My soul has started to rot
Charred black by the flame of heartbreak
Cold as the night you left
I don't think I'm breathing anymore
The feeling of dread carried in with the wind through every open window
Every shadow whispers your name
I feel myself fading as fast as you left
I don't feel the drive and passion anymore
My happy place has crumbled to dust, broken fragments of reality
The air I breath poisons my lungs as I fall faster and faster into the hellish hole that appears on every path
My heart as empty as the canyons that used to make me feel free
My breath as cold as the pouring rain that used to send me to sleep
My soul as rotten as the core of the witches apple
The witch that has cursed me
Cursed me with the boulders I carry on my shoulders
Cursed me to lie when I say I'm fine
Truly and honestly made for poetry not of reality
To watch one suffer
To be there as they slowly fall to the rubble
You reach out but as the tides pull in they go further and further from hope
A never ending spiral they're falling your fingers slipping through theirs as you let them go
It isn't your fault but blood still runs
And you still remember
Lead dripping from
a clock hissed in serpent hours,
it's venom oozing from the crystal walls
it's 4 a.m. you insomnia lunatic.
I'm too busy admiring,
how the man in the moon slithered through
these blinds on my soul-swept window.
That night I was a canvas,
as the moonlight stripped my arm raw of shale,
and tinted my skin with
And when he was finished,
tiger stripes tattooed my thinning vessel.
When I can't sleep I leave myself
the stupidest of poetry.
I once saw a ruffian young
A would be brute
At home, no doubt,
In the grubby grecian clubs
So unworthy of their legacy.
The tilt of chin, and cocksure slant of eye
Told of a life most lived
In unimpressed contempt.
But then he met his girl, and,
The crafted affect cracked like plaster;
No more the aping swagger
Nor the bumptious over pluck
An unhid grin.
And an unhid soul.
And the rapid intuition
Peculiar to lovers.
i hear her
crackle and her
cackle and her
her stomping and
i feel her
silver hair and
Ah, but do you want to know my secret?
I draw with cold and unbeautiful silver,
& it comes out red.
Oh? You want to hear a story?
I wanted to write exactly how I felt,
But I left the page,
b l a n k.
And I couldn’t have described,
It any better,
I found this in the lost pages of my rotted notebook,
thought it might find a place to belong here now.
My arms are open
Like my mind
My love is receiving
Like my heart is empty
I am as critical
As I am in search of a pinnacle
Yet I do not chase my quarry
I seem to think she will just fall unto my midst
I preach of self reflection
But caught between two mirrors of my own hypocrisy
My vileness reflects back to me.
Blinded by my selfish **** for connection with one not of my disposition
I miss the blinding double standard
I continue to lie.
To spread pseudo-self exploration
So my arms may be as open as I say my mind is
And my love may be as receiving as my heart is empty
But my soul
My soul is as yellow
As my teeth.
Rotting away. Just like my insides. Drying, Decaying.
Pain and suffering. Day after day... What games are the Gods playing?
I'm practically growing roots on this mattress, what debt am I paying?
There's nothing. Nothing to hold my interest anymore, the colors are all greying..
Like a feline, under the knife. Waiting in line for the spaying.
This waiting seems eternal, speed it up please, who's delaying?
I'm so tired. Exhausted. This isn't living anymore. The toll, it is weighing.
These roots are a disease, it's continuous, its spreading, the pain, it's replaying.
Make stop... I'm so tired. The walls are so haunting, is this how it's all staying?
rotten ones wake up in the morning
the same rotten ones will be in the store
the same rotten ones will attend the counters,
the same rotten ones will be clear,
the same rotten ones will be in the stops of the buses,
the same rotten ones will walk on the sidewalks
the same rotten ones will paint to landscapes of sour,
the same rotten ones will enter the stores,
same rotten ones will be on the supermarket shelves,
the same rotten ones will go cripples to the houses,
the same rotten ones will be at the entrance of the cafes,
the same rotten ones will be smelling badly in the streets,
the same rotten ones will be in the seats in the gardens,
the same rotten ones will make the same salads of the days,
the rotten ones of the same days, the rotten ones of always.
The trail of a wedding dress
The flower girl holds with tiny fingers
We too hold the endless stain of blood
On white t-shirts
On nights that scatter blue trees over black heart
Alight by shooting stars
The mother tells her child
Unwilling to unlock the truth
The truth those stars
Don't grant your wishes
They grab them
With scarred scratching hands.
The damp stitches in the soil
Cemetery symmetrical to hospital
Those shooting stars circling
Like a vulture
Speeds towards dead carcasses
Still, the murdering star will not cease
To break bones
That have already broken
To take lives
That have already been taken
What is already charred
It smells like not your favorite food for dinner
It smells like having to do your math homework
It smells like burning books
It smells like gnawing on your own skin for feast
It sounds like tired, howling machines
Spurring and sputtering, never-ending their onwards trek
Swallowing distances and with it, nameless faces
For nothing has gone without the occulent scratching hands taking hold
Today the earthquakes of death
Don't make the land shake anymore
For it has learned to cope
With the desolate cemeteries filled with mute bones
Today burns like gasoline
Looks like intestines decorating destroyed doors
Today it rains curdled crimson
Tell me shooting star
If the child liked jam on his toast
Did he snore?
Did he like math? Or english?
Shooting star doesn't know and neither the bombs.
As bodies fall from trees
like rotten plums.
The world was born in blood
And has not ceased to suckle its wounds
Endless blood thirst, Endless war
But not endless skin to bleed
Are like apples
On trees.The best ones
Are at the top of the tree.
The boys don't want to reach
For the good ones because they
Are afraid of falling and gettting hurt.
Instead,they just get the rotten apples
From the ground that aren't as good,
But easy.So the apples at the top think
Something is wrong with them,When in
Reality,they're amazing.They just
Have to wait for the right boy to
Come along,the ones
Brave enough to
to the top
of the tree
I’m a soldier
in a war
sold to the highest bidder
Biding my time
but not getting
anything out of
lost his way
was on his way
on a journey
in spite of
spitting in the face
of all I was faced with
Couldn’t face up
to the need
I was feeding
harboring this treason
give it time
it will season
how much I tried
and from everyone hide,
If I went
a fool I'd be,
wasted time spent
And each day
from the next
more and more
of me died
There was a time
when all my efforts
But these courtships
did not breed
or plant the seed
Instead was seething
Escaping from me
with each breath
A horrible time
making me ill
Not having free will
and not for me
Must get angry
more than I’m standing
Steps I’ve climbed
by my blindfold
Every hand folding
raising the bets,
doesn't make sense
did I get
this invisible pet
and previously molded
in the early stages
of the morning
in a story
and been told
time and time again
lost love ones
A friendly reminder
a time saver
if the referenced ‘stitch’
was built upon
by the very hand
by my head
It’s a numbing thought;
My peace disturbed
from a desire
so that these thoughts
left for days
wrought iron cage
and with full ******
Forward I go
and lie within
thick of day
No difference displayed
that have been
like the path
from this day
in my wake
A life's mistake
Lay me down
Lying in state,
A crass reminder
of a life
Written: July 14, 2018
All rights reserved.
Stuck in a straight jacket
That detaches from humanities
That disables civilized thinking
It strangles your insides
And steals compassion
And your breath of life
Withers inside this chasten
In this rubber room
Who’s pads make up your apathetical existence
You rot here like the ***** you take
You die here
Unless you bleed yourself of disrespect
Unless you bleed yourself of disinterest
Unless you bleed yourself of narcissism
Your worthless in this state anyway
Find purpose in empathy
Or die here
Exist out of the minds of others
Others who have collective respect
And open mindedness
You’re locked here cause you prejudge
Guarded by your own stubbornness
You don’t accept
That you don’t know everyone’s story
You can’t know
You judge anyway
That hippie over there
He’s not a ***** loser
He has a family he loves
Worked hard in construction
And overcame a destructive alcohol and drug abuse
He’s better than you
And embraces everyone
Got caught up in my disgusting mind. How ***** I am. Judging people I know nothing about. I hate it. Pathetic.
parallel range of
omnipotent panic linking
theories of the
jammed in a mason jar
left to ferment
for years near extinct
release of the rotten
the aged and
this involuntary drama
where you call
only to say
see you later
When these antique Sears glasses would not stay put on my narrow
nose bridge you beat me so that my beezer'd swell huge & widen to
balance my glasses, like the specs on the snotty honker of uncle Joe
Biden; who likes to ****** young girlies like he is Jimmy Savile, as
reported on the B.B.C. in 1978 by the *** Pistol's ***** singer, the
punk-rockin' dope Johnny Rotten who's also known as John Lydon.
The two felt a chemical attraction.
Serotonin leaked onto his uncovered skin.
He couldn't speak, his tongue dried, dehydrated by her heat.
**** those eyes were like Kryptonite, He had pride in himself for being a statue.
Smooth as a razor blade he came out of that conversation dull.
The wrong impression was given since he had handed her rotten flowers.
Give me a second to recollect my thoughts and bring them back from the stunned blackout, wow, you are such a powerful knockout.
I'm fixing my posture and choosing my words right.
Our symbols are well matched and I'm not talking astrology, I'm talking chemistry.
Two different colors mixed together makes her blush and makes me crush.
I never asked for this, you know,
I just let it happen.
totally different, thing, than,
-asking for it-
a whole other story.
mean for it
to get this far
allowed it to happen——
held my arms
split open from
the rotten heat
**** Month of
still the furnace on
iron, leaden, air,
in the room we shared,
I only sometimes
when you didn’t listen
((I never put my heart to fighting it))
(((I was complicit)))
I have been in the moon
In search of love all noon
Searched through deserts
Even through garden of Eden.
I have Searched beneath the sea
Travelled wide even to overseas
Still could not find love.
I went to Vatican
Even to Mecca
Driven through the romantic sites of Paris
Bath in the Brazilian beaches
Flown across the Atlantic
Pitched my tenth for few days on the Antarctic
Spend some more on the arctic
Still I saw no love.
All I saw was ****
Angels with broken hearts,
Death faiths and monsters on beautiful faces.
I saw bullets in church offering boxes
Just wedded on number plates of ambulances.
I saw wars in diversity
Pain and mourning crowding all cities
The devil celebrating the dead of peace.
I saw three wise men
Where went love, I asked them
They said love has been nailed on the cross
Buried with trust
They are heading to Galilee
To await his return.
I followed with dreams
I met many returning with smiles of frustration
From where I was going with pregnancy of expectations.
We arrived to the scene
Like a nightmare, I witnessed higher sins
I saw men taking pleasures with men
Some with animals, some women with women.
Gun everybody walking sticks
People feeding on people flesh
With human blood the thirsting ones quench their thirst.
Is this where love is expected to return?
The wise men retorted,
Yes, the saints have been raptured
And his seven years reign has just began.
Then in a flash, I remembered that I have been taught
Taught about this dreadful end
I had also taught kids
Under trees at nights
Just to threaten them to live right.
What I thought was a mare threat or a fallacy
Has been awaken against my fate in reality.
Oh! We are among the leftovers
Left to reprove ourselves or be doomed forever.