My Second Letter to Allen Ginsberg
Dear Allen,
Almost five years ago, I wrote you a letter, and in
That letter, I purged my drunkenly woeful cries
That seem so first-world now and naïve –
The things I grimed over with luxuries I didn’t
Realize that rubbed against my plump limbs
Like millions of felines poised at the
Tombs of pharaohs.

Oh, Allen, I’m so tired –
These politics, and poly ticks, so many ticks that
Annoy my tics. Allen! I smear your name so liberally
Against this paper like primer because the easiest way
To coerce someone into listening to you like
A mother
or predator
tugging or nibbling on your ear –
Swatches of velvet scalped from a ****’s coat
Are you and I talking to ourselves again?
Candid insanity : Smoky hesitance.

Dear Allen, I’m so tired –
Yes, I love wearing my ovaries on the outside like
Some Amazonian soapbox gem glistening from beneath
The iron boots of what the newspapers tell me while
I cough at them with the hurdled delicacies of alphabet soup.
Give vegetables a gender and call them onions, Allen.
Sullied scratch-hicks pinioned feet from slapping
Society’s last rung on the ladder.
Ignore the swerve of small-town eyes.
Scapulas, stirrups, pap smears, and cervical mucus – now do you know who we are?

That fingernail clipped too short, Allen. We’ve all got AIDs
And AIDs babies, haven’t you heard? Hemorrhaging from the political
****** and out – they haven’t reached the heart.  
Since when have old white men given a **** about some
13 year old’s birth control? I’m riding on the waves of the
Parachute game and I swear this abortion-issue is just a veil outside Tuskegee University
Being further shove over plaintive eyes, swollen and black.
Pay up and
shut up.

I still remember my first broken *****, Allen.
Can you tell me all about your first time?
The vasodilatation that made veins rub against skin,
Delirious brilliance : unfathomable electricity.
I made love during an LSD experience, Allen,
And I am not sorry. I see cosmic visions and
Manifest universal vibrations as if this entire world is
A dish reverberating with textiles and marbles, and
All are plundering the depths of the finished wine
Bottle roasting in the sink like Thanksgiving Turkey.
The patience is in the living. Time opens out to you.
The opening, between you and you, occupied,
zoned for an encounter,
given the histories of you and you—
And always, who is this you?
The start of you, each day,
a presence already—
Hey, you!

Ah, Allen, if you are not safe, then I am not safe.
And where is the safest place when that place
Must be someplace other than in the body?
Am I talking to myself again?
You are not sick, you are injured—
you ache for the rest of life.

Why is it that I have to explain to my students that
sometimes what I'm spouting is prescribed by a pedagogical pharmacy --
but all they want to know is "what do the symbols on the television mean?"
I am completely aghast against the ghosts of future goners --
I am legitimately licensed to speak, write, listen like some mothers --
I am constantly cajoling the complex creations blamed on burned-out educators --
I am following the flagrant, fired-up "*******"s tagging lockers --
Pay up and
shut up.

Yes, and it’s Hopeless. Allen.
Where did we get off leaping and bounding into
The dogpile for chump change jurisdiction, policing
The right and the left for inherent hypocrisies when
Poets are so frightful to turn that introspective judgment
Upon ourselves?
We didn’t see it coming and I heard the flies, Allen.
Mean crocodile tears. Flamingo mascara tracks
Up and down : up and down: bow – bow – bow – bow
Buoyant amongst the misguided ******* floating around
In the swirlpool of lackadaisical introspection.
What good is vague vocab within poetry?
Absolutely none.
Would you leave the porchlight on tonight?
Absolutely, baby.

Dear Allen, would you grow amongst the roots and dirt
At the knuckles of a slackjawed brush of Ever-Pondering Questions
Only to ask them time-and-time-and-time-and-time-again.
Or pinch your forehead with burrowed, furrowed concentration upon those
Feeble branches of progression towards something that recedes further
And further with as much promise as the loving hand
Attempts to guide a lover to the bed?

Allen, I wish to see this world feelingly through the vibrations of billions of bodies, rocking and sobbing, plotting and gnashing like the movement of a million snakes, like the curves collecting and riding the parachute-veil.

Ah, Allen! Say it ain’t so! Sanctified swerve town eyes.
And everything is melting while poets take the weather
Too personally
And all the Holden Caulfields of the world read all the
*******’s written on the walls and all the Invisible Men
Eat Yams and all the Zampanos are blind and blind
And blind and blind and blind and blind
Yet see as much as Gloucester, as much as Homer,
As much as Oedipus.

Oh, Allen, do you see this world feelingly
and wander around the desert?
Colored marbles vibrating on the curtailed parachute paradox.
Lamentation of a small town’s onion. Little do we know, Allen,
That what you cannot see, we cannot see, and we are bubbling
Over in the animal soup of the proud yet weary. I can see,
However, how the peeled back skulls of a million
Workboots and paystubs may never sully the burden
Of an existential angst in miniscule amounts.
Pay up and
shut up.  

My dearest Allen, there is always a question of how
The cigarettes became besmirched with wax to complement
What was once grass, and
What was once a garish night drenching doorknobs.
The night's yawn absorbs you as you lie down at the wrong angle
To the sun ready already to let go of your hand
As you stepped, quivering, on to
The shores of Lethe.

Whenever I'm with you,
I don't hear our clothing fall.
nor the change in our breath,
or the neighbors down the hall.

There is no sound in between us
the heat then speaks instead
it dances with us, back and forth
leaving sentences in sweat.

I have never heard hesitance,
or shame when we are close.
I hear nothing but the sweet nothings
that we already know

So to me we lay in silence,
which is strange to all but us
but our true love is deafening
if you listen hard enough.

In time we stand still forgetting the memories
That burden the frontier with poison and tragedy
Lest we forget that the deed had been signed
By prospectors and cowboys who’ve long since died
Aiming a loaded shell towards eradication
An idea that precedes psychopathy in terms of petition
Yet ponders so freely to children so willing to point them the barrel and fire such rounds

I urgently take the bounty for the hunting of the buffalo
Using their skulls for declination, a sturdy stronghold
Yet deep in heart I realize that it spawns back to devils
That pay only to spoil their countless fruits of survival
The cause paints our flag a brilliant blue
The blood breeds red and helps assimilate too
From their ponytails, against remorse, I could yank off their heads
And perhaps repay the herd of bison for their dead

We danced mountain songs naked under pale blue moonlight
Imitating their gestures in the style of caricature
The stars glistening, reflecting in pools of gory mucus
The rotting carcasses that attract forest vultures
Which we willingly hunt and devour without hesitance

A rack of scalps hung from the duster, cloth sodden with their fluids
Marking migration patterns on various maps to follow and stalk with
Here we sing to the villages of which we’ve burned down
Hoping that God, in His grace, could forgive such savage hounds
The calls of doves forfeit an olive branch
Which I gleefully wave just as they have
My own Trojan horse stitched together with leather
That wasn’t dried enough, and now radiates a stench that reminds us of their innards

I’ve slaughtered and mangled all over this place
Made worse by their stories of which I desecrate
Publishing such influent texts that examine the earlier beds
Of which they rose, so little prose, such daft fools with stone age tools
Crops yield only ******* food made for the feeding of the poor
Discarding the rest of them as bait or our personal ******

“I weep for the white hand that cared there for me!
To wrap me in blankets and help me to feed
The weak child in infancy cooing so sweet
Not knowing they’d have him killed in his sleep”
Annihilation fits best at the source, this genocide funded by the Master of Greater Deed and Good
The weary dead, the weary live, the weary now stay in places we couldn’t stand to be in

A gift that gives only twice, an upstart arch that cradles this land so warmly, inspiring us to embrace our homes
The promise of freedom which notions an equality we could find only in remembrance of scattered bones
The lawmen there, they never repent, they’ve lived all their lives and they never forget of their deeds, which secretly brings a perverse enjoyment none other recieve
Unless you count rapists and murderous men which tally their targets and hold out the heavy heads of victims in satchels and bags
A shame we now see them as monuments honored so swiftly, decorated with golden plaques
Please leave some flowers in the mass grave I was buried in, somewhere in Arizona, it wouldn’t hurt to sense the illusion of fresh air
A torso of tooth and rib and a dried clump of hair
Look down on your works, ye lowly, and despair!

I've been painted pink the instant the doctors
Wiped me of red.
I looked like the boys I knew - our differences a
Color palette provided by Mommy and Daddy.
I was their little girl, their princess who wished
Her hair would stop growing,
Lest she be locked in a stone tower.
I didn't mind the dress so much then,
Not when it was the only difference between me
And them.

Magic mirror before me, is wrong all I'll ever be?
I shut my eyes, unable to stand my body bare.
My knight, your skin simply is not right.
I've read the mirror never lies.

Mommy and Daddy are yelling
About my butch haircut.
Our little girl the ****, they say.
I did it myself.
Mommy still buys me dresses,
Daddy tells her to spend the money on
Therapy instead.
Daddy asks about boyfriends,
Mommy tells him I don't have any because I
Hide my *******.
I tell them I'm all wrong.
They agree.
We're talking about two different things.

I don't change for gym anymore.
The girls are secretly relieved I won't be there
To cast a wandering eye in their soft bodies.
I'm relieved I won't be in the wrong locker room.

Mommy and Daddy don't like me
Telling them who I am.
I've finally found my way out of the tower and
The king and queen are upset because their
Princess never made it home, just the knight.
My little girl, Mommy cries.
I follow the point of Daddy's finger to the door
Until I'm on a bus bound for somewhere else.

I shift from Pangea into separate pieces.
Finally I have space to breathe.
Needles, knives, pills bend my body to my will -
It took Michelangelo three years to build David.

Mommy and Daddy believe me to be
A delivery man. They are expecting to sign off
On a television set, yet when they see me
Idle in the doorframe there is a hesitance, a hope.
But most of all there is silence.
Mommy cannot speak, her hand curls like a gasp
Around her mouth.
Daddy begins to cry, his eyes pale and blue.
I am hugged.
They don't say sorry, but I hear then whisper.
My little boy, they say. My little boy.

“Pepsi employee killed in Hawkins car crash.”
“Maine Vice Mayor Deaver killed in car accident in Castle Rock.”
“Woman ‘dead’ after car crash found alive in morgue.”

The news reports on radio echoed through her whole car as she indulged her third bottle of Russian Standard. Weird, she thought; she has been hearing news about road collisions all day. She was sure that the alcohol wasn’t intoxicating her mind to hear different things, she knew she was still sober. Everybody knew she always had low alcohol tolerance, even herself knew that; now she couldn’t even taste the bitterness of the liquor, she feels it inside of her. Drinking was the thing her mother told her to never do, perhaps because it turns her father into a monster with a closed fist as a weapon.

She looked at her rear-view mirror and realised she was travelling alone on an empty road. People had told her before to never travel alone in Derry Road or else something might happen. She wasn’t travelling; she was running away. It fits her, she thought, she and the road were the same; they were both empty.

She heard an unfamiliar noise, like the sound of a steel colliding with another steel. She had realized that her car engine died while she was driving. “Seriously?” she said to herself, “Is everything I own dead now? Like me?”

She stepped outside of her car and walked to find any gasoline stations or houses that could help her. There is no luck for any signs of functioning establishments on an empty road like this, she thought. However, a place filled with buried muscle cars, abandoned pickup trucks, and old bulldozers caught her attention. It’s an empty road. How is there supposed to be a car junkyard? She thought to herself. What’s even stranger is, she didn’t see it while she was driving.

“Well this day couldn’t get any weirder,” she said. First she couldn’t get drunk after drinking three bottles, then she kept on hearing news about car crashes, and now she suddenly saw a car junkyard out of the blue? She opened her hood and a massive smoke appeared, causing her to inhale it. She was coughing while staring at the oils leaking. She didn’t know what to do. She had no choice but to look for people who could help her with her car. She didn’t know anything about it, she didn’t even know what the problem of her car was. She glanced at the sky and saw the sun was slowly setting as well as her hope in what’s happening. She thought to herself, maybe this creepy car junkyard could actually help her.

She walked towards the old car junkyard and the sight of it surprised her. Her eyes widened when she saw people hanging out, beer bottles everywhere, and some couples having the time of their lives.

“May I help you?” A long haired guy who was wearing a Led Zeppelin shirt appeared by her side. She was having second thoughts in answering him back, but she really needed help, especially if she reeks of alcohol on an empty road.

“Yes, actually I was driving and then my car suddenly stopped. I don’t know what’s wrong with it, but a smoke appeared and the oils were leaking. I figured you can help me.”

“You think we know everything about cars just because we’re hanging out in a car junkyard?” He asked while laughing. Her embarrassment was overflowing at that moment which caused her to look down, she was still hearing the guy’s chuckles.

“I just guessed. I think.” She said this while looking at the ground since she was too humiliated to look at him. Much to her surprise, his laughter was no longer heard. “Thank God.” She whispered to herself.

“We’ll see what we can do. At the moment, why won’t you just join us?” Join them? Like hang out with people who are in this creepy junk yard? She stood still while ruminating on what she should do. She was feeling a little scared that maybe these people are actually killers or ghosts but there wasn’t really anything to lose for her. This is the place she'd rather be than her house where her mistakes and failures are always included in their dinner conversations.

She walked towards people who were about her age. Girls with vibrant hair colours looked at her from head to toe, some of them smiled at her that caused her to smile too.

“Your car died?” asked a short haired girl holding a beer bottle.

“Yes. This day couldn’t get any worse. Life couldn’t get any worse, from losing everything you have to people you trusted betraying you. My life is as worthless as my rotten car.” she uttered. One problem she has always had was the inability to control her mouth. People tried to cut her tongue before, unbeknownst to them it’s a far more dangerous weapon than their sharp objects.

“If that ain’t the truth.” said the short haired girl while taking a sip of her beer. Seeing people drink their beer bottles triggered her, she was fighting the urge to go back to her car and finish the remaining bottles of her Russian Standard.

“You want one?” the short haired girl asked while giving her the beer bottle. She just shrugged and shook her head, she was never a fan of beers.

The people in the car junk yard continued to hang out and drink their beers. They talked to her and even told some stories, she was enjoying their company. Epiphany suddenly hit her when this one thought crossed her mind; people there talked to her and asked her questions, but they never asked for her name. She never knew even a single name. Abandoned cars, unusual but enthusiastic people, and a junkyard in the middle of an empty road. She was starting to think she visited the labyrinth of lost people with broken cars.

“I hope you guys don’t mind me asking but, who are you and what do you do here?” curiosity was evident in her voice. For the first time, she was starting to care about things.

“We live here.” A husky and deep voice replied, which sent shivers up and down her spine.

“You live here? Like you sleep inside the cars?” Her voice was filled with wonder and a little bit of fear. She has never heard of a lifestyle like this. What about their food? Their money? Their family? These questions surrounded the confused mind of hers.

“Yeah, you can say that.”

“I’m sorry if I ask too many questions but how did you guys meet? Like, were you all friends before or did you just meet here?”

“We all met because of one thing, our cars suddenly died. Actually, two things; our cars mysteriously stopped and we all had the desire to walk away from life.”

She immediately felt tiny little bumps over her skin. She thought this was actually a nonexistent place but she was right all along. She was feeling a combination of terror and nonchalance, like a person who is on the verge of death but has already accepted the fate that the heavens had stored for her. People already had their eyes closed while some are still staring at the constellations in the sky, wondering why their lives didn’t shine as bright in the dark as them. She’d rather sleep than look at the stars, for she knows her life would be much better with her eyes closed.

“Are you sure with your decision?” a soft but eager whisper awakened her from her thoughts. She saw the long haired guy staring at her, waiting for her answer.

“What decision?”

“Are you sure you want to walk away from everything already?”

She looked at the guy with annoyance mixed with sarcasm. “What? I’m just sleeping. When my car miraculously work again, I’ll leave immediately.”

“You’re enjoying here, aren’t you?” She didn’t try to utter some words, she knew inside of her that he already knows the answer.

“I was like that too, you know? I thought this was the place where I can finally be free. I finally walked away from my problems, I don’t have to deal with never ending problems and challenges anymore.” He paused, which caused her to look at him and wait for his reply. “But that’s only what I thought.” He said this with a broken voice that she was sure she would never forget.

“But isn’t this junkyard truly for us? For people who failed, for people whose lives don’t deserve to continue anymore. Maybe our cars stopped for a reason, maybe our engines were never meant to be fixed. Maybe we were never meant to be fixed.” She felt tears slowly streaming down her face. She remembered the sight of her lover with the person she trusted the most, she remembered the bathroom floor filled with her own blood, she remembered the bruises on her face after the night her father got drunk.

“At first it was. It felt good. Until I realised that walking away from everything isn’t the solution. It doesn’t make things right, it actually makes them worse. The fact that you didn’t even try to fight is the worst thing.” She felt it. She felt his pain. She didn’t even know who this person was but one thing is for sure, she felt everything this guy had been through.

“But I tried, you know? I tried everything and life still gives me the same, eternal problems that I will never find solutions to.”

She could see his hazelnut eyes travel around her. Her blue eyes that were filled with tears looked at the boy who told her more meaningful words than her own father ever could. “I was like that. I was dumb to think life will always be easy, that I can surround myself with happiness and positivity. But life isn’t like that. Your life will not always be like the rising sun because most of the time it’s a thunderstorm. But I was more dumb to think that the best decision was to run away. I heard all about this place ever since before. I drove all the way from my place to here, thinking I could escape it all. That’s not the right decision. There isn’t a day here when I don’t think of my mother crying while I was in the hospital bed, wondering what she did wrong. I gave up on life when the people in it didn’t give up on me. I was stupid for thinking that I could reach my destination immediately without having a journey. I was stupid to think that I can just drive for 1 kilometre and be at the place I want. It doesn’t work that way, life doesn’t work like that. There will always be a journey, a journey where your car’s engine will be dead in the middle of an empty road, but you will find a way to fix it and drive again.”

“So did you regret your decision?”

“Let’s just say I was too late.” She couldn’t find the right words, she didn’t know what to say. She lets him do all the talking for she knows he can never say these words again.

“Look, I don’t want to be the one who decides for you. Maybe you’re so fed up of everything, I get it. But I’m just asking you to think about it, before everything is too late. And piece of advice, if you decide to leave here, please, don’t ever look back.” Blue meets hazelnut, in that one occurrence, they knew their car engines aren’t the only ones they have in common.

She knew that if she walked away, she was never going to see him again. It seemed impossible that he would tell her his name, but she still took the risk and ask him for it. “Before I go, can I please know your name?”

“My name’s Kevin. Kevin Parks.” His face was filled with regret and sadness. Maybe saying his own name was a struggle for him, he knew he would never hear his loved ones say it again.

She nodded and smiled at him, it’s been too long since she put a smile on her face.

“I’m Rosa.” She said. He smiled, knowing she still has the chance to let the world know her name.

“Tell my mom I’m sorry.” And just like that, he disappeared. She was left alone with the chaotic mind of hers. This was everything she wanted, to finally walk away from everything.

She looked around all the abandoned cars and abandoned souls, this is the place she’s supposed to walk away from. The darkness, the surrendering, the giving up. The people disappeared and the smell of beer and cigarettes were no longer there. Silence was her only companion, and it was the most riveting thing she has ever stumbled upon.

She went inside the rotten car of hers and inserted her key in the ignition when her engine miraculously turned on. Hearing her father’s drunken shouts, covering her scars with bracelets, and seeing people who shattered her are the things she knew she will experience again; this reality lead to Rosa’s hesitance in leaving the car junk yard. However, she thought that maybe she could visit Kevin’s mother and talk about him when he was still not aware of this place. This place, this car junkyard filled with abandoned cars and souls unexpectedly shed a light to the road towards whatever destination she was meant for. For the first time in many years, the sun finally set in her direction again. The rear-view mirror was very tempting to look at, yet she gathered all her courage to put her foot on the gas.

To the girl that made me smile with nothing more than her presence.
To the girl that made me feel bad with each and all of her presents.
And who took this kid in to rid him of his hesitance
I will propose a toast. As these words are evident.

To that one beautiful girl with nothing like anyone else
Because she's the one that gave me the most, more than I ever gave myself
To that girl I couldn't leave because I know how that pain had felt
I will propose. Through sickness and in health.

If distance were a metaphor,
its synonymous yet factual depiction would be itself.
Its shear complexity stretches over multitudes,
and from its belly flows rivers of emotions;
anger, frustration, regret sadness and not forgetting self realization.
Inadvertently it separates people and yet brings them closer.
Without doubt it's an enigma of life, call it Einsteins quantum theory of light.
Until one can comprehend the subliminal message deeply coded in the core of this phenomenon,
and without hesitance decipher its elaborate meaning,
one has no choice but to matriculate into it's class and take it's lesson.
Call it school of hard knocks 101.

I can't be so sure
about you
when you play on my insecurities
wielding them like weapons
I've discovered
that your laughter and smiles
are a happy facade
for something much darker
dare I delve inside?
I don't know what I might find
perhaps the truth about myself
*or maybe just a web of lies

I like to find beauty in the things that hold on to us.
The universe has been writing wills and testaments on my typewriter and I am trying to listen.
It's saying things like "Let go... a little bit... let go... your grip has always been too strong".
The universe calls me dear and I want to scream when he tells me to let go.
Let go. Let the light in. I'm tired of letting things in, I am tired, universe I am tired
and you are a ***** liar.
Nobody is coming back.
Nobody is coming back.
My wrists are full of dead friends.
NOBODY IS COMING BACK.
And the universe replies "but when they do..."
Everything is always a hesitance. Why can't something be forever?
My words will die the day I do and what will be left of me?
A promise? A broken promise?
A broken promise.
I hope you know by my poems if I am doing well or not.
I hope you know it's usually the latter.
I hope you know I have loved you as long as I have thought
and oh, I have thought.
/
/
/
the universe never saw this coming
the universe quiets his mouth, lets her speak with only her tongue,
tries to decipher the back and forth.
the universe never knew I was a shadow.
nobody knew.
and all that's left, when the echoes die
all that's left will always be our prolonging.
our promise? our broken promise?
a broken promise.

Heartbeat and breathing erratic.

Mindset; frazzled, like static.



There is never a rhyme or reason. 
My life is just an ever-changing season.


Looping yet broken. Like a record that is scratched.
In my head, the devils plan, will it be hatched?

Or will I be intercepted beforehand. My only warning sign could be the lights and/or sirens, when the men in white coats are dispatched

Adversity is one of the things we can’t escape in our lives; it is also one of the biggest hurdles that we must overcome for us to become better individuals. However, is this meant to be a negative, cynical assessment of what we must look forward to? The answer to this question is no. There are several effects that adversity can bring to our overall being, it can be either positive or negative depending on how you evaluate them in your perspective.

One of the best things about adversity is that it’s a forceful being that tears us away from our comfort zones. It is like a strong wind that brings us to the places that we want to go but with hesitance to do so, it also removes the things we have grown fond of but are holding us back from what we should be, leaving us to be in the best shape that we can ever become instead of just imagining it from afar.

Despite the best thing that we can get from adversity, it can also ******* us if we become too stuck in an unfavorable mindset wherein fear and pain comes to play. We think so much of the unknown that we forget that we have to move on, until when we do so, so much time has been wasted.

Adversity is like drowning in a river of neutrality; we drift to the currents of the same common thread and forget every bit of unique trait we have upon us, and while we face life like lost ravens drifting through the darkness, searching for traces of non-diminished skies, we find meaning in our lives as we find that small patch of white light at the end of every misery we have conquered.

This is not a poem, but its close to my heart, so I thought I'd put this up.

"We're walking these streets like they're paved with gold
Make any old excuses not to go
Neither one of us want to take that taxi home."

She came out of the movie hall with a new soul. A new life, a new beginning. As he held her hands, for the first time, in a long time, she felt safe. Even if what she had, posed the greatest threat to her. Disappointment. All over again. But in that one moment she knew what she wanted.    
She'd never leave that hand. No matter what it took, she'd be there, holding on. She swore she'd never let this go. And with that conclusion, she was born again. With hot tears, she was rejuvenated.
This time, her tears were the reason she smiled.
This time, she got back the heart she had once given away.
This time, she was loved.
Her knees were week, her heart palpitated, butterflies in her stomach. Her mind, not working.
Time stood still. And it felt perfect.
"I'll be back in a moment", he kissed her hand so delicately as if she was so fragile. As if she'd break in an instant. She would have. She was a crystal waiting to be damaged. But there was something in his eyes which told her, he'd be back.
Reluctantly, but gradually she let him go. He took one look and turned and ran away. Her gaze followed him. He felt it. He looked back, winked and carried on.
He came back. Not with a horse carriage, but with a old taxi. it really didn't matter as long as he was in it.
"Come on in"
His presence invited her in. He took her by the shoulders. And she was where she belonged. She closed her eyes for just a moment to take it all in. He took her hands and held on tight. And as the road went on, she found herself wishing it would not lead home. Wishing it could just take them away. She didn't care were that away was. As long as it was away.
She smiled. Holding nothing back, she laughed.
She was no longer the girl with a broken smile.
The taxi driver kept looking back. They were as bad as newlyweds. Shy, yet nothing could possibly keep them apart. And from the corner of her eyes she caught the old taxi driver deliver a smile of acceptance.
With both hesitance and surety, she kept taking risks, going further and further closer to home, together, in each other's arms. Because for the first time in her life, she HAD something to loose. Because the risk was worth it. every moment of it.      
She understood what she had in her hand. It was something familiar. Something warm and cozy. It was love.
A love which wasn't understandable. A love unknown. A strange and sudden development.
Her wall had been broken once again. This time, easier than before.
And it only took a taxi ride home for it to be realized.

Strangely timed
like a midnight rose
but this baby's breath breathes life
vibrant, visceral, vivacious
a requirement in this environment
for corporeal sustenance
maintaining and sustaining subsequent substances
and for which
no substitute exists.
nor should one.
for if this is that
without which
anguish persists permeating the vastness
clearly packing voidish absence
reminding that reciprocity not animosity
makes connectivity the activity
then why bother with formality?
or try to deny reality?
Grateful nostrils more easily discern
Scents that sting and scents that burn
Aided by proximity to incense intense senses
lives sweeten with flowers' presence
sweet airs and flowery essence
but there's hesitance in this instance
careful to engage or allow mental enrapture
one must gauge potential fracture
for roses have thorns
And I fear morning glory's scorn
despite wonders of its consumption born
that of which misgivings warn.
But know this
Golden lotus:
Let us lattice.
Let us, lotus,
Don't pass thus.

(I tried to write letters but the words got stuck)

Milady all in white,
with sparking eyes and shaky foundations
the world is too big for your icy hands
reaching out for her smile like you were fire
and she was rain, heaven sent
you see ashes where there’s mist
wings splintering from your bones
and I pray that you find freedom
without leaving me

My fairy who dreams of Neverland,
with leaves in tangled hair
eyes crinkled with smiling
you are so very powerful
I fear you would rather consume yourself
than let go of her at last
and from all the things you don’t tell me
I begin to hate the world a little more

My pixie with straight curls,
I was in love with you for the longest time
but I know both myself and you better now
and I will always stand beside you
your  beauty is in your imperfections
drawing the best sort of people in
you’ve saved me a thousand times
and I've missed you more than I can say

My quiet one with a smile of steel,
you are so kind without saying a world
he leans so much that I’m afraid you will fall
and still have to pick him up again
I only hope you know your worth
I only hope that you’ll let us catch you
you are a beautiful human being
and you mean the universe to me

Milady with a bow-tie,  
your mind is a brilliant, vibrant thing
as are your eyes and smile and laughter
you are a warrior and a scholar
a charmer, a singer, and a lover
you've made me feel loved and wanted
without hesitance of any kind
and it is the best gift I have ever been given
so thank you for slow dancing to an off-beat piano
I'll always love for you to lead

Milady of dragon's fire,
you are fiercer than your flames
and stronger than them as well
you are learning and beginning
and I can only watch in awe
I believe in every part of you
in your beauty and your strength
so thank you for not taking ****
and may the world quit giving **** to you

Milady of the angels,
you have the brightest soul I've ever seen
and a mithril backbone to match
thank you for helping me be myself again
for shining brightly and staying with me
you deserve all the best the world can give
for your beauty and grace and laughter
I would give my soul to see you smiling always

My lady of the wiccan elves,
you are the loveliest being that I know
both in body and in spirit
I'm sorry that I did not tell you so
I'm a bit of a coward that way
you are a thousand miles out of my league
but I will always marvel at your crooked grin
and the way your mind runs circles 'round all others

Milady the endless ponderer,
I am not half the friend I should be
your thoughts are beautiful, have always been
and it lights my heart to hear your confidence
I will always listen and try to understand
though I am not always as there as I should be
and for that I am truly sorry
I know that for the philosopher
it is the greatest punishment to be unheard
you deserve the best of listeners

My quiet greek goddess,
you somehow thought I was worth staying for
I would have kissed you given the chance
but we all know how I am about that sort of thing
you made me feel at home again
when I felt like I wasn't worth existing
thank you, for everything
I'm sorry I wasn't the right one

My legend in royal hues,
for some reason you picked me to love
(you can't imagine my bewilderment)
thank you, for all you've given me
for all you've let me show you
and for your smile that reminds me of home
I hope you find what you're looking for
without falling to ******* your way


Milady of the summer court,
all wide eyes and lovely braids
you made me feel wanted and infinitely happy
but I will never be enough for you
may your mind always wander into beauty
and may you someday learn the workings of souls
come back and tell me when you do
I will always love to hear your voice

Milady of love and loss,
I hope your list helps organize your mind
you deserve the best of happiness
but I fear you'll look towards the wrong eyes
I'm going to miss you dearly
but I know you'll find your own way
you don't need me much at all
but you make me smile when I'm beside you
so don't you ever lose that light
you'll find one to match it someday

Milady the beautiful and free,
you are fiercely kind and lovely
I look up to you more than I can say
in your strength and in your thoughts
thank you for your words
for your smile and your love
you brought me back from myself
and I will always be grateful
may everyone marvel at your existence
and at how far you've come
it is, after all
the very least of what you deserve

The liquor wafted its way
scorching the dimly lit path.
His hot and heavy breath pounced
on the back of my neck,
burning worse than his throat as he
tossed back one shot after the other.

I am scared, but I remain calm.
I do not want him to have the satisfaction
that men like him get from a hunt.
I wonder if he can sense my hesitance,
or if he is so utterly intoxicated.
the kind of intoxication that excuses such behavior.

It was September when you closed your eyes.

The trees were verdant and fat,
Their boughs abuzz with the fluttering of birds;
The warmth of pre-autumnal breezes, pale and whispering:
“Alive, alive,” as the breath in your lungs.

I rarely contemplated your absence
Not for lack of trying, I assure you
It’s just hard to miss something you never really had
Not altogether impossible, but difficult, nonetheless

I could not miss you as my tongue
Could miss the taste of sugar sweet;
As my hand
Could miss the hand of a lover fair;
As my mind
Could miss the dulcet caress of poetry
Poignant and soft;
But I could miss you still, blood of my blood
As your presence should grace my thoughts faintly
Like some spectral invader---
A sometimes patriarch beguiled.

I dreamed of you the day mother informed me
Your eyes had finally opened.

The trees had worn thin by the time of my visitation
I could see them rapping between your blinds,
Scratching the glass in a hallowed colloquial,
The language of arboreal appendages fading:
“Alive, alive,” but just barely.

It was October.

Your days and dreams and dalliances
Compartmentalized into a series of sterile routines:
The steady drip of morphine
Into your veins;
The turning of your body,
In bed,
At the passing of each half day;
The fluids vacuumed,
From the hole in your throat,
At a quarter till every hour.

Your body became a clock, defected
Feebly measured in the perfunctory gasp
Of your heart’s meticulous monitor

It was just a week shy of November, and you were waning.

Haunted by those seventy-one years,
Long-lived, painfully slow,
Taunting you from the fraying end,
Of an agonizingly short rope---
Seventy-one years, and all it took
For the months to drop, skittering away,
Was the blink of a bloodshot eye.

It was October, but it should have been September.

That ruddy, porous grin,
The bullfrog blues of your grandfather’s smile,
Now made far and few between
By your unabashed lassitude,
By your hesitance to meet the gaze of another,
By your impatience at the sound of voices,
Talking about you like you weren't there.

You were a big guy, I noticed
I never realized how much so until I saw you
Laid up and sprawled unnaturally upon a hospital bed
Little more than an invalid,
Unable to lift a finger, even to catch
The choking, viscous saliva that would dribble,
Infantile and unbidden down your chin;
Unable to speak.

The catatonia fooled you, unbeknownst,
It pried the words from your swollen mouth
With skeletal, sable fingers,
Leaving penitent ghosts in their wake
So that your lips were moving, muttering,
Pressed with the phantom vocalizations
Of what half-formed apologies needled their way into your mind;
Of what no sounds produced
You even tried to tell me you loved me---
Though the affections never quite came to fruition,
I felt your taciturn ruminations, regardless.

I suppose that was a start.
You were near an end.
But it was a start, nevertheless.

Inhabiting the mere space of a windowpane
Inside of yourself as you were,
Your eyes remained outgoing:
At times they contained boredom,
At others longing or contempt,
And within those murky depths, I swear I recognized
The unshakeable, abject face of terror.

So much change for so little provocation:
The leaves outside, they rustled;
Cars continued their coming and going on distant highways;
The soothing azure of the day dampened,
Corroded by the cold, unrelenting hand of a changing season;
Gradually, the sun rose and fell.

It rose and fell:
(Your chest) rose and fell.
(Your face) rose and fell.
(Our hearts) rose and fell.
It always stayed the same.

And in your vacant, unwavering gaze,
Always something different:
The deathly vestige of repentance,
Folded between the window’s shade;
The laughing, lilting silhouette,
Of days forever passing;
And you, unmoving,
In that hospital bed,
A sharp juxtaposition to your caretakers
And their mock celebration:
“Alive, alive!”

But those saintly visitations of shadow and climate
Rapping against the window,
Waltzing across the far wall of your antiseptic prison,
They bespoke celebrations of their own,
Callous facts you knew all too well:

“It’s October, Tom. Autumn is here.
And you shouldn’t be.”

There's a fine line between maturity and child hood
A very visible one at that
But when one refuses to release oneself
From the shackles of their past life
Complications begin to arise.
People believe your hesitance to be laziness
Your lack of knowledge to be stupidity
Your inability to relate to the new trends or fashions as indifference
They still believe your a child when
You know you are so much more.
Sometimes all that can hold a man back is one simple feeling.

It is within an unusually warm and early spring night,
Here, where I begin to feel something ever so unusual while looking deeply into this goddess' eyes,

With her eyes like a pair of diamonds sparkling in the sky,
It's at this moment–in this part of the night–
Love simply didn't need a reply,

With candles lit,
As it's surely to her delight,
And with rose petals all over the bed–
That, surely, was to her surprise,

Though, right now,
Can you really blame me for having this nervous butterfly-feeling whirling around inside?

For this will be the first-ever night that I'll get to hold this beauty tight,

And for such a divine beauty,
Surely I'd make any sacrifice to make sure her every whim and need is perfectly sufficed,

Yes, with our feelings for each other that couldn't be more pure or refined,
I already know, without hesitance, our love would satisfy any god's most delicate appetite inside,

And although, this world may never know how I truly feel inside,
I, myself, know with certainty that I love this woman more than anything I've ever loved in my whole life,

Yet, with nothing more than the sound of crickets chirping within the night,
I proceed to lay this beauty down–
Here, pulling her close to my side (where I tell her)
"I love you, angel, good night",

And even though our love never did need a reply,
She said
"I love you too, sweet dreams baby, don't forget to hold me ever so tight",

And thus with this crazy, whirling, butterfly-feeling, again, that I begin to feel take over inside,
She rolls over unexpectedly and surprises me with a kiss to seal any other reply–
To only roll back over and close her eyes,

Oh, and in the midst of her every action–every move leaving me mesmerized,
She decides to move an inch closer to me,
(Where I wrap my arm around her thighs)
As it's also nearly simultaneously that I hear the clock's stride finally hit midnight,

With a chime that struck once–
Then struck twice,
I begin to hear a set of chimes strike–and strike until they chime twelve times,  
(As these chimes come from this evilly wicked, horrid and heinous clock of mine)

Yes!–with this clock being a clock that through time I have come to slowly hate and despise!

Though, this tower of a clock reminds me of its presence with not the tics nor the tocs–
No, only when the minute hand climbs and the hour's hand meets another notch,

As only then, within that second of the minute, does my mind's thoughts get crossed and rocked–
With my thoughts that become locked within a box
(As it'll be for the next sixty minutes)
I'll just lie there and remain distraught,

Oh, and you ask why?–
Simply because of this chiming noise that won't stop!

With these reoccurring chimes that take my sleep and make most nights a loss–
I can assure you that if I don't go to bed by one or two o'clock,
Any sleep for me will become more and more implausible by every tic of the clock,

Yes, nearly impossible–
For it'll be with the next four or five hours, I'll just lie there, roll, and toss,

Though this is a different night!–
As I'm reminded with our legs crossed and with our fingers interlocked,

Yet, here as I begin to feel the warmth of her body block and fend off any kind or sorts of lingering winter's frost,
I also sense that numerous candles are still glowing bright,
(With the sight of their ambient light flickering off of the bedside's wall from abroad)

And, within this room filled with sentiment as I hear not a sound at all,
I smell the candle's aromatic scents,
With the atmosphere within the air being ever so calm,

Until that is, I hear another chime of a **–
With it sounding like a melody that's gone ever so wrong–
It's with this tower of a clock, right here, that has just let me know it's now the hour of one o'clock–
And one o'clock, right on the dot,

With only one lone chime that I heard–as everything then simply paused and stopped,

Though, within my mind and with these thoughts that refuse to stop,
I reassure myself–
Knowing that the time is only one o'clock,

For I know I still have an aplenty of time to close my eyes and make these endless lines of thoughts stop,

So to this brilliant mind of mine,
You know that it's clearly time to let these thoughts wander off,

Just close your eyes and let your mind stop–

Though, didn't I just say enough with your thoughts?

Oh, and I can see you might think a lot,
But clearly and obviously you're not thinking about squat!

So just stop or I swear to god,
If you don't stop with these god awful thoughts,
I'll have no other option than to smash and squash your head against these bricks outside of this wall and then leave you there to rot–

For if you don't stop this exact instant then I am almost certain your beautiful woman will become a loss,

And I'm sure you don't want that to happen again, now do you?

So just stop with these thoughts–
Quit fooling around and whatever you do–
Oh, and whatever you do,
Don't let this beauty see that crazed loony side inside of you,

Just fall asleep now and you both can wake up tomorrow around noon,

Yes, just close your eyes and count these sheep jumping over the moon,
And count them jumping one by one–then two by two,

Yet, between one and two,
Surely I knew I was bound to come unglued,
(With the loony that came right out of me as I hear a tune)

With a chime that struck once and then twice,
It left my mind to know not what to do,

Though, that doesn't mean I am confused,
With the duo of chimes that struck–
Only letting me know it's now into the minutes of the night that come directly after two,

And though,
As I begin feeling as if a disaster was nearing in soon,
Still, I knew not what to do–

Because I know nothing as I'm thinking of nothing and just fading away within the scents of her perfume,

(Where I begin fading away within this serenity and hearing not a tune)
I feel the weight of my eyelids begin to feel like a caving-in roof weighing at least a ton or two,

And with just one of a few wondrous thoughts still wandering on through,
I wonder
"Could this be sleep that is nearing in soon?”,

With this feeling of a wonderful tranquil sensation subduing and leaving my whole body consumed,
(As I'm weary and with clearly not a thought left in this room)
I take one last deep breath
(With my lungs swelling like a balloon)

And within a dream is where I have just entered into–:
UNTIL ABRUPTLY I HEAR A SNOOZING OF A TUNE!

Yes!–As I'm awakened and with the insanity within in me being let loose to roam throughout this room,
My mind, then, begins to shift back and forth (like something caught drifting between a typhoon and a monsoon)

Where realizing as I view that I've opened my eyes too soon–
With it being this beauty here of mine that is the one who is creating this horrendous little tune,

And feeling, as I hear–
With every single breath that she breathes rattling the room–the walls–and even the shingles upon the roof,
I feel my mind, here, completely coming all the way unglued–
For all I want to do is make everything within this room mute!

Yes, that's all I want to do!–

For I’m sure I wouldn't even be in such a foul mood if I wasn’t sleep deprived,
And if this beauty here of mine and her snoring roar weren’t the main culprits of keeping me, my mind, and this night alive,

Though, hearing with her roaring of a snore that is beginning to drive me crazy inside–
Yes, as she snores, there!–just an inch or two away from my side–
I hear with her snore only growing more and more–

As I, then, within this second, try to ignore a chord of chimes striking once, and then striking twice,
(With this clock striking three times to remind me once again of the time)

–With this night now being at least 3:03, 3:04, and could possibly even be 3:05,
I know this night is at the most three or four hours away from seeing the sun shine bright through my window blinds,

Oh, and surely I already know I probably would just close my eyes–
Yes, that's probably what I would do!
But this little beauty here of mine is worse than any set of chimes,

And surely indecisive,
(As I move the pillow over my ears while I'm consumed by an irritating form of fright)
I move my body a little to the left and then a few inches to the right,
Where I hear her demon's rumbling from inside,
And screaming as if they're trying to come out and fight–

(Which is where I begin thinking)
“Is waking her up really that much of a crime?”

For if she knew she was snoring at such a high decibel level,
Then I'm sure she wouldn't even mind,

And thus with my decisions that couldn't agree more with my mind,
I decide to slightly lift her head and wiggle her,
(As I nearly tickle her left side)

Whispering to her as I say,
"Baby, wake up, I just had the worst dream of my life!
Oh, baby, wake up, I just need to see those sweet little angel eyes!",

Though motionless–
There, as I try to keep my insane and crazy side inside,
My whisper begins to intensify to a scream
(As she refuses to open her eyes or give me a reply)

I continued to scream–SCREAMED!

"Oh, why, oh, why won't you open your eyes!",

And with her snore being the only reply that she could give me,
It literally drove me crazy inside–
Thus driving me as it drove me to climb on top of her body,
(Where I grab her nose and squeeze)

As it's within the silence and in this exact instant,
Instantly and unbelievably, I see I've hit a stride that I couldn't believe,

Yes, mesmerized!
And content beyond belief–
With her snoring, here, that has finally ceased–

–Casually, I proceed to climb off of her body
(Wherein realization I finally can go back to sleep)

And in the silence, again, as I hear not a peep,
I roll over, close my eyes, and before I could even count one jumping sheep,
I hear a roar once more coming from this treacherous little beast,

And surely with not a second more could I go without sleep,
(As this pillow, right here, has just become my best friend, and the most plausible way to get any sleep)
I decide to move this pillow over her face–with my exertion at first lacking any tenacity,

But what I'd end up hearing would be like a growl or a roar of a wicked beast,

With this sinister snore of hers only increasing more and more with every tic of my heart's beat,
I begin to feel my thoughts shift toward the sentiment of either insane or crazy,

(As my hands push with more and more of an intensity)
I begin sweating–feeling the smothering warmth of her body's heat,

Though, simultaneously as I hear her heart throb and knock an unstoppable and irregular beat,
I begin putting even more weight upon this pillowcase
(With a galore of my sweat dripping upon these sheets)

And surely I have to know,
(For it should be as obvious as could be)
That if I put any more weight upon this pillowcase,
I'd likely break through the toughest of the most unbreakable concretes,

And thus coming to the realization–
With this crazy side of me that has taken over and been unleashed surely not being me,

It's here, against the greatest of restraints
(As I'm barely able to climb off of her body)
I climb off and begin waiting within the silence–

Waiting and hearing not a peep,
Where seemingly prompting myself to say,
Here, as I speak!
"Good night baby–sweet dreams",

Though, I'd hear not a reply–
As a reply was something our love never did need,

Yet, as I roll over to climb under these sheets and close my eyes
(Where simultaneously it all has seemed)
I have fallen fast asleep within a dream while holding my sleeping beauty tight–

Holding her as I squeeze–
Holding her!–
With her heart that holds not a beat–.

Born with a better life
Formed with a rugged line
Caught in a muddy mind
Inner war in full force
Empty shores
Grains are coarse
Brain is worn from the thought
Of the cause
And the flaws
In the bottled up troubled times...
Keep that light in sight though
Eyes open wide,
So you can brave the flow so
You can find all the times
To unwind
Organise
And refine
How you fight Home Made choke holds

Feels like I'm courting
A black hole I'm forming
Distorting rewarding
Thoughts formed flip to morbid
'It's just a bad day not a bad life'
Ever had a day that lasts a life time?
Guess I'll be right in the mourning

What sort of a mess is this
Formed full of emptiness
Scorn for my premises
Thinner walls
Creaking floors
Feeling worn
Sleeping more
Brain is worn from the thought
Of the cause
And the flaws
I have bottled in hesitance
Keep that light in sight though
Eyes open wide,
So you can brave the flow so
You can find all the times
To unwind
Organise
And refine
How you fight Home Made choke holds

Start with absorbing
The wellness from talking
Succoring the morbid
Thoughts formed flip to glory
'This is a good day not a bad life'
Ever want a day to last a life time?
Might just be right in the morning

a scream of fusses in rustic reflections -- off again, forcing trust is a silent revolution for us. no blades with this parade; grasp hot coals without blinking and YES i am on top of the world. NO i can't feel a thing. Was it the destruction of senses that bordered our hesitance? Blank pages won't fade away with this operation. only collect dust. And i remembered to close this mouth. Eye contact at a minimum. Contradictions lead to continuous disagreement. i feel it even when your voice reverberates though this mind of mine, no real sounds, piles of old junk mail and fast food wrappers left to dye in the open sunlight. weren't we prepared for a battle? Fists up, intellect down. We have reports of a beast-infected stand-still. Plots to ****. I keep my sketches in my pockets, next to packets of mild sauce and cigarette butts. Mistaken for less dangerous, but let's face the music while it still plays for us. Limited is what we have become. Pushing thoughts like empty strollers over bridges and ignoring the collision and the crowds that keep forming. oblivious, but not really... considering we chose this catastrophe. Drawing lines over famous portraits, orchestrating every moment. No regrets, no remorse. Broken bones and stolen show times. As we disguise our characters and dress them under fine white linen, we count the lines. we count the circles. we prepare for the unbroken. replacements are cheaper and easier to find. hollow, determined, violent. place fingertips on pointed objects and close those heavy eyelids. this is the ending. this is the awakening. this is what you wanted.

oh how the coward counts his cards
blackjack entrapment habits
at least there's free drinks!
what a time saver:
enabling 2 addictions at once,
maybe i'll save some money this way...
hit hit hit stay, embrace
hug my hands around the chips
my multicolor relatives
i'm betting on embellishments,
time to double up or split
my hand's as steady as my faith in god
so i'm shaking like an epileptic
seizing with the scenery
blinking with the burning lights
knee-deep in unending debt
i'll go all in on my hesitance
& sleep on this abandoned bench

I trail behind your brilliant golden rays
And pray that they will never fade away.
Just keeping you in my view
Lit a spark in my cold heart anew.

I had never dared to dream,
Afraid of ripping the seams
But your voice beckoned me,
Made me see all that I could be.

A saint and my saviour,
On this set path, I waver.
Could things be different?
Can I go against the current?

You stand still in the distance
Yet I cannot outrun my hesitance.

I.

My blood was glistening meteor glows after
        the modern jazz I spent all night trying
        to carve into genius.

Hanging on the the blue notes of
        saxophones like a madman hooked to
        his syringe, and then you petrified me...

But I began to shake.

The spirit of all my ballads has returned to
        me at last.

Dug yourself out of my past, into the
        bedroom thought fractures — I call
        them modern art — but plugged into
        your Dada spirit, the abstract turns into
        star clusters,

And I'm burning for that cosmic wishing well.

Just hoping for your radiation to spread over
         our lightyear gap, that gap that always
         made coexistence so impossible.

When Calliope calls,
     I'd advise anyone answer...
      But you're twice as golden
       And thrice as red
         As Calliope has ever been.

Torn in your sandstorm.
Blinded by this vision of your second  
        coming.

Back in one piece, one whole, one complete
        consciousness, and all after I tried my
        damnedest to rip you apart, poetically.

Only in reflection and confrontation did I see
        how wrong it all felt.

That is not poetry
There was no peace.
That does not spawn Justice,
And you did not warrant my contempt.

I idolize you for you are what I am not.
I am mesmerized as we are exactly the
        same.

II.

The things you do not know.

I must have started typing you fifty times,
        never hitting send since my dark
        Crispin's Night.
I never hit send.
Not once.
I built imaginary worlds where you were my
        abuser, with my loneliness a
        pawn, but a crucial one.
Those thoughts that latched on to the back
        corners of my insecurity, and reassured
        me I was void of worth most every
        night...
I turned those thoughts into you—
Spilled those ******* thoughts into reality,
        and it took your shot of venom to place
        it all back into perspective.

If you're wondering what I've been up to
        since you left, my calendar hasn't
        hasn't moved a single page.

III.

The mythos never told me that Erato could
        address me back—
Muse that I pray on.
Muse that I mull over with Whitman.

I take this chance to lift you up, as you've
        been floating me over this rural skyline
        for months now.
Let me see the city.
I only wish to live.
I see governments toppled in the tint of your
        face, with the lights low, the air quite
        heavy for me.
You had to feel like a Goddess,
Even your distant screams had your mark of
        perfection.

IV.

You're the one I envy.

Dozing off under the anger of conservative
         politicians talking about life...
Erato, darling, what do these guys know
         about life anyway?
To lie as profession
Lie for the masses
Lie for the wealth of corporations
Lie for self-justification
Lie for the war effort
Lie for the public spectacle that can be
        reduced to little more than fetus magic.

I'd rather be haunted by anything else.

Emigration sounds so lucrative.

V.

It's time to cut open the system.

I wish society, when cut open and guts
        hanging, strung up in a gallery, looked
        like the spirit of a Scrabble screaming
        match, less like estimations of
        "necessary" civilian casualties.

It's time to piece in your abstraction.

Let's flip the script from faith-lit sketchbook
        into reality.
Let's show the world the graces of speaking
        in comedy, the asset we lost when we fell dark under our lack of communication.

Blessed to reestablish what we cannot take for granted.

Iris bonfire to highlight your drive,
But it's only determination,
Your gift of beatitude.

You can move through mazes with such precision and grace.

I should have never let my admiration pull me under a tide of greed.

As much as I value the ability
        to cut away at masses of abstraction,
Still covered in their vague seal of illusion
        you don't condone,
I'd submit to trade for even a bit of your  
        structure,
And let you have the absinthe that coats my
        soul.

VI.

Drink on how we are in harmony.

I'm already drunk on your hesitance.

Everything about your being is skewing my world.

I feel the changes, while the cold sets in,  
        across their javelin flight path.

These aren't the kind of thoughts you can't
        damp down with epilepsy medication.

I'm nearing clarity.
I'm inching in on human purpose.

VII.

I locked you away on my nightstand,

Next to Jailbird, in great irony.

I never let you argue your rights.

I wasn't just being inhumane, it was
        borderline unconstitutional.

Anger from hate, as always.
Coping in flawed fashion, yet smiling at your
        likeness.
Condemning you at public displays of
        Satantic litany,
Fell broken when you were in attendance.

Never again will I carry that false prophecy.

I couldn't escape your sway if I tried.

another sleepless night
4am comes strolling around
i toss in turn bundled in the sheets
how does one sleep with a mind that races like engine.
thoughts go dashing through without hesitance.
thoughts that break apart every aspect of me.
constantly i am reminded of what i am not,
what i could be, what i will never be, and all that is wrong with me.
i cannot stop the whirling inside my mind.
i sit up, i think positive
but the negativity falls down on me like a heaviest thunderstorm
my thoughts, my feelings break me down  
my insides come tumbling day in day out.
i cannot put the sadness into words,
it takes a hold of me, pulls me under its vicious waves,
i come crashing down.
it drowns me until nothing is left,
it tortures me until i am rotten to my core.
the sadness never leaves for long, its with in my roots.
the sadness fills my mind
my head becomes a violent dust storm
gusts of thoughts whirring from every direction.
i am overwhelmed by my own feelings,
I am overthrown by the sadness in my soul.
I pull apart every little thing, letting the smallest things get to me.
insecurities get the best of me, sad thoughts consume me.
happiness abandons me, it never lasts.
i don't recall the last time i was genuinely happy.
sadness is all i know.
the sadness rips me apart and peels my every layer
until it makes its way into my walls
cemented inside of me forever

When your tears just flow without hesitance
Or when someone asks why you look so sad but nothing's on your mind
And it seems that your existence wants to stop existing itself
But you just don't know anymore
And you don't know how to answer anyone or yourself about how you really feel
All you know is sometimes you feel high
When you feel down

In the breath,
of Winter’s first kiss,
my mind freezes,
racing with thoughts,
as the wind caresses,
my cheeks,
coloring them,
in a shade of pink.

A night of preparation,
for this worker bee,
attempting to preserve,
my miniscule piece,
of a gargantuan world.

In the beauty,
of the night,
I transform,
from a worker bee,
into a queen,
unconventional,
yet lovely adorned,
in originality.
I catch your gaze,
dark and mysterious,
as I enter into the room,
trying to hide my longing,
for the splendor,
of your handsome figure,
intriguing my interest.

I am fond,
of your dark attire,
your lean,
yet rough exterior,
that moves in the form,
of a gentleman.


A stranger with a fedora,
draped upon his head,
leaving my eyes to glance,
down to his eyes,
lingering upon me,
as though only I exist,
in the vividly embellished ballroom.

Fear paralyzes us,
leaving neither you nor I,
to move forward,
to dance,
into the ambiguity,
of emotions,
confessing the attraction,
compelling us to submit,
to the arrow of Aphrodite,
thrusting us to surrender,
to the yearning of our hearts,
to express adoration,
for each other.

I place a bead,
from the necklace,
dangling upon my neck,
into your hand,
allowing you to remember me,
hoping you would return,
after this enchanting encounter.

I observe your hesitance,
in response as you contemplate,
praying your aspiration,
corresponds to my wishes,
fighting my temptations.

I stand in silence,
reflecting upon your,
captivating charisma,
as you body moves,
elegant in manner,
to be closer to mine,
embracing me,
in a modest act of simplicity,
I shall never relinquish,
from my memory.

With mixed conversations aligned inside
our expectations don't always comply.
What could be wet could also be dry,
when we see other options offered in mind.

Hesitance often slows the path we possess
but a personal pace sustains motivation, and anyone's race can turn about face.
Is it really such a lonely road for an individual to search the unknown, testing their growth.

We usually follow what seems set out in front, concurrent ideas and beliefs seep through us.
The leaves of the trees determine the falls, as time spaced apart often changes our attitude.

The landscape of life will transform with a call, through those cycles we bind to vary our mindset. Lessons for all are shown but not always learnt, as repetitive tones tend to compliment worth.

Listen to the figures above, providing purpose when we're feeling deep or down on our luck. The answers can vary and we have to choose, but there are no limits as we continue on through.

We live in a world where some choose to sit idle by
as a cry for help is silenced by an obsession with wealth,
as mental health concerns suffers the silent treatment
and reason categorises wounds and scars to visible marks.
Sometimes the marks are visible, the physical projection of pain,
the doctors deem them fixable, as if the pain ingested
could be cured by a pill or an injection, it's reckless
to assume pain from a broken perspective.
It is not effective to judge what should and shouldn't hurt,
sometimes it just hurts, the dirt in a wound waiting to blister
like a twister caught between an earthquake and a tsunami,
an army of different antidepressants swallowed without hesitance,
but sometimes it still hurts. It just hurts.

We live in a world where suicide is one thing countries share in common,
and often we ask ourselves 'do politicians ever think about people?'
The feeble argument between money and lives, as the night
passes its light onto different matters. When a person falls in a forest,
can their cries for help be heard. The muttered words are non existent,
but the persistent debate of what is going to be next in the budget cut,
loses touch on what is really human; 'when are we going to fund the help
that mental health concerns deserve?'.

The children is our key to the future, like candles alighting tomorrow
so why are we letting mental illness blow out the lights.
The children is our key to the future, but what future must we share
if humanly care and compassion is missing from the equation,
a new train station will not provide a shoulder for those who need it,
is human kindness disappearing?
How many more lives must we watch perish?