an infinitely rising reserve in
terms of thrills & bliss-providing emotions
a sho[ɑ]p of endorphins in bo[ɑ]dily form, b#tch
an ultimate source of a blast, like an explosive
you're gonna need an o[ɑ]culist service
in the wake of colliding with A̲[ɔ]ll this
****** inner li̲ght that I glO̲w with
like a co[ɑ]ffin that's furnished
with LEDs; I've got O̲ne wicked story
["wicked" in the sense of "cool"/"awesome"/etc.]
[blast, explosive, gunner ("go[ʌ]nna"), (a) wake, ******, coffin, wicked]
[get the picture?]
want to hear it? in fact, I don't care a bit
I've spent some time preparing it, so I am telling it
regardless
————————————————————————————————
awakened early, go[ɑ]t
out of bed, did some daily morning stuff
wet my somewhat dehydrated gorge with squa[ɑ]sh
then decided to take a morning wa[ɑ]lk
strolling through some great, sun-glowing spo[ɑ]ts
I notice twain alluring gals perambulating shoulder ta
shoulder, all murked out: make-up, clothing, lo[ɑ]cks
[murdered out]
and with their faces dolorous
think: "why are they so jO̲Y̲-bankrupt?"
after taking notice o[ʌ]f
the twosome, like a well-proportioned bo[ɑ]d
["toothsome"]
I put on a Ledger Joker mug
["mug" in the sense of "face"]
mask, outflank 'em, then make my way toward these go[ɑ]th-
-reminding lasses from behind in a sly-a## fashion
just li̲ke those dashing cowl-disguised assassins
[assassins from the "Assassin's Creed" franchise]
O̲nce I'm close enough, like self-sacrificing soldiers o[ʌ]f
islam, I explode releasing the co[ɑ]ntent noted 'bove
bawl: "LIT MORNING, QUIT MOURNING!"
so ear-piercing-lY̲ as thO̲U̲gh my nuts
were being twisted, hI̲t, then blown apart
they seemed to bE̲ in total sho[ɑ]ck
had these two squealing so **** hard
you'd think it's a visual-glory-o[ɑ]b—sessed princess woken up
and seen herself in a mirror old with rucked
skin; the ground's pretty firm & rough
with some edgy stones sticking
out behind 'em; while backwards-stepping, both trI̲p on
those freaking stones, then dro[ɑ]p
like a high-school boy's jaw when he gE̲ts a clO̲se view o[ʌ]f
a centerfoldesque fo[ɑ]x occupied wI̲th her yoga stuff
in the wake of tripping, bO̲th end up
with the backs of their bE̲A̲ns split open, blood
streaming, like getting stuff shown by li̲vestream
stand next to their figures frozen up
like a software piece, while both lie dying
find a lipstick in one of the dismal gI̲rls' pants' front
pocket, then make it look like both died smiling
awaken in the bedroom quarters o[ʌ]f
mine, it's dark, night; I̲ hit
the lamp's switch, then hear: "YOU JOKER SCHMUCK!"
said in a loud, low-pitched, fiend-like tone; my mI̲nd in
that moment's still in the sleeping mO̲de somewha[ʌ]t
which is grounds for why I̲ deemed
it's a wicked version o[ʌ]f
that bat guy here to get me iced; turn my sI̲ght in
["Dark Knight", i.e. the Batman; "Heath" (Ledger), who played the Joker]
[in "The Dark Knight" film; "bad guy", which ties in with "wicked"]
the voice's direction & see the murked-out broa[ɑ]ds
proceeding towards my sI̲de with
their **** peepers glowing blood-
-red, like "s'prI̲se, *****!"
like a Negroni, I stare at 'em thinking: "coldish slug!"
["ice there"; the "Negroni" drink is served with ice; also, it's red]
["coldish slug" - "holy f#ck"; "slug" in the sense of "shot of drink"]
[which ties "coldish slug" in with the ice-served "Negroni"]
utter a loud-voiced cry frightened
witless, or as much
as these goth girls fro[ʌ]m mY̲ dream
then I get pulled out of that creepy horror stuff
by the second awaking as I bawl: "F#CK! DIE, FIENDS!"

I’ve been meaning to say something,
but the words never feel right.
It’s strange how distance grows
even when I can’t stop thinking about you—
which is funny because
I’ve memorized the way
your face leans toward the light,
as if it’s drawn to something
only you can see.

Your eyes—
deep and restless—
carry a weight
you think you’re hiding,
but it’s there,
a quiet storm I can’t look away from.

the way your smile curves,
unintentional yet disarming,
the way you stain my thoughts
like a song i can't unhear

I wonder if you know
how many times I’ve written you
into a sentence I couldn’t finish,
how often I’ve reached
for a silence
only you could fill.

Sandcastles,
Collapsing like our dreams.
At the end of the night,
We feel the chill of dawn.

Draw a silent fish,
With water gathered in its mouth.
Victims of our surroundings,
We follow the earth,
Cracked like it.

In the sand of mistakes,
A mother brews Turkish coffee.

That rush of euphoria fighting into our head,
Jolt of adrenaline creeping to the places we tread,
Reckless actions thrown up for the sake of this sensation,
What more can this be called...
but a poison created of our own volation?

shall i compare myself to others every day?
they are more charming, and more talented:
tough luck does take its toll; often too hefty to pay,
and the bill of regrets is way past its due date;
sometimes too hot the baton of pride burns inside,
and often in a sea of mediocrity naked, i swim;
and every ball from ball sometimes drops,
by a poet in his underpants, and *****, untrimm’d;
but my eternal hard-on shall not fade,
nor lose faith inside the hole i bore’st;
nor shall spite keep me from dues unpaid,
when that eternal hard-on in time so grow’st:
so long as i can sing, profoundly and care-free,
so long lives this - it’s a fun read, won’t you agree?

The pressure was on,
The suspense was inevitable,
His mischief mode activated,
And with one big leap,
He finally jumped forward,
To stop me from scrolling on the phone,
Only to play with him,
Such an attention seeker he is,
Leo my kitten is adorable...
©Z.F.A
#iwritewhatmyheartbeholds

Love is irrational.
I’ve always been so calculated—
I know the exact number of steps it takes to reach the door,
The weight of every decision I make,
What I like to eat, what I wear,
How the smallest change can throw me off.
Even one spoon of sugar is too much
In my coffee,
Because I like it bitter,
I’ve always liked it bitter.

I still remember the sting of anger
When my mom bought me that red sweater,
How I felt the color clashed with me,
Made me feel ugly,
Made me feel exposed.
I calculated everything to keep the peace,
To avoid the discomfort of sharing space,
Of sharing myself.

But then I saw you.
And everything shifted.
I forgot about the coffee,
About the bitter taste I clung to.
The red sweater didn’t look so bad,
And suddenly I was dancing in a red dress,
Lost in the moment,
And I didn’t care.
I started adding sugar without a thought,
Without hesitation,
Without control.

For once, I stopped calculating,
Stopped measuring the risk.
With you, it was different.
I broke every rule I had set for myself,
Every condition I’d built to keep me safe.
Love, I realized, isn’t something you control.
It’s something that sweeps you up,
Unconditional,
Untamed,
And completely unplanned.

Poets,
Your lines are lovely,
And,
Your poem is evolving.
Because,
This is not my poem at all,
It's,
A product of your work,
Therefore,
It's yours.
The,
Second stanza has begun,
And,
We only need 283 poets more.

I was barely 21
when I ran with this older crowd,
(they were between the ages of 30-35,)
and I thought it was something cool,
something special,
I thought I was someone
real grown up and mature,
I thought age had something to do
with sophistication
so, I tried to impress them with Bach & Beethoven & Mozart
while drinking rotgut whiskey out of cheap tumbler glasses
because that’s what I thought grownups
were suppose to do
but instead they’d say,
“this isn’t that kind of party,”
and then they’d exercise their drinking prowess by guzzling down a whole bottle
of Rumplemintz and chasing it with a case
of Icehouse while blasting Screeching Weasel so loud that my neighbors couldn’t exist.
my forethoughts of adulthood had been marred by the stench of reality
and despite the headaches and hangovers
that paired with the morning sun,
I continued on anyhow,
matching them drink for drink
like it didn’t phase me
because I had something to prove;
I wanted to show them
that I was cultivated,
that I could hang,
that I was tough,
that I could run with the big dogs,
that I was all that was man,
(whatever that means)
all I wanted was their approval
that I was something
after so many years of being told
that I was nothing
and I wanted it to be known that I had endurance and stamina
but those addlepated simpletons were too vapid and clueless to notice the ****-stains
in their pants let alone what I was doing.
we were an odd pair, different yet the same;
we shared the same desirous need for intoxication yet our levels of class
were on a parallel universe.
but as time went on,
the framework of realization took shape
and I began to see they were just a gang
of losers with no place to go.
they used up my living quarters
as their party sanctuary:
people getting tattooed in my kitchen
people snorting coke in my bathroom
people ******* in my laundry room
people throwing up in my closets
people ******* in my living room
and it grew tiresome after a while.
so, I had to kick them out of not only my house but out of my life for good.
decades went on, I reached my 40’s,
they reached their 50’s,
and most of them are dead
but the few still living are more dead
than those buried in the ground.
they’re out there now,
enduring a midlife crisis
with bed-wetting regression;
peering down from the hills of nostalgia,
sprinting towards their
social media platforms,
losing their minds over
things they can not control,
smearing opinions around
like **** as if you asked for it
and gnawing away at the bars
of their enclosures for one last taste
of the honey, the pleasure, the folly, the glory
because they’ve become
embittered with world;
a world they hadn’t envisioned
a world they weren’t ready for
a world that’s changed forever
and after all the wild and lawless nights
and after all the rebellion against authority
and after all the broken glass & cigarette holes
they’ve became like everybody else:
unable to face the inevitable.

It was a beautiful morning
When I stepped out onto the balcony and saw a crow.
It seemed as if it had been waiting for me-
Me, who was going through an existential crisis.

I felt the urge to throw some food to the crow from the balcony.
I knew my grandmother always kept meat in the house.
I opened the fridge and tossed the crow a piece of meat.
It quickly caught the scent of raw flesh,
Grasped it in its beak, and disappeared.