oh to sink into the earth!
sodden and rancid with rain;
sagging under the weight
of too much
after too long. Drowning,
under more of the same

you're so gorgeous
in the morning
the sun can't even
stay away,
spreading itself evenly
across your sleepy skin
in a way i can't even
get peanut butter to...
& i let the sun have you
every morning
& i watch you,
like a pervert wearing sunglasses,
as it kisses
every
inch
of
you.
i mean i knew you were into older men
but Jesus...
he's more aged & damaged
than the planet that we're dancing on,
or drowning on,
& i'm jealous of his yellow fingers
lighting up the white
hairs on your belly
like his mourning dew defeats the dandelions,
but when i scramble
for your eyes' yolks,
you're already gone!
panic-
i'm--rapidly--
building--scaffolding--past--
the--ra­fter--beams--
IN--HOPES--
that--i--can--catch--the--theif---- --- -- -
but he sets ablaze my plastic wings
& i come crashing
                to
         cat
   as
trophy cases that i place you in
because i'm so afraid to touch you
in those moments
you're awake,
so i just whisper
in your ear
when your eyes are put away...

When we first met,
I waded in the idea of you
Like a tide pool.
After we first kissed,
You became a steady stream
That swept me off my feet.
But now I'm drowning in the
Thought of you like waves
Thrashing against a reef.

I thought I could trust in you enough to reach for you as I was drowning.
I was foolish to think you were my life raft
when you were the undercurrent that kept pulling me down.
Farther and farther out I went
into this open sea of vulnerability and naivety.
I was hopelessly engulfed in this idea of who I wanted you to be.
I romanticized you and every word that spilled from your mouth.
So much that your lies were salt water in my open wounds
and I let myself believe they were the stitches.

let's not make this mercy killing into a tragedy
if you mourn, i'll recover my grip on reality
realize what i've done
and i can't handle that responsibility

i accepted my fate the first time i lost my mind
knew i'd forever be stuck outside my head
fought for a few years more,
but now i'm done with this

i will fall like the primaveral rain,
soak the earth with my brittle rotting bones
let the flesh decompose
ease my mind, cleanse my soul

tangled up in vacillation
mania-white staining indigo perceptions
the future never seemed so trivial
(who said i couldn't live like this)
wide-eyed, selectively hypersensitive
i'm ignoring what lies ahead
i don't want to think about it

i'm destroying what little chance i had left
precipitation replacing perspiration,
erasing perspective,
drowning out my voice of reason
just let me breathe
cause i'm so sick of responsibility

this is just the cycle of life
perspective's leeching the necrosis
from my bones
i will be reborn as a lesser being
so for now just let me
pretend that the flames are home.

I swallowed 36 pills today and just laid down ready to die.
You told me my sadness was beautiful... Like a flower drowning in the rain.

I laughed... Because all 36 pills were evenly counted out for the things that made me feel this way.

1. For the headaches, the nightmares and the lack of sleep.
2 for the memories of you kissing me.
3 for the heartache, the way I watched you walk off with her under your arm.
4 for the screaming, the fighting over my weight each day.
5 for the way my family just never understood the way I didn't wanna talk about my feelings.
6. For the long nights I cried myself to sleep for being so ugly no one would want me.
7. For the days I didn't think I would survive at work with a mental breakdown.
8. And last but not least, for the way I could never make myself stop worrying about everything. The way I couldn't figure out my future. The way i couldn't stop hating my entire existence.

36 pills hand counted and evenly distributed down the back of my throat.

Do you still think sadness is beautiful?

I guess, it just felt a little strange. Usually I was always drowning in my thoughts.
To the point where it consumed me. My...my mind...at times,
was my demise,
as much as it also saved me.
But, there were these moments where I lived.
And, it was beautifully tragic because, he knew exactly what it was.
He didn't just hear or see it.
I guess, we as humans,
just feel these moments.
He knew me well,
he understood my laugh.
I learned who I am and why I exist. And I told you to never doubt that I am an extremist.
When I cry, the universe shakes a little. But, when I smile and laugh,
I am selfless.
I just gave and gave my soul to him. He could close his eyes and still dance with every detail.
I was alive.

                      
                          ~ A. Almoudheji

I'm starting to feel distant from everyone
My friends and family
I guess it's time I apologize
I think I've come to grips
I'm not the pillar i play myself to be
I'm not the unyielding man people see me as
I'm not the white mask i play myself as.

My family's falling apart
My mother's chasing something out of reach
My dad always told me
"Son, You always put too much pressure on yourself. I've tried for years this family can't pull itself together"
At that time i was only 13 and understood his meaning
He was exhausted and now I'm playing the same role
How i wish i could scream all the sorrow's I've felt
But that leaves me open and vulnerable to conversation
Hell like i want that
No one would understand the drowning waves I'm in.

I wasn't strong enough to hold this family together
Now I'm running away from who i am
Ashamed and filled with grief
I was never good enough to put the pieces back together
I never thought i would fall into silence
Everyday i have to be someone I'm not
She reaches out everyday
Yet all i do is slap her hand of grace away
If only i had the guts to tell you my pain
But i just feel i would become distant again
And eventually i would drown
It's got nothing to do with you
It's me that's the problem
I'm afraid to show my emotion
Even now i can only write
While i bottle this cauldron
And stew my last sorrow
Before the lid crashes down for eternity.

**** i am tired
I saw the tears in my eyes roll down
I hear the helplessness under my own breath
Rain burns every time it pours down
Clouds parted and misery blesses my sight
This world must hate me
All that I've trusted is up in flames
All that I've believed in was only a mask for me to cover my weakness.

You're so near to me, but I can't reach you;
So near to me, but I really need you;
So near to me, but I feel so lost;
Stretch out your hands, and help me God!

I'm drowning in sin, and it's all my fault.
I know that you're waiting with open arms,
But I stumble and fall (I'm blinded by pride);
Say the words, Lord, and open my eyes!

How many times will you bring me the day!
How many times will I turn you away!
How many times will I wish I had not!
Give me your grace, and help me God!

Temptation holds me - please set me free.
My heart is locked - you hold the key.
You ask me gently if you can come in,
But I deny you again and again.

These chains were made by my choice,
So God, don't listen to my voice!
Why do you ask? You know the truth.
I'm placing all my trust in you.

You're so close to me, but I can't reach you;
So close to me, but I really need you;
So close to me, but my spirit is poor;
Stretch out your hands, and be my savior!

I told her about what he did.

Because she doesn't know about my poetry

But you do. I think.
So where is your excuse for your surprise?
Oh, wait, here it is:
You don't read this.

I didn't look at her.

I just looked at the curled tissue in my sweaty palms.

Then she asked me what my sadness feels like.

It feels like I'm drowning,

but can see everyone else breathing.

What is making me drown?

All this weight

that I'm holding onto

thats holding onto me.

What is the heaviest thing forcing you to hold its hand?

Losing mom.

You mean the mom you never had in the first place?

Yeah, that one.

The one who was never in the crowd

when it was Mother's Day and the class was singing?

Yeah, that one.  

The one you remember searching for?

The one who you were never good enough for?

But at least she never said it like dad said it.

The one whose memory is one without you in it?

Her, doing something else:

Reading the paper on the couch,

Curling her hair,

Asking why I got a "B" and not an "A"

The one that saved you from

literally drowning at the community pool?

Yeah, that one.

How can you mourn the loss of someone you never had?

Easy, I do it every ******* day.

When will this end?

I can see the pin-***** of light ahead

the cement used to be wet sludge

and now it seems to have dried

up to my waist.

The rain crashes down on the concrete and my feet.
These clouds are grey and these streets are empty.
Only the sound of my steps and my heavy breathing.
Theres pigeons under this bridge and dirt on my lips.
The rain in my toes through the holes on my soles.
I should feel like I am drowning.
But I'v got nothing but love and truth to be told.
Only change in my pockets and empty roads.
Nothing but cans and a pair of boots.
And I am getting so lonely.

Iv got a gypsy soul and a story to tell.
But nobody wants to listen.
I don't need change, I don't need your clothes.
I just want my story to be told.
I got a Gypsy soul and a story to tell.
Full of strength and wisdom.
I don't need your food, I don't want your sympothy.
Just sit down and listen to me.

The rain on my shoulders and the Thunder hanging over.
A picture in my pocket of my once special lover.
All crumbeled and torn like the paths I have chosen.
But I would follow them again.
The fading fog in the moon and the bright street lights.
My hands in thee air to cover my swollen eyes.
If I had a choice to turn back the hands of time.
I wouldn't change the decisions I made in this life.
Now will you listen to me.

*Iv got a gypsy soul and a story to tell.
But nobody wants to listen.
I don't need change, I don't need your clothes.
I just want my story to be told.
I got a Gypsy soul and a story to tell.
Full of strength and wisdom.
I don't need your food, I don't want your sympothy.
Just sit down and listen to me.

i had a dream last night that there was water in my lungs.
i could feel the ocean wrapping careful hands around my limbs,
caressing my thighs with soft seaweed,
my hands with gentle current.

i could taste salt on my lip,
the way a first kiss with a new lover settles and stains on the skin above your tongue,
i could taste the care the water was taking in taking my life.

taking it's time, the ebbing ocean snaked across my midriff,
hands on waist, wasting away at skin with salty touch as sandpaper
scraping away at my sense of self

i dreamt the water changing pace from calm glass coffee table top,
held flowers and coffees and your feet and mine,
overlapped and intertwined
and into
undertow,
pulling your hand from my waist
and your salt from my mouth

i dreamt that i saw nothing,
felt nothing
but your salty sandpaper hand scraping skin across my collar bones
as you pulled your coral reef body away.
the glassy water turned to pavement
and you left me in rapids under black ice.

i had a dream that i was trapped under ice,
with children skating on top
and i couldn't hear or breathe or scream
but i could feel their skates on my insides
they cut my hair with their blades
and as they spun in circles above me
i spiraled further into the depths of an ocean
that felt more like a fire.

i had a dream last night that there was water in my lungs,
and it hurt less to breathe then
than it does now that you're gone.

i never thought about how it would feel to cough the water back up,
until i realized how much it hurt going down.
and i was never scared of the ocean
until i saw it's vastness unescapable
it's arms
unrelenting
and it's love
everchanging
and i realized nothing's everlasting.

i was never scared of drowning
until i woke up puking the water i drank before bed.
and realized there was nothing more in my stomach
but salt.

It's rather cold in here. So I went to check the heat ducts. They were buried beneath a tangle of lies, deceit, and old cookbooks left behind from the family that once lived in this place. It was no easy task, mind you. I dug through the shambles for days - shivering and blowing hot breath into my palms, now coated with a film of forgotten moldy pasta and an affair gone wrong. After a time, though, I finally reached them. And it was not what I expected. It explains the reasons why I am cold...

You see, it wasn't the dead bodies so carelessly crammed in the heat duct that made me cold. The mummified corpses of parents holding their children, the children holding their cat, and the cat holding a half-eaten and long rotted rat inside its stomach. It was what they were whispering. A whisper of a melody of truth that sent a chill so frigid and lifeless so far deep beneath my skin I feared I...'d freeze right inside that heat duct, forever sealed to a fate of the shells before me. It was a traveling tune.

The milk man on 4th and Main heard it as he locked the door of the lonely housewife behind him. The postman felt it resonate in his mind, already crowded with a million voices - many telling him to load his gun and end the monotony. Tears of the local priest fell as he danced to the haunting melody breathed from the mouths of the dead, dancing with his hands on a member sworn to celibacy. A nun in her habit drowning in a habit that only the Lord and the devil know about, she heard it as well and peered cautiously at the others in the convent, criticizing them with her mind knowing full well she wasn't the only one who heard the whispers.

The whispers echoed within this heat duct, within the house, the town...the world. And they were oh so cold....

Never leave running away in uncertain winds,
nor leave me dangling as a leaf, high or out of reach
hung by a thread, spinning.
You are the sea of my drowning
and not a placid lake I've come to swim.

Come with your smile, sunning
let your days go shining at the shore
where our eyes shimmer as moonlight on water
tranquil as the silent stars that fall.

Come as the ocean blue, dazzling opulent
with expansive arms, embracing all of this
even wildfires burning into embers
a torrent, a rushing river
our love like holy water
that finds its way back
to an undying sea.

Once I bore unkempt hair,
a crown over a wondering visage.
Twas a time of smaller age,
when a had nary a care.

I was staff-bearing and sword-wielding,
princess from times of yore
and keeper of lost lore.
But my spirit could go only so long unyielding.

For there was a mask-wearing weaver
of a garish smile
who in his guile,
had made others a believer--

Of his wicked web of rampant lies.
This wretched thief of naivete
Left not a shade of perspective grey--
but black, without reprise.

What cruel beast of human shape
was cast down upon me?
And why could others not see
but merely question with mouths agape--

At the sins of which he reveled
merely for his stature?
Yet if done after
surely they would have been compelled--

To hear my pleas
and punish his evil hand!
And then at last I might command
my woe from drowning me like all the seas.

Alas, twas not
as I would hope, you see
for fate was most unkind to me
though of wrong-doing I had naught.

"But why?" I asked
"Princesses of yore, and wielders of old lore
they know happiness for ever more."
To that end I had been masked--

From the truth before my weeping eyes
that evil always has its say
even on the brightest day,
for peace is the keenest of lies.

Like he, the villains tall and small,
from fiercest orc to goblin whelp,
will always find fate's loyal help
while heroes are left to fall.

That is how it plays on the world's stage
I have learned and learned it well
that where white snow falls, somewhere else burns a hell.
And yet, perhaps this way is not a cage--

To conquer all of worldly ways,
For in my time--made wise--
I have come to see with my heart's eyes
one for whom this pattern sways.

He is a hero brave and strong
no prince and no knight
no dragon does he fight,
yet for him could be written king-worthy song.

So perhaps, the wicked do not always prevail,
not every time at least--but most--
and get their bitter dose
of a taste of what it is to fail.

The Lord hand picks the unworthy
The outcasts, the needy
The downtroden and filthy
Drowning in despair
Shaking in fear
Staggering in sheer agony
Wondering what just might be
What life really means

His hand is upon the lost
Those still imprisoned by their past
The backslidden and fallen
living in sin and lust
Brewing with contempt and disgust
Crumbling into dust
Wondering if the Lord is just
if they can ever come back

The face of the Lord shines upon
Those who weep and bitterly mourn
The Broken hearted and torn
Who stay up until dawn
Singing the burial song
A chorus of whaling voices
A choir of morbid faces
Wondering what the next phase is

The Lord is gracious
The Lord is kind
The Lord will save us
The lost sheep he will find
His people are declared righteous
Adopted, sealed and sighed
Wonderfully and fearfully designed
Chosen, before the beginning of time

Secrecy, how deep can the loyalty really be kept? In what moment is trust broken? Faces walk around so carelessly speaking stolen words they claim for themselves. All moments are being taken for granted is one may not realize their fighting destination. The meaning of life or death is different to many, where do we all meet? Or do we ever? There’s a very thin line between idolism and jealousy, when vain overpowers, it is then crossed. Love of family seems overrated to those who don’t have much to show for it. Young innocents become ***** at the thought of being helpless. Alone. Alone at last. Alone again. Alone day after day. Alone, hope rests between the eyes of each abandoned soul that walks the unknown house of which they wish was a home. Transforming every morning into something deceitful that burdens the ones who cared. Nights began repetitive notions that confused all that in the way, particularly ones’ self. Footsteps suffocated heavily, each step walked towards the past of the future. Thoughts filled with overwhelming disappointment, self-worth disappeared from confidence found deep within. Insecurities frightened to display beyond closed doors. No one knew the but all had knowledge, released inabilities throbbed from hand hold to hand hold. Embarrassment ponders the insides of beginning relation tolls. Wells ran dry of golden coins that sprung from a stronger meaning only the owner would have known. Skeletons quiver at the caterpillar sprouted from the once apprehensive butterfly **** and trampled on by humiliation. Zen became an escape of dreading weaknesses that were always sought. Sinking and sinking, vindication lost its power. Sinking and sinking, serenity was much further gone. Sinking and sinking, all faith tugged the threads that were already broken. Drowning minds spoke all the same, “please don’t let me fall.”

I never thought
I would've locked away a flower.

I never thought I would
Trap such a beautiful creature of nature.
The humongous red petals
Stained with water,
Attracting such a wide diversity of insects.

I had always believed that
Gorgeous things should be set free,
So it could live to it's fullest.
Spread out wide in the open.
And so,

I never thought
I would've locked away a flower.

Yet my marvelous mind encaged a
Beautiful beast,
An imperfectly perfect plant.
Locked it away for years and
Hid it so deep in captivity that
I could never have found it
And I would never have found it

Until now.

Years and years and years on,
Since the flower did first bloom,
It's scent has finally found me and
So did Understanding.

The pungent stench that
Reeked from the Rafflesia,
It slowly seeps into the present
Drowning the pretty world with
Pests meant to pollinate it's seed.
The truly gorgeous flowers slowly
Wilt away as

Evil
Ovethrows
Everything.

I once locked up a memory so tight
I never ever found it,
But in the recent days,
It came slowly
Then like a tidal wave:
Crashed down on me.
The shame just filling my heart.
Killing the not even alive.

I never thought
I would've locked up a flower.

But now I wish I'd locked it back up.

The Industrial Evolution

I want the rain to wash away the grime
From this filthy living corpse.
Its dross filled pores
And a life cloaked in rust ridden slime.

Dumped grot covers me.
Exhaled from the mephitic breath
Of a thousand septic chimneys refusing to fast.
Spewing out ****
Drowning all us luckless souls in muck.

The inevitable residue of greed
Deposited by those with no belief in the End of time.

A planet of zombies
Wading through a mire of death.
Only waiting for the time
They reach the END.

(Gerry Aldridge)

Your memories creep back into my mind
Their persistence is unyielding
Not a single day has passed that I don't think about you
I'm drowning in the lack of your presence
This longing for you wont go away
This unsatisfying, empty feeling
But I'm only trapping myself
Its time that I crawl out of this darkness
Open my eyes to the light
Stop hiding behind superficial happiness
Because I lack the real thing
I don't feel anything
I'm completely isolated
I stray away from everyone
Including myself
I don't even know who I am anymore
If I even am someone
If I ever was someone

For as long as I can remember, I’ve been writing
Dialogue for languages that I don’t speak.
Transcribing twisted writings of de-aligning dialects.
I’ve torn everything out of context,
Inspected it against the light,
Held it there until it burned from over exposure,
Then stitched its singed edges back into a niche where
It never seemed to fit quite right,
But close enough to be
Misconstrued as almost coherent.
And this confusion became the format for my daily
Step-by-step instruction manual.
          Rip.
          Look.
          Burn.
    ­      Stitch.
          Repeat.
For a while I found comfort behind
The makeshift ideas pieced together
With television taglines and childhood nursery rhymes.
I could count the number of times
That I’ve been caught
Slipping in certain names
Of certain people and places
That I swore to forget
On paper-cut fingers wrapped in band-aids
Like they’re next springs new fashion,
And it’s a dismal ratio
When compared to how often I get away with it.
I get away with ******
And it’s funny
How easy it is to hide words within words.
And I fall further in line,
          Repeat.
          Rip.
          Look.
    ­      Burn.
          Stitch.
I fall further in rank-and-file,
          Repeat.
Yesterdays.
          Rip.
A­ bloodline.
          Look.
The same.
          Burn.
The smell of smoke.
          Stitch.
Through the eye of a needle.
          Repeat.
I begin to confuse tomorrows with yesterdays.
          Rip.
My fingertips can testify that paper and razors share a bloodline.
          Look.
I can’t see a change, I’ve rearranged every alphabet and they all seem the same.
          Burn.
I think I’ve grown accustomed to the smell of smoke.
          Stitch.
I stop denying that I’m fitting my whole lifeline through the eye of a needle.

As daylight shines bright through cracked blinds
I realize that, now,
Instead of counting subliminal messages
I’ve been keeping a tally of every time I blink
So that I’m aware of each moment I miss while
Hiding behind blackened eyelids,
And I am drowning in debt.
So I pull tight the drawstring on the window shades
And let my skin soak up the sun
I notice that where the mountains meet the sky
Seems so much brighter than it’s described in the words
That are now scattered across my floor.
But like exes,
Old habits have a tendency
To call you beckoning back
When you finally find breath again.
I found breath again,
But just as quickly staggered in reverse to
The familiar feeling of paper
And my hands do what they’ve been trained to.
          Repeat.
          Rip.
          Look.
      ­    Burn.
          Stitch.
But my eyes are fixed on the horizon,
They start setting with the sun.

          Repeat.
I begin…
          Rip.
My fingertips…
          Look.
I can’t…
          Burn.
I think…
          Stitch.
I stop.

drowning in tiny oceans.
schiele-esque nudes
     in german poetry books.
speaking in tongues.
visiting graves
     in two different territories.
ginger cats with moonstone eyes.
****** noses
     in street lamp-yellowed alleys.