The wind howls
outside my bedroom window
shaking me
my heart; my soul

it screams
while you sit there
drinking sweet-smelling coffee
a baby boy in Africa
cries of hunger
and aching ribs.

while you are curled up
under warm and soft blankets
an old and lonely man
wanders the darkest streets
looking for warmth;
a home

while you hide there
surrounded by light and family
with an aura of ungratefulness
you are lost in the rays of your technologies
with a frown on your angelic face
when a weeping woman
shakes and prays
for her gone children to reach Heaven happily
but you dare forget God to a screen?

my house shakes
from Wind's agonizing words
and a streak of cold
trickles into my haven
along with the words
"what am I doing?"

somehow
my stiff legs reach
a window
and the arms in front of me
pull it open
to reveal no sound at all

where is the wind?
did he leave just as
he touched
my heart; my soul
making me waver?
or does a gust not howl ,
speak,
and isn't heard?

no
the wind was here
for how else did the once-twinkling snowflakes
suddenly freeze
and lose all of their beauty?

no one but Wind
would take the innocence
of such young and beautiful white specks
just as they landed
in this cold,
dark world

no one but Wind
would flare you with reality
enough to make you cry with obliviousness
for this wind; my Wind
he is the voice off all those
who have faced
life's stinging brutality;
him
instead of
hiding under covers
and whispering morbid lies
that
everything is okay

I promised you roses.
Yet you took the garden.
Stolen,
Gone forever.
You took everything I had
and had the audacity to shatter it
As my obliviousness stared at the stars,
Entranced,
Like every other night.

I promised you love.
Yet you took my heart.
Pretty,
Sweet,
absolutely destroyed
Without my knowing,
While my obliviousness got lost in the songs we fell asleep to.
You threw my heart on the ground and stepped on it too,
As if to make up for any kindness you had showed me before.

You ruined the stars for me,
You ruined my love,
You ruined me.
All because I promised you love
and you took my heart.
All because I promised you roses
and you took the garden.

Once I was alive and full of mystery
But now I am dying and full of misery
Soon all that will be left is dirt and dust
My molten sphere will begin to rust

Fossil fuels, logging, factories and pollution
I am dying but yet you have found no solution
Yet you continue to consume without any thought
Pretty soon resources, there will be naught

Time isn’t on my side nor is the human population
Only your obliviousness and ignorance has put me in this situation
The weather cycles are getting stranger and stranger by the day
Heat is building up on the ice caps dirt and clay

The sea level is continuously rising
And animal species are slowly dying
Soon I’ll be nothing but disastrous ruins
You must stop what you have been doing

Cries of agony are an endless groan
I am slowly dying and all alone
Sadly my unrenewable products are beginning to run out
You destroy everything that gets in your way without a single doubt

You say you are humans but yet you show no humanity
You have brought me to my insanity
Animals and plants are only just surviving
But yet you humans are still thriving

You know what you are doing
My broken world will be your undoing
Perhaps you will never learn that my awful slow demise
Was because you never even tried to compromised

If in the end you try to save me from my tragic fate
It will it be too little too late
/gt

"I age an eternity a moment,an eternity that is fleeting in a moment and you imbue the impermanence with your seraphic presence."

I am sitting under this tree whose leaves sway in circles like my memories fading into myself;
yet alone a few memories resist this disintegration,resisting the frailty of the life.one of those memories whispers your voice and how you said "father,I have a wish",the tone sweeter than the voice of the ocean,when you are about to sleep and it's your bed-time story for me,you continue saying,"I want to live in the sky and be an angel who floats on the clouds,when I want to swing I would bend the rainbow into the oonjal and with every swing I hit the clouds so hard that it becomes so ecstatic and produces a roar.when I want to come to the earth,I come like a lightening which tickles the earth....."
I love how you sleep in the middle of the story and how your voice slowly disintegrates into the silence like how you didn't say "now I take this sound and whisper it in this ear and you are going to bury in your heart, this sound that emanated from me and buried in you could resonate with billion galaxies".

Do you remember this is the tree under which we used to play with the mud,you used to pour the water in the sand and cover the leg with the mud till the ankle and staunch it immobile for a certain period and when you suddenly remove the foot,it assumes the shape of your foot which looks like igloo.I love how you break the igloos that is when you try to fit your head in to its mouth in the obliviousness that it would break because your head is too big to fit in,I love how the specks of silt get struck in the strands of your hair.

Every subtle detail here becomes enormously exquisite and with every utterance I am drowned with the memories to a point of singular abstract thought.perhaps in the next life,I wish to born as your child because I want to spend my childhood in your lap,I have to live those moments when you lift me up and put me on your shoulders and pat my head till I sleep,that is the part of my life in which I have missed you and I will claim and live it....

I still remember reading your short story and the male character in the story says something like "there is no brightness without darkness and you are the darkness,perhaps when you die,the sun,the moon and the stars would miss their light shedding upon you,but I am the one who will be devoid of the darkness that which creates the very ambience for this life,that which creates this inimitable life..."I wonder what it means sometimes and what made you to think to write something like that,that which produces an inseperable thought..and I think I am too old now to contemplate on what it means......


The tree and I sit on this light-shed early morning ,I think every particle of light which is reflecting from me now shares my memory,so I suppose I spread this reminiscence all over this place,all that is seen and unseen shares our memories....it baffles me at the very thought that every experience we indulge in reflects on the very existence itself.... I take your voice wherever I go and live,it's like a plugin to my heart and you always whisper from within me,even now,It's 6:30 now and I hear you saying "close your eyes",I close my eyes and fade into the echoes of your voice.transcedence.

"She is like a lightening passing now through me like a tickle and so do I perceive every form of limitation as a transcendence..."

Alone within my emotional wilderness

A reverie along memory lane when, this lviii sea sunned
row man (stills paddles in oarlocks and serenely quizzically,
lackadaisically, and harmoniously drifts) along the slip
stream of time. Awash on his figurative manual navigated
opportunistic prideful quintessential schooner reflects,
regales, and revisits ebbing lapsed instances (fast receding
into the past time, when psychological instability grounded
fragile my self esteem (generated venting, steaming, and
piping hot brickbats). As a newly minted harrumphing,
grubbing, and floundering dada enmeshment (analogous
to a fish caught in a net, hence quickly ricocheting, rabidly
splashing, and sloppily thrashing) predicated my foray
into das fatherhood. Aye experienced nearest approximation
Bing battered, rammed, and torpedoed from glomming
(par for the course riot ting heaps) necessarily imposed
adult responsibility. Such metaphorical motoring across
avast Battle Creek with no landfall in sight, this then nada
so Grand Turk (key in the straw) Otto man continually
snapped, cracked and popped. This human ping-pong
fitbit part player papa felt akin to subjection re: thralldom).
At this juncture in me cross currents of existence I can
harken back to those most exhausting, fatiguing, and
grueling endeavors. Hindsight offers this aging baby
boomer the luxury to cast astern. Retrospective leisurely
trawls along the shoals throes of fatherhood allow,
enable and provide and opportunity to scrutinize per
chance, where arises this on account of the empty nest
syndrome. Ordinarily the wife (i.e. missus to appear
more formal), would caw out my name nonstop….
”Matt”…”Matt”…”Matt”…, but she opted to organize
the cluster of assorted household items at the apart
ment (located in Crum Lynne – Ridley Township),
we hope to move within a fortnight. Thy spouse
volunteered her own mini reprieve by setting order
to the miscellaneous fixings gradually amassed,
appropriated, and gifted thru out the twenty plus
years of marriage, which hodgepodge of personal
possessions downsized whence circumstance dictates
evaluating goods having keepsake meaning versus
anomaly of belongings to be unloaded, repurposed
for someone else, or ordained as unworthy to schlep.
Alone asper like a very brief sabbatical from marriage
finds stillness amidst the white noise of the whirring
fan. Thus, I sit here ruminating how to dredge up
some idea for a poem,  (non) fiction or essay. This
husband became acclimated, conditioned, and em
bossed with a mate a tete for two plus decades,
whereby both thee dos delightful daughters on
Track 742 heading west. Honest to dog, I miss
the role of fatherhood when either off spring
(with an age difference of approximately twenty
five plus months) romped, scampered, and trotted
as toddlers, and upon childhood, thy little girls
found exultant excitement dashing higgledy-
piggledy, hither and yon, to and fro across the
playground as most glorious human indulgence.
Despite the plaintive wail vis a vis Juliet saying
goodnight to Romeo (…parting is such sweet
sorrow) haint pleasurable atoll. Hitherto un
known that during the most vexing, trying,
and quaking bouts when both kin of thy ****
fought like angry cats would there transpire
the occasion of sincere tearfulness ululating
vain warbling. Now a pang of nostalgia arises
when I drive past their happy go lucky stomp
ping turf, or reflect on answering the trumpet
call to chauffer one or thee other to amusement
park, play date, mall, favorite toy store such as
Fivebelow, birthday party, et cetera. Even
certain tunes recalled to mind and/or heard
being broadcast across the audio logical spec
trum a cause for moistened tear ducts. Wince
with sadness also mixed with sigh lent bundled
expostulations of joy. Both progeny metamorphosed
into able bodied, minded and spirited lasses,
whose attainment far exceeded any projections
internally forecast. Initial onset of parent role
found me all thumbs. Prior to begetting two
darling dames, this chap spent disproportionate
number of hours sequestered within some hide
away, which frequently happened to be the
designated bedroom at 324 Level Road, College
Ville, Pennsylvania, 19010. Never did thee major
rit tee days of mine life point to babysitting or
working with that chronological demographics
comprising the adoring blessed innocence,
murmuring newborn obliviousness, that bespoke
penultimate unsullied, utmost virtue necessitating
interaction with tender infants beckoning being
cradled, endearingly fondled, demonstrably easing
fondness gripping heartstrings issue jetblue kinks.
Aye felt pitched headlong into this foreign territory,
and initially experienced utmost awkwardness when
attending, pampering and pulling (albeit gently)
upsy daisy, the nascent hint of autonomy. Remembrance
and recollection of élan, joie de vivire, and yea those
ear splitting threshold of pain screaming tantrums
all boxed into tidy wholesome Zen announcing
nuggets of greater meaningfulness and absolute
value. The above long winded reverie intended and
meant tubby a semi biography, but leave hit up to
his hie n hiss, he went way overboard, and will give
a one line summarization to describe his i.e. yours truly
life sentence fate decreed. He (this Anglophile chipper
chap lived under duress of extreme anxiety, obsessive/
compulsive behavior, panic attacks and essentially
schizoid personality disorder for the greater part
of his life and hard times, which raw bits would
warrant fleshing out to extrapolate how these psychic
pitfalls represented critical factors at various and
sundry turning points in his life.

I sit by myself in my bubble, alone
Sitting like this, the only way that I know
I choose this lifestyle because I know the way
A way like this will make my good heart stay.
I have watched from my house, watched the whole inside rot
While the outside stays gorgeous, the inside is not
Like a pretty cake exterior, but interior- it's mold
Everybody seeing it tricked that it's gold.
So here in my bubble is where I will stay
And here I am content to watch the children play
I stay inside to avoid the Roman Carnival
I am often compared to a bird, no, not a Cardinal.
And somehow when I'm needed I magically appear
I come to the rescue when it's danger I hear
My footsteps go unnoticed, it's silent indeed
I come out to assist when people are in need.
Other than that, I stay safe from the idiocy of this town
If there was an award for hypocrisy, you all win the crown
Your obliviousness I have not come to bare
So my innocent soul I will definitely take care.
I will not understand how you simply don't see
The man that you killed just left his family
And you're blind to the man that taught the young ones
Meanwhile you're pressing charges for fun.
So here in this bubble my residence is at
I'm making a choice not to be a victim of that
And if my staying inside just makes me a fool,
Do you honestly think that makes you more cool?
Because I know you inside- who you really are
Adults training these kids to reach for the stars
You hypocrites don't even know what to say
When the children grow up and get too old to play.
Oh yeah, the stars, you haven't touched them yet
My little bubble of privacy I am willing to bet
That you haven't even climbed outside this pretty little town
Haven't gotten better than this mold and this crown.
So continue that life and living your lie
I'll stay inside my bubble and watch the child cry
He can see the cruelty just like I can too
These children know me by the name of Boo.

What is between fingertips when they refuse to touch?
air? Electricity? Unspoken words and promises? Feelings better left denied or not felt at all?
All the things I want from you but that I will never get? And the reasons I wont ever have them?

I watch your fingers play with a ball of paper, kneading it between your digits like fresh baked bread.
Mine do the same with my key. I pretend not to notice your hands, you most likely really don't see mine.
I wonder if you imagine my skin, instead. I know I imagine yours.

This simultaneous obliviousness this awkward use of fingers meant to caress and touch and interact.
This silent agreement to ignore our desires. This goes against every instinct I've ever felt.

I want to reach out for your nimble fingertips, to feel the roughness of them. I don't. I look down at my lonely hands.
They will never be strong enough to break the unbreakable.

I.
The Sun.
and you the
Moon. Yes. We tend
the rabbits true, but they
die in obliviousness too.

I am not in love with her
Or lust, or infatuation
But nonetheless;  
She leaves her mark
Traces of herself all over me
Mahogany stains bleed through on my fingertips
Streaks of purple smudgings are left in my ear canals
Trickles of red wine are swept along my tender neck
Oozing down, down, down, down
And I cannot scrub this from my skin
No matter how many hours I waste
Lathering myself up into a foam of obliviousness
Still at the end of the day she is there, intriguing as ever
Trapping me again
In this foggy purple haze

In particular evinces of comparable obliviousness

To implications of extraneous misunderstandings

That bring a melancholy of limited constrictions

Makes one articulate anxiety in dazzling reform

Of vibrant linguistic experimentation  of lawless incongruity

Resulting in rhetorical pyrotechnics that defy inflections

And a wild farrago of tongues that boast a fecundity of speech

The way you walk is like a rhythmic melody to my eyes, the way you speak flows from your red-stained lips like an evergreen stream of desires; your beautiful glowing iris' almost ******* me into their eternally entrapping gaze; never to release me....
The skin that surrounds your delicate frame is only highlighted by the glow of artificial lighting in this dim basement of dreams; pure white skin fascinating me to the point of rapture.
There is not one imperfection on your body, not one; even the slightest of scars are not visible or have been cured by some magical force or your naturally healing qualities.

It's a dream. You must be a beautiful dream.

You smile at me, eyes narrowing with that shine of happiness and obliviousness, god how I wish those eyes would never tear me away from their view.  
Your long, flowing hair stark contrast with your snowy complexion, framing your face as perfectly as a porcelain doll's...

All dolls, no matter how flawless, can break, can't they?

You ask why we are here in this dimly lit room, no one home, just you and me. I smile my typical smile, dimples showing which somehow causes you to giggle and blush, only bringing my excitement to an even higher level.
I tell you that it's special, that I was going to show you something very interesting that only you would know about.

Like a secret.
  
The grin stretches across those cherry-red lips of yours in a Cheshire-like fashion, curiosity abounding in those deep blue eyes that flash into mine like the glare of light in a window.

If only you could see my eyes had turned black as coal.

I open another door in this finely destructed basement of mine, only darkness thickly coating it with it's solid ink.
You cling to my steadfast arm, sending my nerves into overload. Your body trembles a bit, just so slightly; I know when you're frightened.

Don't those eyes look beautiful, shining like a does in the headlights before the initial impact of steel on bone?

You look at me, solid white teeth biting your lower lip in an almost child-like manner. I tilt my head and grin, telling you there's absolutely nothing to be afraid of. Truly there isn't. I only had told you I wanted to show you something, didn't I?

I tell you to wait, wait in the dim lighting of the now menacing underground I call my home. You try to speak, to let the pure doves alight my way in the dark, but I had already followed the shadows inside, tracing the crusted walls in search of the switch that would bring this fantasy to life.

Flick goes the switch.

I hear the sharp intake of breath even though there wasn't one, the sound of your eyes snapping open no matter how desolate the sound was; I know what you do, how you think, how you act to any situation. I had observed your reaction when I led you to the dead body of a feline on the road, body crushed into a dull paste whilst the cracked and broken bones jut upwards in a grotesque display; mouth open in a final shriek that was cut short by the incoming vehicle that had become it's executioner.

You stare at the velvet red walls and the cracked and marred white floor. I know what you're thinking as your gaze turns to the tools hanging on the wall. Which do you like more, the buzz saw or the hedge clippers? I truly wonder which.

Your hands begin to shake.

Ask me why. Go ahead and ask. I told you I was going to show you something that no one else will ever know. Your focus happens to turn to the jars on the crooked and unstable wooden desk. My life's work lie in still beauty, the tender yet dangerous piece of the anatomy trapped and preserved in the perfume of formaldehyde.

I always thought your slender hands were breathtaking.

Before you have a chance to open that tiny mouth of yours I grab your miniature wrist, pulling you into my room of fantasies.
Can't you just feel the walls quivering with excitement? Can't you feel the hands exploring your body in feverish delight?  

You scream, the sound echoing beautifully in the room, a truly splendid noise to my transfixed ears. How I loved to picture this cloth over your eyes; this tape over your shapely mouth. It was surprisingly easy to tie your delicate body down, wandering eyes covered to make your mind race, mouth taped shut as to feel your soon to be surgery of desire.

Desire for me, that is.

This is a fantasy come to life.

I grab the tool with the teeth of unforgiving malice, it craves to feel that perfectly flawless skin of yours; to cut away that soft cover with it's metallic blade.

Who am I to deny it?

You begin to writhe in your *******, how I am glad you decided to wear your finest white dress for this occasion. I pull the cord, bringing the creature to life. A muffled scream of terror floats through the tape, but that is no matter to the beast in my hand.

I bring it to your flesh, seeing it rip your foundation away in a smooth yet ****** fashion, dying that dress of yours a crimson colour.

I always knew red was the perfect shade for you.

You try to become free of your bonds, wrists twisting in desperation to escape the leather that holds you there. The red burns that appear on your wrists look beautiful, like a blush to entice me.

Does it hurt? Do you feel the painful sting in your abdomen? I watch as red ribbons gush out of your freshly made wound, decorating your body with it's trail. My eyes soften as your tongue manages to rip away the tape holding your lips together and shiver as your cries bounce and reflect off the walls.

I put down the creature in my hand, cutting off it's life, then use my own dangerous instruments. Like slipping under the covers my hand went, feeling the pulsing life and heat of your insides, caressing the organs that maintain your body.

A shrill cry escapes your lips once more, forcing me to clench my living tool over your slippery insides, feeling them slide in a painfully gut-wrenching way; causing your face to twist in such a new and delightfully horrified expression.

Have you had enough already?

That's too bad, seeing how you were the cat who decided to follow me into the basement, the doe that stopped once it saw it's quickly approaching demise...

I wake up and wonder if you'll come over today.

Because I have something I want to show you.

But don't tell anyone...

It's a Secret.

those pensive ones
as they seem to me
birds on the wire
gazing this way
     and that
lost invariably
to their ennui
their melancholy
their obliviousness
to the point
some may say
     pointlessness
of their existence
in these moments
without reason
or incentive enough
to prompt one
     or the other
to take to the wing
embracing the bluster
of the ever-blowing winds
rather they sustain
this idle malingering
waiting listlessly
for that which none
can know

The universe (essentially) isn’t what it seems. WOW! SHOCKER…! But this very (obviousness) isn’t what you exactly think, either. As it’s much MORE complex then anyone can ever transpire on a regular basis. It’s exactly what the title of this passage gives away… That there’s a reason the universe is an obvious smoke-screen. Now, is it the darkness that is a void itself…? Is it the general theme that everything in this ever-expanding void, is again, (essentially) too desolate beyond recognition? B-but why is it (essentially) too desolate beyond recognition? Well sense of selves, a-and all individualities that mask themselves with impressions they don’t even realize they are (doing just that themselves). Except with pure obliviousness. Something that’s “meant” to turn that very (someone) into a king, respectfully. OOOOOKKKK…! One would say with just a hint of slight confusion. A king of what, exactly…? They ask once more as there (obviously) MORE intrigued then the “slight confusion” fuels the curiosity forward. Good question. The narrator simply responds. Well you see… There’s this thing apart from all the formalities and what not. There’s (essentially) what’s called an oblivious king. A king who’s too oblivious for there own good. And it could (very well be a someone o-or something) for variety itself has no flaw for specifics of that aptitude. Because if it did, then everything “couldn’t and wouldn’t” spiral out of control for something to not (substantially and correctly) act this way, when it’s (supposed) to otherwise be of the complete opposing opposite. Which doesn’t seem to stand good with (what’s the smoke-screen for)? Because if the universe is “meant” to seemingly be a smoke-screen for (something) entirely different. Then the universe is then (essentially) just a mask hiding away the truer appearance o-or “identity” of what the true variety, really is. Which in case in point, is what will generally make you into a king. A king for no (instance of power) can cause obliviousness without surrounding themselves with the light that is delusional (for knowing too much). Then the one who spoke out first then scratches their head. Well…ok, that’s ahhh…well…. They then catch themselves going off cue and re-straighten out their posture to then correctly (clear their throat) to respeak (there again), own opinion. K…K…K…. S-so then what does any of this mean…? Then as if pointing a finger out directly at the one narrating this passage, there finger radiated with a boiling direct seriousness. Not to mention whatever light that is delusional for… They then stop in a flustered pause re-scratching their head with MORE contemptment then (slight confusion) could ever be sounded correctly anymore. Re-scratching until there was possibly no scalp left. For the gross dandruff that started to flake all over the place made them MORE oblivious to what even an (oblivious king) is truly all about. They finally gathered there voice back into commission, and got a hold on there breathing as they inhaled, then immediately exhaled. Feeling now calm and collected. … (For knowing too much…) They said as they expressed at the EXACT same time as exhaling. Followed by an obvious sign of relief they were glad to feel. Because there’s another instance for power to reckon something out of one’s tip-top shape. And just like an oblivious king, there’s the (high of confusion). A type of confusion that goes WAY BEYOND what one (couldn’t begin) to understand. For the smoke-screen grows ever larger. Which then prematurely (beyond one’s own reckoning for absolute truth…) The universe grows more better and broader in its own concealment. Hiding the face beyond the truer variety that (would otherwise) make you into a bonafide king! For if you know the identity of the universe itself, before the (founding) even took place… Then (essentially) if someone were to find out, (and they were still there own oblivious king) for the wrong ideas on how to handle such a truth. Then were all *******, pretty much! Especially what’s on the other side of that universal mask!

I thought you were the fire that could warm my frozen heart
I took care of you
And tended to you
To keep you going as long as you could
I thought you would keep me warm
and take care of me too

Instead I ended up getting burnt
Charring my fingers on your carelessness
Singing my hair on your obliviousness
And In A Way, my own
Because anyone knows that when you play with fire
You're asking
to get burnt
-a former pyromaniac

Supposing creatures had a voice,
Would they really say that we could eat them?
Would they really step forward willingly to the abattoir?
Like Lamb to the slaughter…
Or do they too speak profound thoughts?
Could they or could they not,
We may never find out this,
But, surely we must believe they are more
Than just a simple slab of Meat.

Could they think from a new perspective?
Evolve or Die? **** or be Killed?
Could they really want to be sacrificed?
Their deathbed a slab of concrete,
An axe as their executioner,
And a butcher’s as their tomb…
Their only purpose in life nothing more,
Than just a simple slab of Meat.

Should they really see a new lease of life?
Given the freedom of the grassy plains,
Or left picked apart, the bones scattered,
The prime cuts selected, The gristle dumped.
The only purpose as food for a higher being,
The only question on another’s lips.
How much are you willing to pay?
After all…
It’s nothing more,
Than just a simple slab of Meat.

After all is slaughter any different to hunting?
The axe as the fangs, the predator as the executioner,
The prey is the cattle, the wildebeest, and the animal.
The thrill in the chase, but not in the capture,
So why does it end in slaughter?
Surely the prize is a little bit more,
Than just a simple slab of Meat.

We may argue and we may debate,
The civil rights of these animals.
But so many people cannot see,
They think them merely as a meal.
So blind to sight and yet so advanced,
But nobody sees the hidden obliviousness,
For they cannot see animals are more than,
Than just a simple slab of Meat.

What If the sweet smell of spring,
Reminds you of the winter that will come too
What if the smiles showered on you
mirror the times you cried alone

What if one step ahead
Gets you two step back,
What if the starry nights
Trance you into a state of endless obliviousness

What if you came out clean,
Only to end up in a brutal relapse,
What if the future gets lost,
In a labyrinth of your past wishes

What if these words
Remain the only thing of mine to touch you,
What if forever was just a fleeting moment for us?

What if, what if, at the last moment of your life,
These whatifs are all you have got

You were 2,937 miles away
white water rafting in a native equatorial 33 degree heat in a foreign land I've never even been close to or know much about,
(except of course the stereotypical facts that this country is overflowing with moose and is abundant in trees dripping with the most golden maple syrup leaves)
when it was 6pm here and 2pm there and ahead of your time I was trying to make sense of the mess of missing you in my head by embodying it in the mountain of clothes on my bedroom floor
accompanied by the local mainstream music radio station blasting from my neglected 3 year old speakers
(I couldn't find my aux cord at the time and desperate times call for desperate measures)
after all, background noise helps to block out the overhanging realisation that what I am physically doing is actually work, no matter how musically unappealing it may be.
Among the 4 chord formulaic chart tunes on repeat suddenly came an acoustic guitar and husky lyrics too personal to be relatable with an obliviousness to who the artist or what the song was and the fact that I didn't really care
but how all at once I froze in my 4 hours ahead future and my focus was replaced by the overwhelming wave of the feeling
of missing you.
Missing the one piece of my patchwork heart that stitched all the seams in the first place, and all that filled me in that moment was what writers and word enthusiasts would call Saudade; a deep emotional state of nostalgic or profound melancholic longing for an absent someone that one loves, often carrying a repressed knowledge that the person of longing might never return. "The Love That Remains" permeated my heart and soul and you were 2,937 miles too far away to put my mind at ease,
white water rafting beneath halcyon skies the same colour turquoise as the oceans separating us, and
I know how much you love flying and I never told you at the time,
you know I had to hide that inside I was dying
when that message came through about the engine subsiding,
my life and breath were in my mouth while your flight was taken off the runway at 1am Eastern Time,
2,937 miles away you were cornered in an airport terminal
(there were complications involving an escalator and your luggage)
and all I could do was read your ongoing commentary from my room through a 6 by 10 centimetre phone screen and be the reassuring soulmate I am but
Sweetheart I was scared shitless of the possibility that you might not come home because of a thunderstorm at 1am on the other side of the world that I wouldn't even get to be afraid of while you would have loved every second of it.
I'm still trying to stop being scared of thunderstorms. So that maybe someday I can sit with you and watch all the different bursts of beautiful and terrifying shapes the lightning makes
-without stopping all the blood rushing to your hand from how hard I am squeezing it.
But contrary to my subconscious paranoia
You came back safe,
with more freckles for me to fall in love with and the abrupt addition of "eh"'s trailing off the ends of your sentences
along with the ability to allow my worn-out heart to finally resume it's steady beat the moment your feet touched down and at least we were looking at the same expanse of sky again.

Although it might take a while in our time zone with our clocks caught up before we make our ends meet again,
I will allow myself to take refuge in that knowledge that we are walking on the same stretch of soil under the same moon and
the constellations of stars you find comfort in talking to when you can't sleep.
Only 93 miles away this time.

It’s funny
How pleasantly unaware you are
Of where I stand or where I sit or what I say in passing.
Meaningful to me, oh yes, and perfectly planned-each step.
Yet all is so easily glossed over by your obliviousness.
I cannot just exist as I am any longer though, and so
I will make a proposal. To whom I am unsure.
Let’s say I was to suddenly grasp your hand.
Shout instead of whisper.
Take you somewhere you have never been.
All the way to top of this tower so we could gaze out at the night’s vision.
And I’d hold you as it’s cold and windy,
Stare out at the busy city,
Share with you my favorite thing to do.
To imagine this very scene right here
Of us watching
The lights and people’s parties. And the buildings, like arrows to ambition.
So few appreciate the skyline before us now.
And how at once I fathom isolation, just you and me in a private corner.
The air darkens around us so that all I can see is you.
And how I’d soon rather lose my sight than forgo having known you,
Our experiences, however small.
Then could we be together?

My feelings are neglected, my love
was never appreciated. The care I took
did not fulfill her demands and secretly
my friends are laughing, I just know.

And there's nothing I can do to make you see
nothing to connect you with the real me.
I'll tell you what I want to say
not what you hope on hearing.

I danced with you but you forgot,
my time with you, unknowingly comforted
but my actions were betimes aborted
because you seemed a little occupied a lot.

But there was nothing I could do to make you see
nothing to connect you with the real me.
I'm telling you what I want to say
not what you're hoping on hearing.

Now accept my offer and release your yet
inner intellect, equally protect and let
me increase the amount of question marks
with complete obliviousness, it all embarks.

There was nothing I could have done to make you see
nothing to connect you with the real me.
I have told you what I wanted to say
not what you hoped on hearing.

in my obliviousness
inadvertent and unintentional
some may say as usual
i disturbed a wasp nest
the heightened bombilation
an anger-pitched droning
unheard somehow
therefore unheeded
until that impolite *****
a warning sting
through t-shirt to torso
followed by a few more
in quick succession
set my legs moving
apologetically away
with hands raised
chastened and contrite
both in supplication
and in order to remove
the offending article
of clothing
the oversensitive wasp
having become trapped within
defensively stinging
as nature directs
to be honest
its overzealous instincts
began to feel
more like spite
than mere survival

As I look out the window
I see it

As I walk down the streets
I see it

As I mingle with the people  
I see it

The world is in a state
We think we see it

But I myself do not truly see it
I just think I see it

Though believing to see it
Is that not better than the ignorance most people live in?

We all see it
The difference is
We choose our reality
Ones consciousness, is never the same as that of others

What I see crystal clear before my eyes
Most people blind out and retreat into a world of Obliviousness

So the question remains, will we ever see it?
…See it as one entirely composed consciousness
And most of all as crystal clear
As it should be acknowledged?

I am abrasively myself forever and always
I come off as an awkward, perverted, introverted lady
I tend to overthink everything anyone ever says to me
I am heavily affected by things other people aren’t
I put deep meanings on things I shouldn’t
I believe every word of my horoscope to give myself a little hope for the day
I cling to my remaining friends with all of my strength because I am already lonely enough
I am a hopeless romantic but pretend I’m not cause I gotta keep up my reputation
I have a reputation for being hard to talk to but easy to get into
I want someone to love me so sometimes I believe if they get into me they’ll love me then
I know that is a stupid idea but I just can’t help thinking it because its called making love right
I get angry very quickly if people don’t reciprocate my friendship at the same level I give it
I tend to ride a tidal wave called depression that has its ups and downs
I plead with my head every day that I don’t go under and drown
I hate hurting someone’s feelings even if by accident I will never forgive myself
I don’t care if you hurt my feelings at all I have my walls built up so don’t worry
I have compassion flying out of my chest for even the most spoiled rotten people
I will take a bullet for a stranger if given the chance because they deserve to live
I don’t know if I deserve to live though sometimes I truly wonder
I still miss the people whose friendships I have lost even if it was years ago
I believe every human being is good despite their obliviousness and their selfishness
I do my best to help my single mother even when she doesn’t see it
I love my little sister like my own child and I take care of her like it
I have passion for everything I do from my job to just being in school
I grew up way too fast and I get angry because no one can understand how I think
I guess its because I have no father and try to take care of my mother and myself
I think I may be one of the only kids who do that
I was not born into a wealthy family my mother is a grocer and my father was a jeweler
I have more pride for my parents than kids whose parents are CEO’s and business people
I believe I have learned more about being a good person than people who are handed it all
I would rather die than do nothing with my life
I could never live with myself if I didn’t put others before me
And I wouldn’t want it any other way.

Twitch, Twitch
churned until it turns to a sweet fluid
the mystical food that fills the land with warmth
and light
and depth
churn that butter, rippled with fat
with that wooden broom stick working your magic
let your creation poison the world......


about 14 people to be exact on that day
let the sweat be the honor of your work to the devil
let your wrinkles be the prize of that deed
let your creaky and barren home be the result of your selfishness and obliviousness
you don't care, you never cared
let your Blood Diamonds be the new pandemic of the sorrow, sullen, world.

Take a knife right to my chest,
Watch the words bleed from my heart.
Pulsating in gasps, they won't be the best,
But for me it's just the start.
My feelings pour out like a cabernet,
A cup that happens to be your face
And when I finally figure out what to say,
I might be able to finally save some grace.

I don't question if you care anymore,
Your actions solidify where you stand.
A high scoring game when you check the score,
My total is number 1 in all the land.
But score doesn't matter in this day and age,
All that matters is style of play
Don't reward those who follow the steps on the page,
Non-chalance and obliviousness lead the way.

And like I said before, its not about you,
I know that you're doing your best.
I'm just tired of failing in all that I do,
Of watching success go to all the rest.
"Stop trying so hard, you're time will come,"
Sounds good to those who reached the top.
But I can't control time while I'm under its thumb,
And for giving it my all, why stop?

The truth of it all is that I'm not the one,
Who gets an easy ending to my tale.
Having to sacrifice my heart isn't fun,
But I'll do it to help others not fail.
I can't find the answers, I'll just help my friends,
Live vicariously as they find their mates.
Martrydom can be my means for these ends,
And my part to save those with sealed fates.

Bongo drums march a parade of elephants through a stunning and sweet Savannah.
One or two look up to the sky, but immediately stop moving. They get trampled.
The rest don't dare to; they know that when the
Sun dances its beautiful waltz,
a glimpse can render any being glossy-eyed and so entranced that
they forget how to run.
The Earth rolls its eyes at the boasting of a solar diva.

***

Vines vibrate like guitar strings as they're gripped by night monkeys,
Navigating a black jungle huddled underneath a lunar flashlight pointed towards Earth.
The owls don't feel like hunting for mice;
They wanted to join in the jungle's campfire.
Animals play brass horns and steel drums to the audience of tropical trees.
And right after the wilderness finishes its nightly romp,
The mountains loosen their grips on the buried, sunlit sky and let it revolve back up to the top.
The Earth laughs along at the Daytime's obliviousness to its sister's festival that eludes it.

Too familiar to me,
too distant from thee.
Spirits blend like brothers from past,
whoever predicted these bonds will last.

Never again spoke about the Chaos in your mind,
Never again rekindle the good days beside the dimming lights.
Was once a mentor speaking to enlighten,
now an arbiter who chose to remain silent.

We cast each other spells of silence,
Cursed by obliviousness,
held in one piece by traditions and ties.
nonetheless indifferent.

My sleeping mind cannot contain
All that my waking mind soaks up
Dreams turning into lucid experience
All colors, sensations too intense to categorize
Wind down inside of me
Concentrated awareness of my subconscious obliviousness
I wish that I could weave them all together
Like tall grasses woven into baskets
Strong, unbreakable, able to withstand the heavy weight
Of my spirit
Instead I leak through the seams, tear through edges
Five a.m. cannot keep me
My thoughts scatter
Drifting in and out

As I sit here in the dark,
It’s so silent…
But, at the same time, it really isn’t.

What exactly is silence when there is always n o i s e?
Of our minds
SCREAMING…yelling…constantly talking…
Verbally, mentally, and silently vocalizing the numerous, duplicitous details of our waking lives.

The mind never stops. Never shuts up.
And as much as I’d like it to, I can’t make it
As long as the body goes,
the mind reveals,
it revels, in the subconscious awareness of our obliviousness.

Is anything a surprise...
Or, do we always know?
But then again, what exactly is “knowing”?
When with one word, one action, one choice…
It can all be so different.
New. Changed. Non-existent.
And once again, we are left in the Unknown…(1 step forward – 2 steps backwards).
All the while, wandering ….wondering
Constantly searching for answers…
Seeking relief from the never ending “what ifs”,
the heart-piercing, perpetual mental lists of  “I should haves…”

There was a time when I questioned it all….
Repeatedly. Tortuously…to no avail it seemed
Until I somehow managed to create a world….
Founded on doubt, confusion, unfamiliarity, and F E A R.

It all began in my head. Simple enough..
That’s where it all begins, right?
This world throws all types of things at us to distract us…
To deceive us, to desensitize and dehumanize us.
To slowly, but surely, annihilate any bit of the God-given life that was once inside of us…
the original covenant of everlasting life, knowledge, and the desires of our heart.

Money.
Fame.
***.
Status.
Drugs.
Love.

It’s whatever is your particular fancy of ammunition…

You see, that’s the thing…
They let us choose.
….So we think..
Some call it Free Will, some call it Destiny…
or some simply call it, “Living Life”

They tell us we NEED this and we need to look like THAT.
So there we go, on a blind, circuitous pursuit to become something that never existed…
Til we are so completely absorbed in this twisted, delusional mirage of Life

… til it’s as if we, ourselves, never existed.
And the crazy thing is… some people never WAKE UP.

Yes, I said wake up.
As in realize that NONE of this is real.
Yet, it is merely the fictitious illustrations of the repetitious reels of our corrupted minds….
Our perverse and evil hearts.

which are both constantly evolving…steadily revolving.
Tainted by the high and forever-rising demands of this world…
Social media,
Music,
The arts.
Sports.
Friends….
and even family…

Little do we know, we are everyday loading the gun of “self-hatred”
….Filling it with little shiny bullets disguised as likes…views...followers.

Lighting the match and igniting the deadly and all consuming flames of “pride, bigotry, and greed”
Mine, mine, mine….
Destroying anything, or anybody, that tries to extinguish and destroy…

Holding, polishing, and aiming the two-edged knife of “insecurity, disloyalty, and ulterior motives.
Piercing the side of those we love.

When will this battle end?
When will the power of love, overcome the love of power?
They say that then we will know peace…
But to have peace, we have to have calamity…agitation…war.

Oh, the beauty of contradictions…

So far apart on the spectrum of life
Yet so strikingly similar.
Ying and Yang.

It’s a matter of life and death…
The absence of one creates the presence of the other.
and, the presence of the other, exemplifies the absence of the one.

And we know this…
Yet, we still choose to be destructive.
Why is it so much easier, seemingly, to do wrong than right?
Will the world ever know…?
So, with this paradoxical world we live in, how do we find stability?

Some find solace in drugs…
Some in love…
However, some find religion.
No scratch that – A RELATIONSHIP
…with a higher power …
One who is omniscient, omnipotent, and omnipresent.
One who can guide our footsteps,
Eliminate all of the outside deceiving thoughts of “what if…” and “why’s”
“trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding…”
That’s what the Word says, right?

…one who can give us stability of our mind and the desires of our heart.
Jeremiah 33:3 says, “call to me and I will answer you and tell you great and mighty things you do not know”

Sounds too good to be true, huh?
But so does, relief and recovery sold to you in a pill bottle from an institution set up to control…
The populations and masses…
The circulation of currency.
The separation of powers.

So, at the end of the day….it’s up to you whether or not you continue sleeping..
Continue wandering
and wondering,
Continue living this deceptive life created and composed by Those People..

Or you can choose to believe…
To have faith in something, someone….
Whatever it may be…
But, the choice is on you.
…or is it?

I don’t know why you continue to have the effect that you do on me.

I can’t explain the thoughts and emotions that run through my mind when I see you, because I don’t fully understand them myself. I don’t know what I need to do to move beyond all of this, and I’m sure that it’s not for lack of trying. The only thing that I do know is that I no longer see myself as the person who I once was, having lost the idealism and positivism that once constituted such strong elements of my character.


I loved you.
I don’t know how I can state it any more plainly. I loved you for everything I thought you were, and for everything that I became when I was with you. When we were together, I felt truly happy and complete in a way that I had never felt before. Being with you recontextualized everything that I thought I knew about love, and I came to understand that while I had felt love in the past, it was only a shadow of what real love could be. Now, I don’t honestly believe that I will ever find someone who I can feel that same love for, and with that realization, I can find very little motivation to experience the future at all. The two of us related on a level that went beyond simple emotion or base attraction. We made our connection on a truly spiritual level, which is something so rare as to be unique in our lives, and something that I believed was worth trying to hold onto. When I saw that, the casual relationships that had characterized my highschool experience far began to seem so purposeless and empty, insignificant in the face of something far greater.

Be that as it may, I recognize that I have to let it all go. There is no purpose served in my holding onto the hope that we might someday have that relationship that I once envisioned. Even if circumstances allowed us another chance, I know that the events of the past would color things to a degree where it could never truly work. To begin a relationship with a close friend, despite never breaking up with your previous boyfriend, is an act that goes beyond words. To compound it by calling it love after breaking my heart is simply despicable.

We both understood that tied inextricably to those feelings of love was a desire to share an intensely intimate part of yourself. We are willing to be emotionally open because we have the expectation and knowledge that in doing so, we can make that shared connection so much stronger and deeper. What you have done is to associate yourself forever with that aspect of love, to tarnish that that act of truth and candor with memories of dishonesty, pain and self-absorbed egotism. The end result is that I am now afraid of allowing myself to enter into a serious emotional relationship again because I fear that they will act in the same manner that you did.
We run a risk when we allow ourselves to love. We balance the possibility of pain against the chance for the development of something wonderful, and we weigh the options every time to determine if the gamble is worth the potential cost. I am no longer willing to run that gamble. I have become intimately familiar with what happens when we find ourselves on the wrong end of the odds, and I will not allow myself to be put through that again.

The impression that you made on me will remain with me for the rest of my life. You will always be the first person who I was able to say that I truly loved, and anyone who I allow into my life in the future will always be compared to you. As much as I hate that, I can accept that, and can even find some comfort in it, because it means that I may be able to understand love if I find it again. I can only hope that if I do, it will be with someone deserving of it.


I will be there for you in the future. But not as the friend I used to be. You made the decision to turn our relationship into something else, and that is a change that cannot easily be undone. You brought out emotions stronger than those associated with mere platonic friendship, and soiled them when you revealed those on your end to be only a malicious mockery. Because of that, I will be there in the future so that I can watch when he ceases to tolerate your *******, false intellectualism and contrived, hypocritical spirituality. I will be there when he is no longer willing to endure your self-absorption and utter obliviousness to others. I will be there when your relationship implodes, and I will be smiling to myself all the while, knowing that you once saw what could have been, and knowing that you made the decision to throw it all away. You were the one person who has ever had the power to truly hurt me, and the one person who ever took the opportunity to do so.

With hate unbounded,
Someone dumb enough to believe in love.

feeling burdened—it tends to happen
particularly when meddling impressions run rampant
swarm circles in my hefty head, ignore the next exit ramp, and
let devils' advocates covet the cove i donned my dome once upon never

although i know this may be chalked up to intelligence
and subsequent ignorant claims that swear it's heaven sent
i swear it’s not for me. so tell all the hell-bent docents to leave
and let live my cognizance dim—to do what i can’t. to let it be.

it is what it is
and what it is
is it’s
excessive

i don’t need no informants
playing mentee won’t mend me
i’m torn sufficiently
far as i can see, it seems

don’t mentor she who beseeches
by way of screams and screeches
me and my strings are beat
by ****** and needless needles’
stitches and ventures heedless

i’m piecing my torn fabric
it’s grown so thick
it’s a feat, recognition
when simple addition alters
fact into fabrication

like my elation
in inebriation
guards sorrow
from knocking at my door
knocks my guard down
and has me floored

it hits my inhibition too
and i’m home-free
no guilt signaling
and i pull singles
i switch with tickets
i use to ticket my skin

no appointment
nor disappointment
walking in walk-in clinics
and sketchy shops
flickering the light
it sheds on both
my faces. i can face them
only with this double vision

i watch mark
as his sketches mark me
like stretch marks,
remarkably

in hopes of realizing on the double
the vision i envision into reality
he lets me let him put his hands on me
seemingly steadily
and we feel as our arms stretch

he draws me in
fills me ink
and vibrant me pends
his vibrating steel
and sharp pens
as they liven
my limp existence
reincarnating me instantly  

after sweet sleep
i wake bitter for some reason
feel dull but also sharp-ied
peeping the nonsense i let seep steeply
into my skin last night when i was peaking

now i can reminisce
on the pain of squirming
wallow over it instead, and
not the overflown gore of streams

and catastrophic waterfalls
that break through my largest *****'s walls
they leave what makes me, me,
with breakthroughs of which it can only dream

if only i can fall like the tears asleep
that crash and wave and overshadow my role
in turn leaving without desire
to turn over no stone
nor use any for stepping on
like the ones more close to normal
do coax

i do it all wrong
like they did me
i walk on coal
though from here
it appears
as though i'm an anomaly
only my sole seethes

when on the rocks
my walker, he makes me so strong
he lets me drink him from dusk to dawn  
he says he’d **** for me from here on
i love how foreign i am to him like heron

not the bird though it’s true
us three often see hues blue
we soar blue skies when our hearts fume blue
and they feel too sore like brews do
when they're too soft to heal each bruise or
make room for pain to grow and strength to bloom
so i walk on water as walker

kills me
he’s to die for
imploring in notes low
that i not stop, so i hop on
and once it’s well thought over
he can tell
overthinking’s my problem

i stand alone in the corner,
my core knows
all my o’s and woes
can be all gone
once one o centerfolds corner
and in comes the
coroner

who walks and rear-ends me
and e-r lose hope and leave me
when he cores me from his soul
and i let my breath roam

but he sends me
soaring over the moon
soon as he shows how he listens
and soon we both know
blinding luminescence

my eyes when they glisten
make all my mourning go missing
like the overthinking overkill
i hit when morning rays missile

and he curtails them at curtains
blacker than the blacklist
my man drenched
my nemesis in
deep sleep
with the fishes  

eventually, however
again and against my will, i endeavor
on reading the biography i penned
block my own writing
and let writers block lock me in
i get stuck on the same page
thought no force impedes
the power i home in my palms
nor my thumb's ability to thumb
through the page
yet i somehow flip it
and become my own victim

i did it.
it tells the history of tears
now extinct due to me overbearing
leading to drainage that came as
the very last bead beat me
for forbidding fibs
and calling dibs on *******

still, ringing in my ears
leaks empathy
for crocodile tears
trickling
as they salivate
over their next meal,
me

i swallow my tongue
not realizing fully
i’d just had my last meal
because they consumed me
quietly
with quibbles
and plots of consuming me
openly

ignorance is less so whats lacks
and with no inkling of doubt
worse in terms of that
which the mind keeps
then refuses to release
when need be
hence: me

after i head over
obvious traps
i let flash
atop my head

like clouds overcast
i’m convinced i tripped
on my own heels
like thunder that strikes
one man down twice
out of spite

but in spite
of everything, now that i know,
my eyes and i are drained no more
see, we’ve ever since grown more so
and metamorphosed
beyond words morbid

like those i anticipate
my gravestone
will go on
to hold

this is the reality of being kept cold-cut as meat
that heads *******, idiots, dunces, cons, and so on
those who bring forth obstacles that spurt in growth
inch by inch quicker than their thickening skulls

each time
the sage i pick thinks
my life needs spicing up, either
my screams of agony are mistaken
and my inseams nipped at the bud

or my spirits appear uplifted
and mistaken are my sorrow-filled tears
with joy-plagued wails,
each time
deep-seated sage seeds **** my green

lord knows that while i understand—to some degree
the world can’t come close or know what brews
in the disorganized chaos that is me intrinsically
i don’t fib when i allege that my angle isn’t deceit

nor right, necessarily
just dense as these
basins, wrinkles and dents
my tense cortex insists on heaving  

it would be obtuse of me
to anticipate that anybody
would watch my back
if not mine and me

it's all only a tactic
and i may feign obliviousness
to support this spinelessness
and keep it all in tact

insects fester
i feel each tentacle
extend incessantly
like these rants

they all ax my lumbar
no one's barred from my club
lumberjacks and jack’s slumber
i only lust after the latter

and jack's not all bad
he’s why my caps rested
soon as he hands it to me,
expressing the extent to which

i impress him
granted
my hands-off approach
that manages
to get hard jobs done
better than jills before

he’s a mild nuisance
when one of us isn’t speaking
but he promotes my irritability
with his attempts at weaving
our fingers together

it offends me
and all i long for
is knocking him out
like him and my neck's heart

or my kneecaps’ kneepads
the cap that’s my hat
can at last roll fast,
though no one should ask

i can’t say if i’m ok
jack ko’d my voice box
and i feel highjacked
but i insist, they insist
on the charm of the third

one i get him
like the lights, off,
that’s when i go on to hop off
tip toe off his tip top to get off
on the silence my mind writes off

none of it matters to me
mankind ramps up my love for luxury
the ivory warmth Mr. Browns rain
all over my cold windshield
puts me where i love to be

without them,
antidepressants
would depress and hail on
but their chocolate depressants
elevate me and i hail mary
when they hail hope on me
and i'm newly merry

when it’s all over,
i seek refuge and rush down
and on to the one and only John
where rest can be found
he’s bold as kohl and cold
as his marble floors call for

it's he who keeps my thoughts snowed in
and spares my teeth cracks no dentures can fix
suppresses my urge to purge like Snowden honing in
on how not one man cares less for one careless node in
systems nor the cancerous danger of no protests nor dents

it’s tasteless, the rice that is humanity
so i dine solitarily
in solemn grief
seeing the uselessness we
as crumbs and morsels have come to be

individuals in division
invincible in coalescence
bound to form solid solidarity
likely as the moment

satan and saint agree
to raise their satin
black and white flags,
respectively

to enwrap
two into
one
fabric. silky, smooth, seamless
as is the cocoon
          i once was foolish enough to assume
    would secure the very same wholesome skin
                         it would later go on
to help me consume.

cannibalism.

Ima boffo buffoon tryna buff up my boons
But you know I'm a loon I'll deflate your ego balloon
I'll howl at the moon and pretend I'm someone new
Because your voodoo's got me hoodooed and I don't know what to do
My identity is constantly being renewed
tryna fit into the box of hardknocks
and punch some sense into my tune
because every time you pass me by I swoon
And everyday I'm feelin more like a goon

Your comradery is as fictitious as cartoons
I'm attuned to your thoughts but never immune
We commune with such intensity
Incessentantly
Feeling better than I can bare to be
Colliding the plate of our brains
We shoot out thoughts to accelerate the seismic waves
Sending the Earth to a fit of shivers
And the accolade of your presence cascades
Filling me up with a beautiful haze
But gloom consumes the room
when I resist the urge to importune

I search the dark nights for meaning
but the positions of the stars give little light to character and feelings
the sequence of animals coming to Budda's feast
Cannot tell me how to outline this beast
This recursion inversion has me wrapped in a cocoon
Harpoon me, spoon me, it all ends too soon
But my monkey men keep me feeling maroon
They are the calm in the eye of the typhoon
In my whirlwind of destructive desire
The fire in my volatile emotions is like war paint
Splattered across the canvas of my face
But I cannot hide behind the barricades
When your love for me is washed away

The rage possesses me in these dunes
The heat and wisdom of the desert is hard to impugn
But it dries up my mind and I dream of Neptune
I love getting lost at sea
but I'm drowning in this inability to ask
when I feel like I already know the answer
it's a self-fulfilling prophecy
That I blame on our intrinsic nature
to climb inside the stereotypes
live a life of comforting obliviousness
just as long as there's someone to share it with
but label me as you wish I will not label you
you have torn my heart in two
but I still love you
I’ve been so far in this deep blue sea
I couldn’t see the forest from the trees
All this time I’ve been avoiding the shackles and chains
Of predispositional pain
When it was a invitation for change
It resounds in my head
Evolve or be dead
I may not love myself yet
But loving you was my first step

I miss you when it’s late at night and I’m tired or sleepy, and I want someone to cuddle, i want your arms wrapped around me and to crawl into bed and have your scent wrap around me and feel your warmth. I want to hug you to my chest and ask you to stay, don’t go. Stay.
I miss you whenever I see love and adoration. I miss you when I see their PDA or their laughter and I think of your smile and how even if I cause it, I can’t see it, because you’re there and I’m here. I see them smiling and laughing and holding each other and I’m sad, I’m jealous and sad and I wish you were here.
I wish that was us.
I miss you when I’m frustrated. When I’m angry and lost and near tears, when I hug my stuffed animal to my chest and wish it was you and that i could bury my face in your chest or neck and exist on a plane that is only us. Exist on a plane where when I open my arms you come, when you hold out your hand I can grab it.
I miss you when its raining, and I wish that we could watch it together. Cozy up and watch a movie, listen to the sky weep.
I miss you when I’m relaxing, when I’m sitting in my loud as hell chair and watching a show, and I want to tell you everything, complain about the protagonist and her obliviousness, rant about the misogynistic boss. I want to tell you my little thrills, lean over your shoulder and peek at your game or video, poke you with my cold toes, fall asleep on the couch to the sound of your little outrages and victories.
I miss you when I stare out at the night sky, and imagine a future where I can turn over in bed and see you there, asleep, and know that when I wake up, you won’t be gone, and this isn’t a dream.
I miss you when it’s cold outside, when I can see my breath, and I’m shivering, and you’re not here to tell me I should’ve dressed warmer, you're not here to pull the hat off your head and put it on mine, not here so I can protest and try to give it back, chase you down the sidewalk.
I miss you when I see a funny animal or a cool building or a small flower, and I have no one to turn to and say, look!, no one to share my small thrill. Maybe someday I can tell someone, I can tell a friend, but for now, I tell myself, and smile to only myself.
It hurts when you’re happy without me, it hurts when they get to see you and I don’t.
It would hurt so much more if you were struggling, if you were lonely like I.
I know you miss me. I know inside and I see outside that you miss me. My own insecurities only tell me lies, and sometimes they can be mean, and I have to stop and think how hurt I would feel if you thought that kind of thought of me. That is the evil of insecurities.

When I miss you, sometimes it’s fleeting. Sometimes I wish you were here, acknowledge you’re not, and continue my day. Sometimes I tell you I miss you. You always say it back. Sometimes I think and think on what could have been if I was closer to home, and I have some regrets, I do.
But I don’t think I want to be anywhere but here, if I had to choose.

They say long distance is hard. I think it is, and it isn’t.
It’s hard if you stop communicating, if you stop sharing little things.
It’s hard if you stop thinking of each other, exist only in your visible reality.
These are things neither of us do.

But it’s hard when I miss you, when I’m *****, when I long to touch you or listen to you laugh.
It’s hard when I feel the word clingy, when I want to be wanted, when I wish you would miss me and miss me, so that we feel the same. But I don’t want you to hurt, because when you hurt it hurts me. Is that selfish self interest? Perhaps. But it hurts to see or hear you hurt. It hurts to know you’re hurting, and I want to fix it, I want to solve. But I am here, and you are there, and it is your hurt to bear. I can’t take it away or presume to know how to fix it, if it can even be ‘fixed’.

I miss you. That’s really what I came here to say. I miss you.
I hope you miss me too.