finite rapture
well defined. organized
organelles squirming. spurning
unnecessary imposition. repitition
severing me further.
it's still a bright fixture on the horizon
viewed at the far end of winding tunnel of mirrors.

captured in a jar. admired ideas
appreciated from afar.
trembling extended hand retracted.
strong stiches binding. scabs still crusty.
musty attics, shuffling feet.
melting.
swelltering in the possibility
of a potential interpreted properly.

I work better as an idea
than a human.
compose the tune and I'll be the words.
transpose your soul, I'll be the vibrations.
speak between the lines.  I will be blinded.
Beyond thought.
we are aware that we're unaware.

Crystalize.  Mezmerize.
It could be so simple.
To notice the cheeks, but not the dimples.
Four perfect points of light  linger in the shadows
two by two
Ideals. a concrete truth.
Glaciers slowly crack foundations.
Pounding. Pouding.
Resounding. Cannot be ignored
before I am the boomerang
that cracks you on the head.
Blood pooling at the base of my skull
control watered down.
Concrete giving into stress
and a flower has room to bloom/

there’s something about those tiny teeth
decorating that infinite black canvas
drawn like a curtain at the day’s end
that enhance the chemical persuasions
I give into when yesterday calls itself today

Moonlight breeds a fleeting, false clarity
that the Sun devours ravenously by mid-day
& so my hands often hold nothing but a
pouding headache and throbbing regrets
But I can’t say I know what remorse feels like

Round and a round up and again
The pouding of fists and the breaking of lead
The moments of treatment the happiness fades
The beating of darkness the bleeding of trades

And my heart will not follow
To the depth and despair
Of the rounds of their tournament
This visage unaware
Of my feelings and tearful sighs from above
I'm a distant stranded character in a land called unloved

I don't string my ties in a knot or a bow my heart is all wound up and will never show
I can't think for anyone
I don't know the path
I find you a journey, but I can't make it last

I'm sad then I'm angry I'm one of the two
Pounding the walls turning them blue
The red in their color the pink in their shades
The granted walls
The absolute shame in my heart from above
It doesn't want love
My eyes scan in them
I don't see the one
Yet I march on

I've got a pouding in my head
that not even a bottle of whiskey could cure
yeah I've been happy these days
yeah it's been ******* brilliant
but I would be lying if I said
I don't think of you from
time to time
-

There are empty bottles of alcohol on the floor
i've barricaded the door
the knife is in my hand
my families' heads are buried in the sand
tears pouring down my cheeks
watching as the blood slowly leaks
my heart is pouding in my chest
as i tell myself it's for the best
i stab the knife into my veins
happily embracing the pain
everyone will be happy now
that this stupiod cow is gone
my vision becomes hazy
some of you might think i'm crazy
i feel my life slowly slipping away
but i know, that it's better for everyone, this way.

My heart starts to rush
as i see her from the corner of my eye
my cheeks start to blush
as i watch her beauty pass by

sometimes try to say hi
but i grow weak
unable to the speak
im brave so atleast i try
but i only managed a wave
which feels more like goodbye

My knees start to wobble
and i feel as if my about to topple
im too old to have a crush
but here i am trying to talk to you
and the only sound is hush

Gibberish
its all i can come up with
then you leave
after i said something wierd

I hold whole conversations with myself
"why would you say that?
whats wrong with you?
dont you want to her know you like her?
next time you should ask more questions
and get her to talk
dont you know you talk to much
and sometimes cut her off"

I can barely talk to her
then i realize
how can i expect myself to make the first move
Leaning in to place a kiss
i blush so hard
my shoulders turn red
my chest is pouding
i can hear my heart in my head
and thats just when i think about it

she's the most beautiful thing in this world
and im just a boy mind has completely unfurled
just by looking the eyes of the only girl

the billionath hallmark:
that's were individualism
fails...
      people tend
to forget,
not what is past:
                         but what is...
and that invokes a people
to attest to a disproof!
           laboyr i,
           over leprechaun gold...
**** it,
              whatever:
and tomorrow:
                                altogether!

    there dies a sudden death:
there lives a certain life:
there dies an awaited death:
there lives an uncertain life!

  crock, pecking,
  drum, drum, drum,  POUDING!
drum, drum,
               a crow, pecking,
harrowing,
                                and thus
sight of benevolent väter, Ödin!
now: encompassed with
           huginn und muninn!
as i said:
                  reign from above!
this... this...
                  
    ash:                un-kun! grave(n)
yard!

                     det: grææ of
               the macabre Hamlet variety!

i came: and ****** none of
their women...
       these... pristine "parisian"
  souvenir-suffragettes...

          *** like an impeding due
with a consequence of death...
das ultra contraception...
   better than a ******...
       although:
              nice to don a latex uniform,
isn't it?!

a myth invites us to say:
there actually, was a past...
    and the present **** of history by
journalistic antics?
                    feu! feu!            feudal!
not even kings dare to
speak to the peasants like these
post-scriptum canvases of the original
point of communism...
   feu!                         feu!
                        
                       few?!

    see that!
         two ******* languages composed
into one!
   no wonder dyslexia is solely
                   an anglophone phenomenon!
elsewhere, where you have
clear syllable intake with
cutting into words?
                                 no problem...

feudal and the few...
             what's juxtaposing in the prefix?
faulty or fawlty towers of
                       spelling rubric?!

and to think that the world
was built, and governed by this anomaly...
    it's like pulling out
the hair from your cranium,
to escape scalping,
         and then learning the basics
of arithmetic!

p.s.

                             the billionth hallmark...
         you can't tell apart the real
from the fake...
not that there is a worthwhile distinction
to mind...
         what a ****** canvas
to begin with... given the lost blank
space of opportunity...
        in which art could
flourish...
                and to be frank:
this, is, it...

                       wrestling with a rottweiler is
still on my to-do-list,
  but you know...
               so is a chance
                     to see a lion, yawn.