Stone and Ashes: How You Haunt Me

Soul is sequestered.
Hanging fruit in a forest of giants.
Praying for atonement or holy alliance.
Molding my bones.
Soul seller, solely uncensored.
Sling to be highest bidder, sold to Goliath.
Liquor bottle pried in my fingers. Corroded and weathered.
Like sewing a sweater, stitching holes I’m developing.
Alone in his centerpiece, exhausted, but smiling.
Phone ringing attentively. Moment of silence.
Calloused fingers, punched the rotary dialing.
Show me a sign, show me some messages.
But show me something
Worth more than I’m fretting for.
We’re watching canonized poetry as it slowly develops.
Patternized moments wove into metaphors.
The samurai shonin with his robe and umbrella.
And a massive sized sword in his holster is held up.
Romanticizing loneliness.
Tethered alignment in a Saturn sky orbiting.
We’re all enraptured to die,
For worse, or for better.
Choke in the sand surge that envelops the earth.
Lying in dirt. Drenched in his own recollections.
Pirating strongholds, storm in depression.
Hurricane in a teacup.
Hold the blade in my teeth.
For someone so verbose, I hardly say what I mean.
That’s what you’d say to me.
Footsteps loud, like a mouse, but barely a peep.
I would hear your silence as a gaping scream.
Allow me to breathe, as normalcy sorts in.
Don’t know if I’m abnormal, or still hopelessly mourning.
Grief is a black mass that I’m slowly growing around.
Soundproof my coffin of screams before you lower me down.
Apex predator in a matrix. My cage is lead proof.
Still have dreams of your tombstone I never paid respects to.
Every morning at three, pray at your feet and rest for a while.
Heard nothing but echoes. Tense moment denial.
The depth of the situation brought me closer to ire.
Stone and ashes, your ghost and some fire.
Heads closed in, like a labyrinth threshold.
Side-thorn, bloodshot. Gigawattage electrode.
Eyes sore, daily. I ask, is there anything left to fight for?
Life is a cuckoo’s nest beginning to look like psych wards.
Every fiber of my being – nylon nervous system sidewalks.
Bicep tendon, symbolism. Combination ice cold.
Thromboembolism. Narcissism. It’s hard to paint the right tones.
Existentialist grave digger. Ghost hunter. Face filter.
Illiterate author.
Conspiracy factist. Fascist stuck in Francisco Ascaso.
Conjecture gets harder. The lesser the gaudier.
The lesson: contemporary. Your protector. Your guardian. Preparation delirium. Procrastination is lazy.
Injection paste into serum, like they did to blacks in the 80s. Reincarnation’s a bitch.
Your face in the stitches you gave me.
Scars are stark reminders of how efficient this pain is.
Perturbed with no purpose, let’s give it a pause.
And stop for a while
the resentment is awful.
Statuette in a costume, Baphomet with a cross.
Sometimes thinking I’m crazy.
Always thinking I’m lost.
Seeking fulfilling things – small cause, far from colossus.
Never thinking I’m right.
Confused with humility.

Published by Cristian Leonardo Gajardo

Welcome to Cristian’s Cafe, a website where I showcase my various forms of expression and happiness. Here you can find poetry, podcasts, personal blogging, research articles, open mic, comedy, and art. Whether you are looking for inspiration, entertainment, or information, you will find something that suits your taste and mood. Enjoy browsing through my content and feel free to leave your comments and feedback. Please note that the Wi-Fi connection may be slow or unstable at times, so please be patient and look at the art instead. Thank you for visiting Cristian’s Cafe

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