alma (revised half decade old poem with a modernized touch)

Look

…over a quarter of my sentences begin with ellipses
the objective’s to sigh. the intent it carries? illicit
malicious design leaves my lips, but ends so benign
there ain’t a problem when it rains- you couldn’t tell that i cried
it becomes complicated to explain- when it wells in my eye
he pretends that he’s not, even though he bottles up the pain
locks it in a cage, then polishes his crooked crown
used to looking down, when things aren’t looking up
one day life’ll flash before my eyes;
not sure if that flash is good enough
been given a gift to scribe every moment as happened
with more details. more girth, more exposure, and factors
mere fractions of seconds, become volume series
weeks of dejection becomes your lifes communal theory
consummate. times snapped. here’s a problem that i had
what are words from wise men, when philosophers die sad
to my own respite, id serve up a bourbon with sprite
words became blurry and slurred over night
friends displayed worry. what’s that term to describe?
oh right, now
circle of life. how funny. it hurts when i bite down
i’d go in my journal and write thousands of wordy delights
to make sense of what happened, to an essay tore up outta spite
inherited words. characters without a characters worth
how embarrassing to have to establish, what to others- barely needs words
parameters towards my dignity gave an insatiable thirst
lessons invaluably learned through every varying turn
maneuver like van gogh’s jupiter through mercurial etching
to live frozen as a painter- in the worlds most peculiar settings
to see beauty in carnage, objectify tragedy as a series of concepts
rather than unfurling tempers flaring from a deity’s context
i hope my eulogy is written in blood. life romanticizes the beast
computerize all of my content. analyzing complete
molecules in your garden, fantasize mon cheri.
sift through the nucleus’ car-wreck. make a wish
I’m asleep