they disagree with me
the sea it cries
its tears unseen
there are coloured winds that sparkle
and flay a million reposotic waves
who on call
dilate to a lacerating urgency
of anarchic, elliptical rebirth
supported by nothing
again and again and again
I wish to see……………………

I feel it now,
I'm beginning to levitate
It's been far too long since I've felt this feeling
I hear an electric start up noise
As I feel my pupils dilate
And when I look in the mirror
It's like staring at the dark side of the moon
I'm looking at my friends
And the blurs and extra copies of them
The traces behind their movements
And their eyes wide open,
REM while completely awake
I look at the lines in the hardwood floor
That are jumping around
In the way that piano keys do
When you run your finger all the way across them
And the Salvador Dali print on the wall and I
Are practically having ****** relations
And Einstein looks on from the wall with his questioning gaze
And I stare back in wonder, but I think he and I
Had a mutual understanding of each other
and everything around us
Like we were laughing at a joke that nobody else was in on.
I'm playing with the fingers of the couch design
That peel up and wave
And reach up to touch the ceiling
Because it's moving like waves do
Smoke moves in front of the light
And I laugh when it turns green
Then disappears
I feel all the notes around me
Floating from the TV that's playing Pink Floyd's "The Wall"
And when that hammer comes down, in reality,
It came down on my brain
And it splattered everywhere on the walls
in an aquatic watercolor mural
Because I was imagining myself riding a dolphin
My jaw won't stop clenching, but that's okay
I'm watching the trees outside perform ballet
And the grass roll in waves...
This is the best night of my life

Oxygen has this way to let us live and let us die
Generous enough to give us our first breathe
But cruel enough to give it to another
Who in time will cause nothing but harm.

Combining with the pollution that surrounds the gases
It breaks us down into opinions that are neither right nor wrong
We battle each other while we ignore its silent laughter
Tearing at each others throats as if to break the windpipe

Sirens wail over hills touching even the lands covered in shadows
While cruel beasts stay dependent on the invisible
The sound waves soar between signs upon the motorways
While the taste on your tongue torments the oxygen that it swallows

Going, leaving, left, the pupils dilate to such a degree
That they nearly reach the size of its lids
We see it as a mother, a nurturer, a monster
And the world has given it the ticket to our lives.

I find it harder and harder to wake up  in the morning not because im lazy or I dont want to go to school. Its solely because im tired; tired of opening my eyes and realizing that Im still here  that i havent been granted my single wish from that one person we call "god". That i have to live through another day in the dark abyuss you call home. I never wanted this life, to be this *******- montser my own mother hides away in her closet, I long for the day i can be happy.  Where i can feel love for the first time. I dont belong here. You see the other day while you all slept, I stayed awake. Its nothing unusal on my part. I live in the dark, sad and alone. Its where ive always been, all ive ever known. That night, this darkness was deeper than before as i sat on my bed and cried my nightly tears I stared into the darkness, looking for my hands Until i rasied them and the tiny sliver of light from my window reflected off my old trusted friend. The cold rusted piece of metal felt right in my hands. It gave me this happiness ill never understand. I shine the glare on my upper leg the lines of dispointment and shame show- themselfs as i read through them; Oh the story they tell.  I know what they all mean I remember every scar and why they lay upon my skin, its a sad story they hold. This one right here the crooked small one Thats the one that started it all. Or this one The wide long dark one twords the end The day i found out i was nothing more than a usless bag of roting flesh to her, that i'll be alone forever.  Thats the one ill never forget Because even to this day I rememeber her sweet soft voice yell at me in the middle of the lunch line to leave her alone. As much as i dont want to remember, no amount of alcohol can fill in the gap she left open Each and every line i read gets me into this rage i cant control Wanting to blame everyone for my problems but i know i caused them myself. I squeze that thin sheet of happiness in my fist and i feel this pain race up my arm  When i let go, my palm is full of this beautiful liquid that remind me im still human. To you it might not seem like much  But to those who understand that unwriten languge you read in the blood "If only this was enough to end your pain, im sorry im insifishant" Its morning now These thoughts have held me back from being happy for once. What is there to do now? Nothing. I have to wait my turn again Oh well, im already used to the feeling of disapointment. I clean myself off in the bathroom right before i look into the mirror. Theres no way to decribe that feeling you get when you look in your eyes and see all the wrong youve ever done.  "Its late, they'll wake up soon" i tell myself  under my breath. I rush to my phone and open to the screen shot of the day i got a taste of what love is. I reread the single reply over and over in my mind before i hear the russle of blankets from the thing my mother decribes as her only son that lays a sleep less than a foot from my bed. "I...i love you"  I try to remember the sound her mouth made as she studered that phrase. " Its time "  I get up from my soon to be death bed and put on my mask before anyone sees The same mask i made myself several years ago. Theres cracks and chips, yes But thats what makes it so uniqe. People try peaking into see my hell. So I do what any scared human would do, push them away. So far they give up and walk away. Im at school, its lunch. I open the door leading into the stair well and i see her. My last hope  Right before she sees me, i count  1...2...3 I remove my mask and hide it  Im shaking shes the first to see whats under. All the years of lonelines will hopefully end today when i show her my heart. Sadly They didnt. They seemed to get lonelier now  "Ding, ding" I dont want to go home I see her car outside waiting for me I feel the vibration in my pocket , I know its her.  I walk slowly down those steps leading to the front.  As i open the door to the outside theres this hope that flutters in my heart the hope i get to see her one last time before i go.  My puples dilate and the sudden blindness fades away  Only to show nobody there. Im "home" now. Theres nothing i can do anymore I just wait here for my time to come.  Its bed time already and i open back to the picture "I...i love you" Thats all i need. The sounds began to fade into the dark  I see her.  No more than a arm away theres nothing around but us. I watch her lips move "I...i love you"  I hear her more vivid than ever tonight. My eyes slowly open Instintly tears rush down the side of my face landing onto the pillow. And so it begans again..

I like being in charge sometimes.

I want to be choked and spanked and ******* and ****** hard.

I want to wear a strap-on in bed.

I want to be used.

I think about spanking you until your *** turns red.

I want to be slapped and called a ****.

But I melt when you call me babygirl.

I swoon because you’re a gentleman.

I smile when you’re cute and girly.

I want to cuddle and watch Disney movies.

I like having hot wax poured on my body.

I like to play with the candles on the table at fancy restaurants.

I like ice too.

I like to watch your pupils dilate when I look at you a certain way.

I like when you look at me in that certain way that makes me lose my breath and giggle.

It calms me down when you call me owlet when I’m stressed.

You give me warm and fuzzies when you call me your best friend.

Maybe I like you.

So maybe this isn’t so complicated.

*Maybe it’s really simple.

Organic matter dissipates to ash

saliva shrubs sacred branches softly sear

before they collectively crash

Dense haze escapes into the atmosphere



Smog blankets the saturated earth below

Macro level clearing ritual

Extinguish dismal flow

Desire to rid, but crude tendency is habitual



swoosh



Create space in the cloud banks

Burn that which must disintegrate

Rise & fall, cycles continue, give thanks

Awe invoking beauty, to make the eyes dilate

I stood on the pill gray surface of a moon with my eyes closed against the pitch. Deafening silence encaptulates me swallowing every cell as I sit cross legged in the stomach of it. I felt her. The pump of her heartbeat colossal in the deep. I dissolve and recoagulate 20 trillion kilometers from her belly. White dwarf her ultraviolet laughter washes over me charring me black. Just beyond the speed of light I fight the cold vacuum spiraling  through fathomless rings of planet sized asteroids she has caught within her gravity. I accelerate through her categorizing every element naming some as I go. Her molten core flows pure silver. Radioactive, attractive in totality, she is stealing my electrons and I'm losing all equilibrium. With reckless abandon I arc through her nitrogen ice eyelashes and lips play supernova melting me again into a pool of shimmering metal reflecting her every facet fractaling in infinitum Eye couldn't capture unable to dilate in time. The mind could not comprehend it driving to madness decompressing time. Switching polarity with her smile I float awhile in her warmth basking in total integration. Resting on the glaciers of her clavicles. I run my lips on the molten surface of her neck, and my hands found the small of her back marble smooth in the bitter black. Hair of plasma on obsidian shoulders cradling me as I reform. Her finger  like Olympus Mans presses into my arm and she says something that I could not reproduce even after infinities of calculation. In this brand new mode she runs like code. Strands of proteins or DNA playing over mine becoming prime. The restorative gravity that brought us pulls atomicly until we are not.

when darkness falls
so does shadow
the veil of perhaps
washes over you and
imagining leads you to fear.
your mind starts to play games
with your eyes
you see monsters
in your closet and
under your bed.
looking is not seeing
but they seem the same
so what you thought you glimpsed
sends shivers down your spine
your pupils dilate
fight or flight
because no matter
what your parents tell you
the blankets won't protect you
and the monsters
are
real.

poor buick good dog we’re almost done bad moon bellyful of big dumb blond last line i want uh a memory yes before yes atomic foreskins pink & fresh yes hunger for the womb **** **** **** *** junk food ****** with a walkman playing schumann to dilate woman oranges have more delicacy oranges orages oral fruit caught in the act the memory here it is a certain man crippled since birth caught in the act *** without hands his only defense: today today is only the beginning this is only the beginning a sick man’s argument okay last line

while in the street already leaves are falling

There's only one thing about this situation,
And it's that you don't like me
Like I
Like you.

I can see it in your eyes Hailee,
Or rather the fact that
I never
Catch them.

When I look at you, you don't look back,
Your eyes don't dilate and I doubt
That you
Feel warm.

I didn't think I could feel this much
Care. For another person again.

But Hailee, I felt it for you.
The warmth inside of my chest and gut,
My face and arms and torso diffusing
Adrenaline.

I care for you, you are an amazing individual,
And it's okay that you don't feel it back.

I'm not your type anyway.

I am reaching out for you. I reach to the deep corners of my heart where the darkness begins by its shadows cover; where there was a small hole from the first woman I loved.

I'm reaching to pull the arrow that grown baby in the diaper shot me in the *** with,

I'm reaching for where he's missed and shot and left scars is big as that gaping hole in my heart that Never seemed to heal correctly.

I'm reaching. I'm reaching for the day I saw you in that wheelchair my first day of marching band and someone said we'd be a cute couple of shorties.

I'm reaching for the day I switched seats and you were directly across my black eyes and I could feel my pupils dilate at least 45 percent.

Oh god this is amazing.

I'm reaching into the corners of my mind where I keep my biggest secrets and I'm reaching for you.

You are as bright as the sun, but my pupils will always dilate for you.

You want to play war,
you think you’re so tough,
go ahead then,
I’ve got something
for your belligerence.
That’s right,
put up your dukes,
let’s fight!

O yeah soldier,
sniff some of my vapor,
inhale it deep,
get a good whiff.

At first you’ll get a runny nose,
probably try to rip off your clothes,
you’ll have trouble breathing
with a constricted chest,
as your pupils dilate,
you’ll make a confessional,
get blistered.

Then you’ll *****,
urinate & defecate,
soil your pants,
do the funky-monkey
spin spastic
& keel over
with a closed-throat,
stone cold dead.

You see,
I am the result
of diabolical science,
I’m manufactured specifically
to ruin your day
& I will.

my head keeps
running
exercising more than i do
constantly coming back
like a treadmill
to you
and it keeps going on
and on
unable to stop thinking
about how you make me smile
or how i
can't meet your eyes
embarrassed you'll see
that my pupils dilate
when i look at you

and my hands are knotted
together
so i don't reach out
so i don't
throw myself
into your arms
where i am
comfortable
and safe

and my heart is beating unnaturally
it's fast
and slow
all at one
fast when it catches up
to my running brain
but slow when it sees
you
and doesn't want to stop
looking

and my feet want to run
away from you
so that my heart
and hands
and head
don't have to suffer
but they always
plant themselves
outnumbered
three to one
unable to turn away
from you

the problem is
my mouth will never
tell you the struggles
my entire body
is subjected to
my feet and head are running
in different directions
and my heart and hands are grasping
at straws
at you
at the one i'd never
tell