My shoulder blades’ girth played the role of a harbinger
As bony as I got; the more I saw myself as a skeleton
Malnourished, malevolent, maladjusted malaise
Mocking in malformed metaphors to try to explain
There’s a concession of an all-dead jury saying my name
A prosecutor in a straitjacket who thinks I’m insane
Hazy weekends- labored breathing, eyes barely widened
Glassy-eyed, with no boundaries heightened.
Fantasize the database, sharing data with the
Armed and dangerous, highly contagious alien race.
Every door saying push but being tailored to pull
Judges with mallets in the same shape of my skull
I throw stones in a glass house daily
Pantomime as a cat and mouse flailing
A bone to pick because these past lives failed me.
Bloodsucker, with a lost childhood and adult haven
A gun runner, that touches base with the unrelated
Inundated safe spaces of every other generation
Heartbreakers are misplaced trust stations.
Mass murdering and love laden
Sputtered out a quarter, and meant less of your words lately
You fucking half-murmured anything worth saying
Innate phrasing and a caprice crisis
Blinking twice, as a signal to police snipers
I’ve gotten anxious, because I’ve told you I’m not anxious
For that I got chasers and glasses for my motherfucking shot-takers
Calm-nerved and for-God-saken
Modded sign language, for up-and-comers with violations
Every moment spent sober – a cry out for help
Tullamore on the shelf
Books in the wine cellar
Spending most of his life wishing I’d try better
Heart of a lion, mouth of a sinner
There’s something so dystopian about 19.84 oz. of liquor
May my last words be half-slurred and cathartic
Judy’s favorite blue jeans stained with tear drops and saliva
My intervention will be besmirched within silence
Category: dark
-
-
You can hear the
suburban chime, zirconia vertebrae, pearly white spine.
Glass thrown in stone houses, a regular suburban night,
whirring, rewinding. Chronicled childhood in olive drab paint,
monocle glass.
Wormwood and bottles of Shawshank
dissolute solitude. A wanderer who wallows in the maze
en route, delaying for tomorrow, never promised today.
A virgin diary, Anne Frank, Marie Curie disease, a tincture of rainbow,
even if the distance is blurry to me, he who knows the way to Zihuatenejo.
Furloughed father, demanding you to die when I say so,
26 pesos left in your wallet
lint and mothball, Merryland experiment omelette.
Laundromat arcade quarter exchange
2 o’clock shadow of death and follicle strain.
These boulders were supposed to be gone when I got here,
you shouldered me off, Sunday morning penny loafer with frost,
social commentary Gabriel-Lucifer talk,
metamucil retrograde, Jupiter star.
Bolivian roast, oblivion, and a toast goes to Mars,
you hold my hand, but I don’t even know who you are,
shout at me when indoors, but whisper weak when afar.
I’m so close to eroding, skin growth barely a scar,
in my house, the big wolf, lungs pulse ’til exhaustion.
I read a suicide note from the ghost in my closet,
I don’t know if he knows if this apartment is haunted,
by patriarchal pettiness, reminiscent negligent heart,
maleficent maligned, distant and forgotten insidious offspring,
with ammunition in their lips that keep you off guard.
Feel the metacarpal love letters ’til your fingers fall off,
once you step out the door, you hear the wooden creak in the floor.
Fell asleep at the creek daydreaming before,
every time before bed I hear footsteps coming from deep,
and I hide in my closet, until they delete.
REM hits me while I’m counting my sheep
counting rosary beads for every step wolf takes towards me,
like neighborhood freeze tag, counting to three.
Dysfunctional beings huffing in suburban breeze,
I know that I know nothing is in love when I speak,
into denizens, the medicine cabinet creaks,
when you close it and I haven’t heard it in weeks,
from bourbon to curtains burnt at the seams.
I’m so close to being the opposite of perfect, I scream.
What emerges, a bird sits perched in a tree,
what alerts him is the suburban breeze. -
Dear Journal,
Recollections of a picnic eventuate vividly in my mind. Amidst the reminisced scene, a profound sense of auditory quiescence prevails. What endures most is the ethereal spectacle wherein the heavens infused my being with enduring chromaticity. The transformation of a seemingly desolate desert into an entrancing marvel transpired. Heliotrope, lavender, and carmine merged in multifarious focal points, resulting in a mesmerizing spectacle. Orchid and suave essentials imbued themselves in a delightful communion of mauve and soft magenta hues. A liquid confidence transmuted into an exuberant blaze, akin to a prodigious ember. The quest for pomegranate, purposefully nurtured to invoke a sense of exquisite madness, became palpable. Moreover, the crisp frontier of ions proffered a steadfast verdure, and by that I mean, paradise..
Amid the backdrop of meticulously laid-out blankets, strategically positioned to accommodate our repose, an evocative tapestry of verdant tenderness and a tactile connection to boundless perfection ensued. It was something out of the ordinary, and a vibe that didn’t exist in our current world. In the realm of this particular planetary sojourn, the daunting discouragements of existence ceased to be of consequence. We ascended amid the nascent flourish of intricate patterns, marking the inception of an incipient romance ripe for metamorphosis into this shapeable, and lovable profound mastery.
The auditory landscape, when captured, was replete with a pitch so profoundly rich that visceral reverberations seized the very core of one’s being. A normative twitch manifested in response to the tenuous tension, so palpable one could sever it with the metaphorical blade of irrevocable sin that was ripe with blood.
The ambiance was graced with invigorating gusts of air, effecting an exfoliation of the corporeal integument. Our laughter, during this occasion, found itself immortalized in the annals of memory. Subsequently, following the consumption of the crimson nectar, the sandal-clad feet, and our resonant laughter, the scene transitioned to a majestic sunset. The vista unveiled a palette comprising a myriad of hues, numbering a thousand, gracefully transitioning across the perceptible spectrum.
Notably, the intoxication experienced was not a consequence of our corporeal imbibing but rather an immersion in the celestial panorama. The celestial bodies appeared to undulate and intertwine, mirroring the artistry reminiscent of Picasso’s oeuvre but amplified by a surreal infusion of emotion. The visual tableau was augmented with the seasoning of cilantro and love. Nonetheless, as the sun hastened its descent, we undertook the task of recording every fleeting instant, as we were loath to partake in its conclusion. The firmament seemingly ignited in celestial fervor, embodying a cataclysmic wrath that was paradoxically tempered by an amalgamated magma-like embrace.
In the present epoch, the vista appears eerily unchanged. Encased within the confines of a picture frame characterized by obsidian borders, the scenery is characterized by the presence of cloud-covered skies and smoldering verdure. A very fucking real and palpable sense of stagnation permeates the landscape, underscored by the monochromatic tapestry of smog and sepia-toned expanse. The term “blah” looms ominously, pervading the soundscape with an overpowering resonance.
The analogy of smoke to a claymore elucidates the oppressive nature of this atmosphere, leaving me grappling for words. My apologies if the words fail to flow; the constriction in my chest renders eloquence a challenging endeavor. The landscape that once evoked a sense of awe now projects an ambiance cloaked in ashen hues.
Amid this setting, I find myself seated upon the studio porch, engaged in the composition of tuneless melodies, in consort with an elegant yet unused silvery spoon. The skies, once cerulean, have now transitioned to a state of neutrality, lacking vibrancy. Amidst the prevailing inertia, I aspire to unearth a semblance of purpose.
In retrospect, the dichotomy is striking: the memory of vibrant hues rendered inexpressibly gray. It is with regret that I confess an inability to imbue this gray expanse with the beauty it once possessed. My deepest and well-suited gratitude’s for your understanding.
Sincerely, and my biggest thanks, Cristian.
-
I’m sitting alone at the cosmic stump,
Sipping my soul, and I’m vodka drunk.
Thinking of goals I’ve not yet done,
Fission control, visit me in my head.
Cataclysmic logarithms, picture dreams that are dead.
Bickering silence, word by word, I fell into your haiku,
Only heard what you wanted when I told you I love you.
Nervous, respond. I fell into the lust pool,
Mouth of sin, out of breath,
A spell was cast on my lungs too.
She promised me passion, she promised me endless,
A synonym for forever. All I got was a toxic expansion.
Mantras to mansion, so deceptive it hurt,
Quoted my tantrums, like an excerpt from a book.
Don’t mention the looks. I wonder how you mention me now?
Sat on the couch, watching Netflix. Forget heaven and clouds,
Came from the kitchen with a spoon full of sauce that you fed into my mouth.
Cilantro, “Does the chicken francaise taste good, my love?”
Now I find spooning so distasteful. It sucks.
Double entendre tornado, a marksman from the start,
Haloed your heart, rainbow, and darts at the bar,
Volcano and smog, now I counted a hundred horseshoes,
Barely put into words how much I adore you.
So scared, and it hurts, I’ve come to assortments,
From arid. It’s gravid, it varied, of course.
Marriage, like cherries, best pick to engorge,
Eviction of souls, dependent on the glare you reflected.
You sold me religion, with laissez-faire in effect.
I flare up, I gave up on describing this feeling,
Inscribed when I speak, shine on the shrine I requested,
Dried my lips on your teeth, a psychic connection,
Read the Braille on my tongue without trying to French kiss.
Assignment: Accepted. Binary in sign language,
With tension so hectic, you’d barely bury the knife hatchet.
Fury. Attachment. To the universe that emblazoned,
The jury and gavel, as well as the executioner faceless.
Fell into Jupiter’s orbit, and you didn’t notice,
Consumed in your work. My mutation was forced.
I knew it, of course, I ballooned and transmogrified,
With evolutionary pose, soon to be broken, I
Cocooned. I was born, alas, a new metamorphosis. Rise,
Using the moon’s pull as a force, so isotopic,
The butterfly, psychotropic, new skull and a heart. -
Vaudevillian. I’ve flown so far off course
That my radar doesn’t even beep;
It’s silent, instead it weeps
For some recognizable aura of man to detect.
Signature heat, thermal readings, nothing.I’ve become so abrupt in my comings that most of my time
Is spent twiddling my thumbs.
I’ve flown so far off course, like a meteorite
Whose path was altered in a slight trajectory by space debris.
It could be my new home, if it ever passed by me.
That’s how far off I am.I’ve flown so far off course that my wings don’t even flap
In this new dimension of flying; we fly with our minds.
I’ve flown so far off course, global positioning
Isn’t a satellite thing anymore —
It’s how I view our galaxy from a light-year away.
Mars and Mercury are tiny stars;
Venus and Neptune are off,
But furthest, but not least, Earth is the last of the equation,
Where a place full of life could make me feel like an alien. -
It has been a while since we last connected. I hope you’re doing well. I’m here to share some thoughts and feelings with you. I’ve been trying to bring some laughter into our interactions, maybe cracking a joke or two, hoping to share some moments of joy. However, I’ve come to realize that this can only work if both of us are fully committed to it, and I sincerely want that to be the case.
Sometimes, my thoughts get a bit jumbled, and I find it hard to express myself without your inspiration. You see, you’re like the rain that quenches my thirst, and I’m the hurricane that’s named after that rain. We complement each other, just like the way winks make me feel special and unique to someone. Just like snowflakes, which are all unique despite their shared characteristics, why shouldn’t a kiss be just as special and individual? It’s a personal and unique experience.
You’re both fun to have around and incredibly cute, and your presence leaves a lasting impression, etched in the very fibers of my being. But, you can also be exceptionally cold at times, and I hope one day to be reassured that I am truly loved.
I once heard that doves have only one lover throughout their lives, and the thought crossed my mind because it felt like you kept me grounded, unable to spread my wings and soar. I tried to take off, but it seemed like something was always holding me back, leaving me feeling like my wings were clipped.
I remember the sensation of your fingers gently tracing across my chest, the contrast between the softness of your fingertips and the slight scratch of your nails. It was a vivid reminder of how you could be both gentle and intense in the blink of an eye. These memories tend to resurface unexpectedly, like a sudden realization when I’m sipping coffee on the veranda.
Some memories are so clear and poignant, like the color red in a black-and-white world, that they stick with us. Maybe that’s why people say that blood is thicker than water, emphasizing the deep bonds formed through shared experiences and emotions.
I think back to the moments when emotions are so powerful that they feel like a song’s lyrics, or when a group of people comes together to sing along to a favorite tune. It’s like that feeling you get when you hug someone you truly care about and momentarily forget all your worries.
As I write this, I can’t help but chuckle, even as my eyes well up with tears. It’s a bittersweet reflection on the past, sifting through every detail in hopes of learning from it and improving for the future. I strive to live in the present and not let the past weigh me down, but some wounds take time to heal.
Our relationship is reaching a point where it feels like all I can look forward to is a physical connection, a brief escape from the prison of my emotions. I sometimes remember kissing you as if I were watching from outside my own body, an out-of-body experience.
I’ve always tried to make you laugh, but it’s become challenging to distinguish when I’m being serious. I find myself in situations where I pretend to be someone I’m not, like ordering a soda instead of a drink at a bar, putting up a facade to hide my true feelings. It’s a cycle of using alcohol for confidence and then using it to escape reality, only to wake up filled with regret.
Our souls are bound together, and a kiss is a symbol of our connection. I hope we’re not strangers now, as there was a time when I couldn’t predict your actions, but I always trusted that you would make the right move. It wasn’t because you were predictable, but because when you touched my chest, my heartbeats guided you, like a psychic connection with visions embedded in your palm.
I wish I could see the future for us, but I can’t. I can only dream, and in my dreams, I long to be awake. The pain is real, and I find myself crying in bed, hoping the white sheets will hide the evidence of my tears. I see you everywhere, even in the clouds and in puddles I resist stepping on in the rain. They say that eyes are the windows to the soul, but all I see in my reflection are eyes darker than coal. I hope this doesn’t mean that everything has turned to ashes.
Sometimes, I tell you to keep your glasses off because you look adorable without them, but then I think your glasses look even cuter without you wearing them.
-
Feel the vectors into orbit,
melting into fiscal porn
Each waking moment exists to mourn
the pensive rigor mortis
And I hate myself so much every single morning
It’s like clockwork, lonesome, staring in the mirror
See a monster, bones drugged, mainly see the errors
Home drunk, sloppy, with a motor function failure
Open palm my soul in one, the shodokans prepared
I’m off the bat, I’m off the case, I’m solely here to reap
A wad of air I waste, so oddly placed you forget to even breathe
You wake up in your sleep, catch your breath, and then you’re weak
Wake to a dim reality that you’re never truly buzzed
Whole life I never felt hungover
Till I was happy once, then got drunk, so then I felt hungover
Like ignorance was bliss, sort of an ignorance to drugs
To duly know that without or with them my life just really sucked
Like I’ve been wasted the entire time, while I was fucking sober
Bring the jester in, and clamor while I become a fucking stoner
Unbelievable, the whole time I was fooled into a misnomer
Eat and see, consume and teach then touch just like conformists
You aren’t watching a train wreck this is not a pure performance
This is unadulterated steroids being pumped into my assortment
Lie inside apartment, leering at the star scape
See your jaw to constellate, I’m so pleased to see your star face
Everything I wrote always had someone in mind
Overcoat and overwhelmed, now dear no one resigns. -
Because in this world, your world’s restricted.
When curtains shine through blackness, we play and then we’re victim.
Every person out to get us.
Every person tries compassion?
It’s more than mere prediction.
There the serpent lies unchallenged,
But you whirl and try to damage, because you’re weak and your world’s afflicted.
But to no concern to you, that serpent turns into a worser type of dragon.
You’re hurt. Your mind abandons.
No service. Wires. Synapses.
The sadness morphs to scene addiction.
Your journey’s rite of passage.
Feel worthless. I have had it.
And addiction turns to habit.
Fervid. Decline to comment.
You persons can’t certainly try to fathom
What’s become or what’s to come, but you can read it in description.
The words are tiny, and they’re captioned.
Then you hurl up your prescriptions.
It’s tightly woven.
Mixture of ambition.
Has slowly earned its actions.
Artist dies with his work, and this model just burns inside the pageant.
It’s of worth, and it’s off-course.
The piercing pain pans in.
AND I want more.
Of course what’s written inside the diction are more than I could manage.
It’s the purpose.
And these conditions are perfect.
My mind is madness.
And remember, you can get addicted to a certain kind of sadness.