the night consisted of me hinting at the presence of a guy
a guy i really like, a guy whose name
like a reverie, i could not bring myself to utter

i talked about everything because i do not care
i do not care about you, your enamoured face, your
saccharine words, instead i batted them away
as if they were unwanted flies harassing a dim light
of which they are enraptured by, devotedly yet
foolishly

by the end of the night i had grown tired of entertaining
the ghost of the guy whose name i could not utter
of glimmering gutlessly at my blatant apathy
of being a subject of novelty

you were the kid, strung on by a piece of nothing
and i was the power-bearer, merciless in
faithless speeches, indulgent in frivolousness
so i halted the meet, streamed mindlessly towards
a place where i renounced my false interest
my douchebaggery, then proceeded to wipe off
the kiss you'd left on my unwitting, unwelcoming lips

i do not like you, do not want traces of you to
envelope, overwhelm the traces of him on me
but i don't think they ever will

It was a Tuesday
I tripped in full stride
I blame the house which was fragrant with a stale caffeinated aroma
It seemed rational at the time going for a walk with bare feet on hot coals
I’ve done more
or less
For some perverse introspective frivolousness

I took the road less traveled
which looking back was more like a rutted, run-down  underground expressway
I kicked at beer cans
Tripped on broken guitar strings
Blotted melancholy on crumpled  cocktail napkins where now meaningless prose once had meaning
the ******* led my way
scattered carelessly
discarded thoughtlessly
left to clean up the mess

I walked past doors left open absentmindedly
deliberately pushing them closed
Passed windows broken where shards of glass still held a dim shine
Letting  my bloodied fingertips trace a path along the wall as I loitered

A few times I sat
mulling over the graffiti left behind
everyone leaves their mark
picking at loose paint with my fingernail at what I once thought important
now not even a decent curiosity
just reminders of wannabe artists whose color faded when they explored the same terrain

I walked farther deeper
into the all too Familiar  
down an almost unrecognizable hallway I never dared to venture
one I didn't even know existed
That’s when my fingertips ran into
red
velvet
wet
where my feet settled in fresh paint

Sinking into the red I felt a slow
steady drip from above splash on my lips
flushed with a burning need to suckle at the source

Drip

Drip

Drip

I smiled and thought

*Finally...  
an artist with some ******* talent!

God often would I rather have than gold;
I'd rather choose Jesus over the universe.
My heart do nay become perverse
That you may prosper in this world old.

But seek always first, my dear soul,
The Lord's way and his righteouness,
Letting go of all earthly frivolousness;
Then wilt thou find fulfilment whole.

For many there are with gobs of money
That possess, in simple term, riches great;
Yet who this vain life doth never sate
Their heart that is thirsty and hungry.

As he so thinly and lightly floated up
He saw a ****** mess crowded around.

He understood and not bothering his weightlessness

Thought I must now find my way home.

Over the mesh of cables and wires
Above the teeming dots of men and machines
He skimmed the noiseless air beyond pain.

Now I know they spoke of what gain.

Once found he thought of landing on the roof
Melt through the attic door and be right beside her
But he didn’t want to give her a scare.

He would rather take the front door.

He held to the belief he needed no mirror.

It proved right as she was just mildly surprised.

He wished he could hold her hand and say

I’m back early for you today.

But there was so little time for the frivolousness

And supposing he wouldn’t be there the next instance

Started to speak.

I came back just to tell how much I love you.

She responded in a beaming radiant face

This is madness

To have come back for what I always knew

And then as he lifted her in a demonic strength

Giggled I love you too.

When she rose to silence the phone’s ring

She didn’t see him take wing

To go home in the wind’s flow!

i am sick of myself.
my sweet and overly ripe words
i need not to even think of myself in any other way
i am already sick
the prolonging of my so called existence
the falseness which clings to me
i kick it and hide it sometimes
only to find myself
unsuccessful and worried  
that it shows off.

frivolousness.

it leaks and sprouts through every cell
incomprehensible extinction  
of my lost way.

a disgrace.

for being sick of myself only i can be
for no one else could even tackle the madness of the inside plot
of fluid wandering
of scattered taint of rotting business. unfinished.

uncertainty.

once again.

god I need need a cat to
catch a projection of
by body to be caught,
and made in into
an infinite mimic  worth
of "ego" in lunar
geometrics...
    and that: "           "
enclosure is not because
of misnomers or
synonym alleviation
    proximities...    
     perhaps metaphor,
or perhaps...
    a political dosage of
ambiguity....
     which is a less stern
depiction of,
    doe-eyed-myopia of
lies...
    what it is, iß...
                  all the above,
aleviated by the banner
of a-,
            as such:
       the gorging prefix
in an otherwise, open,
conversation...
       women should be taught
the frivolousness of
youth after they've been
taught the leash;
once upon a time,
I met men, who were taught
the leash, before they ever
inherited the frivolity of youth...
  both sexes died the most
unhappy lives...
   mortal,
    naturally succumbing to
a prayer for quickened
anaesthesia of death...
   leveraging on coma and...
a dream of Benekux laws...
what a sombre affair of sorts,
no one will
even master a still life on...
as they say:
  better trust crafting
a replica.