syrup pt 1

what do you feel, when you apply the sentience?
besides wall pinning. and drizzling fire sessions
momentary silence, pin drop in an empty room
padded wall. effervescent, and sensual
feeling your feminine voice
telegraph vibrations through many a noise
millenias not enough time to fix things we destroyed
i feel violated. pass me the void
barely observant. just an impressionable boy
unpacking post traumatical memory noise
your electrical currents, blend into words
ready to work, to have me possessed, like your serveant
invested, alluring. the rest is concerning
subway network connecting my brain
muscle memory. where her head would lay
tapping longing lust in this mental frame
karma sucks & its seems that way
cause i feel she turns the other cheek when i plead my case
you chisel streaked your name on my torso

i call them the oujia board hormones
you summon them like youre playing a game

heart strings tug at your loves centerpiece
commanding nerve endings to all rise like a judge entering
the ultimate meaning, what so many fear
meeting the puppeteer to this compulsory feeling
surgeon who writes cursive in different languages, slurring
in the OR tugging fleshy strings with insatiable thirsting
like water to rivers, drought cleansing downpour
crowned thorn. your love was the last remaining oasis outsourced

super conservative (the poets descent into the ‘convenience’ of a sudden rejection)

I get to the point where no ones’ love embroiders me,
I’d mix the oils, clay, and color coordinate the sordid seams
avoid distaste. annointed is the day shes holding me
hoist your rose colored lies on a crown of thorny leaves
hearing voices, and all
of them enjoy to scream
tend to open wounds, forget the ointment and gauze
nirvanas intensely consoling. and im pointing to God
for answers. for pensive motions, for something to want
memorized medusas feet, & my neck is at odds
alleged moments, you put me through in the dark
memory wash, collective dullness, deafness and sob
took years to look at you in the eye, and your tear ducts
the only thing set to stone was the mountain between us
consider the fact, were considering redacting
whats upsetting to me, isnt your lack of attention
you could whisper sweet nothings, molasses infested
but that wouldnt matter. instead its your ignorance
your palid irreverence against my calloused dejection
your beg to differs, go figures, your knack for these idioms
perhaps, its your undercut mouthing of idiot
the teeth grind to the bone you experience
perhaps, its that motherfucking tone its delivered in
your no holds barred in, your zone defense, the hole in my heart
crayola waxy pastels, bargain wine, oily art
watery eyes and no control is as close to oblivion
as broken hearts, ash tray and continued bewilderment
embark through the shadow, the only thing keeping’ me going
apart from fleeting emotion, is gravity from this blackhole
swear to god i got a disease in my bones
squeezing inanimate objects and pretend its your palm
they say deceit can be told from your eyes
but my god, the green in them brings me closer to god
i just want to be normal. i want to be calm
what bothers me is you couldnt be honest
wallowing like diogenes as a prophet
covering half truths, misinformative topics
performative love. banker turned art major
sharp razor, broadway liberal con finagle
how are you able? to resort to untrue resourcefullness
now all of a sudden youre super conservative?
save it.

me reflecting on unavailable women, whether it be emotionally or by status (succinct poem)

psychoanalyzing my pride. I’m ignoring the obvious
a war vet with ear plugs on the fourth of july
you’re that pyrotechnic glow on my mind
this memoir a token of antisocial expression
our vermillion bond, was anecdotal at best
demoralizing. you’ll only ever see it as a victimless crime
siphoning bits and pieces of our symphony’s chime
sitting in my oval office with petitions to sign
writhing in, inconsistency, not filling in shoes fit to size
concealing true entities. revealing my shrine
the answers rhetorical, when i ask who am i?
enough of the superstition. my existential crisis
to feel like i kiss your iris, everytime i think your eyelids

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


…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

bondage (our chains, are invisible, but trust me, they’re there.)

inept, and upset, it’s like nothing is mentioned.
lifes a run on sentence, interconnecting.
eclectic, electric, im a plug in the wall.
a bit so perplexive. spotting the occult in the psalms.
the rejection. a song in the hall of this crazy asylum
straitjacket is off, and i still feel like i’m
abstaining. no hiding. not restrained or assigned
what’s a goon to a goblin, what’s 12 noon to this bondage?
shouts weaken as i interrupt the connection.
been seasons since I slept at the suns’ dusky consent
grayscale cuts. as lovely as ever
It’s only fear if we love to project it
i’ve learned to accept it, in a functional sense
inflections infecting, so fucking intense
influx of attention. but none to respect
found you by looking at your pendant glow in the dark on your neck
defunct. so abrupt, you can barely hear it
footsteps like eruptions, each thud becomes searing
unbarring. unnerving, like mummies in pyramids
we test love like currents, to conduct an experiment
shave off two bucks antlers, make my lovers potion in dye
appearing like, serum – you took most of in stride
the locust. conniving, always close to
my spine
blowing smog in my airways like covid arrived
halo spinning on her devil horns, soaking in pride.
denoting my time, with absolutely no focus adhered
from shifting gears in a war, now the coast has been cleared
she rode clean on her own horse, barefooted and gorgeous
you read me through your code words; without feeling remorse
like a fleeting emotion that cleaves through divorce
march to the beat of your own drums. cheeks are like porcelain
strawberry-stained bleeding disorder. heart beating endorphins
one weekend in greece, white villa is all that we need
cherry stem in her teeth. counting twenty sheeplings to sleep
plagued by beehives and wasps, in a treetop that’s neither streamlined nor warped
no te preocupas mi amor-
in the morning they’ll be more breezy seaside to waft
sea salt aroma, as sweet as its strong
no siege of despondence, no seething dissolving
just me, being charming, meeting you with resolve
so gather the sky clouds, chain the puzzle piece to my heart
my chéri amor, don’t wait till this dies down
permanent spring, summer breeze, no winter allowed
went from counting to three to running out of fingers to count


my inner voice. bragging and shy. so very coy
abruptly impassioned in its perilous joy
panicking. sulking.
abdicate holiness.
i salivate at the thought of having you hold me
heartbeat in my abdomen slowing
rapid eye movement. palindrome dreaming
what is the meaning?
we battle of the Alamo’ed the last of mohicans
i lament having spoken, “i love you and mean it”
there wasn’t any valid attempt to salvage our dreaming
no valiant feature. no heroine vouching for
just palindrome sequence. folklore and pretense
commodore drowning with his diamond princess and dreadnought boat
Goliath’s visage over david’s corpse and slingshot stones
a picture worth a thousand words, abstract distortion
how happy id be, if i didn’t have to be coping
passive aggressive when I’m manipulating my prose
this vacuum of time. pen inking words to expose
an odd inquisition to want composition to rot and erode
despondent, disposed. shook like bouts of epilepsy
loathe that i have to remind you to remember me
never felt as close to you, until you were leaving
no country for my old man left me in a state of bereavement
tired of this. esophagus, loaded with words
that’ll never break light or get its attention deserved
the most painful thing i did was losing myself
my memoir of dark thoughts steadily creep off the shelf
over saturated with half-love, masked-up infatuation
I’m so exposed night time my heart wakes me up
it asks me what happened with so and so
i don’t know. please, heart

don’t ask me again.

Orwellian (my battle with depression, dysmorphia, anxiety, body image, eating disorder, perfectionism, and the ongoing back-and-forth with oblivion)

may my last words be half-slurred and cathartic
so & so’s favorite blue jeans stained with tear drops & saliva
head cradled in their lap, eyes barely widened
my interventions’ HQ will be besmirched within silence
my shoulder blades girth played role of a harbinger
the bonier they got; the more i wished i was a skeleton
malnourished, malevolent, maladjusted malaise
talking in malformed metaphors to try and explain
that there’s a concession of an all-dead jury saying my name
prosecutor in a straitjacket who thinks I’m insane
reading taped push signs over doors tailored to pull
judges with mallets in the same shape of my skull
my past lives failed me.
pantomime in his glass house flailing
glass eyed, no boundaries. highly contagious
armed & dangerous, with a heart a brain bit
I’ve gotten anxious, cause i’ve told you i’m not anxious
got chasers & glasses for my motherfucking shot-takers
moment of sign language, for up & comers w/ violations
bloodsucker, with lost childhood adult spaces,
that touch base with generational curse placements
misplaced trust havens. mass murdering & love laden
you’ve 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
every moment spent sober – a cry out for help
tullamore on the shelf
books in the wine cellar
spending most of his life wishing id try better
heart of a lion, mouth of a sinner
there’s something so dystopian about 19.84 oz. of liquor

july 19th (3)


unsorted. unabashed. formal with his emotions. unashamed. vulnerable worn as a sash on thunderous days. sport a badge of honor stained with the blood of cain. what’s her name? love lost. lust loves to come in gangs. my father never asked if i’m ok. he told me he forgave me for what we brang. brought. sorry. when i’m in pain, my language crosses barriers all the same. rain forest. brain blots. lost in my badge of honor. should i say, i’m sorry? i’m not to blame.

fuck that motherfucker

fuck that motherfucker

fuck it. flames.

distraught and caught in daze. there’s days i question, am i supposed to be gone? hoping to holy father that i’m totally wrong. rotary dial. noticeable drama. rusty robot. corrosion in armor. lunch with locusts. emotional trauma. bandages with no adhesive falling off of my stitches. i’m more then enraged, i’m sort of conflicted. sort of insane. hold me no longer. aborting the mission. there’s holy ghosts that i pray too. prayers vanish. displaced. i read neitzsche and questioned myself. i read what she wrote me—- answer to questions dispelled. theres a wolf inside you, with a sheep in its teeth. what’s yours will find you, and crush you to pieces. find your heart indiscreetly, whispering that i love you. distilled inner feelings. take a shot of me and consume. sometimes i want to be lowered inside a grave. mausoleum adventures. nausea and deflection. hardly seen. i surrender, any parts of me i dismember. i believe god isn’t god if he’s hiding his face. don’t deny me my faith. close thy eyes then, sleep till forever. crying in shapes. not circles and ovals, more jagged edges and blades. that scrape down my cheek bones when they fall into place. tears become blood. blood becomes rage. it’s what we sign our names in when we scream out our names. when I’m inside of you. inside of your brain. eye stare psychosomatic. why are we strange? lie there so damaged. why do you push me away when i just want to stay? why do i stay when there’s blood on my face? a lion pawing away flys that nick at the scrapes. blood on my hands, nothing to say. asking if someone else wants to dance in my place. bach’s chaconne, slow waltz into grace. i’ve had it to here. i’ve had it to space. satellite metal floating till it touches something to change. engaging in societal rituals just to escape. jupiter ring hula hoop interlaced. interlaced. “pale fire” on the coffee table as blade runner plays. hiking alone up olympus with a cain in my fist. never without format, never existed. a whisper that’ll forever persist



sitting in his shadow
match lit. iron sight shifting with his arrow
da vinci with a trebuchet.
resentment at a younger age
don’t think i’ve ever fucking been the same
stay still please, so i don’t have to ever aim.
heartbeat on my cabernet, gospel on the interlude
never into hurting you; but that’s probably hurting you
want to hear you love me, but that’s my crawling incertitude
I’m sorry. you’ve heard it… too… many times
loose lips sink ships on the new delhi line
blueberry, thyme, seattle fog on the bloomsbury dime
anxiety finds a new adversary for you every time
kavinsky playing nightcall
nightfall addict. gun-slinging, moonlight absorber
eyeball static, upbringing made me too primed for torture
leukocyte warlord with a do-or-die sword code
DNA punching out morse, cause the nuclei’s disordered
sobering negative. gripping a metal shank alloy.
overly sensitive programming on this self aware android
therapists that call me the armchair nutcase
trying to turn back to bugged versions of his software update
i stop to stare into your eyes, perfect, oval shaped opals, like russian dolls holding more jewels in them like an enigmatic invention
a hundred soft, hazel static connections, like joules that gather intent, that teach me there aren’t lessons in every traumatic event

boys don’t cry


over evolving. dopamine soberly blossoms
noted and jotted in, like an old scripture
bludgeoning forecast, people make what they want of him
hold whispers. cold shivers. so obviously rigged
language is bothering. thunderstorm on the brink
on the cusp of oblivion, and never stopping to think
or wonder, what wanderlust awaits waverly love
dozens foreshadowing. waving red flags like the waging of war
bare footed resolve. homosapien scourge
black pen granule dissolving. technicolor gradient torch
collateral damage. animal bondage
lion with his crown of thorns and his lioness hostage
i knew you didn’t love me and it wasn’t a matter of knowledge
it was a matter of topics. you never mentioned before
casualty tally at the head of the door
lambs blood painting a story nobody knows that goes on
anxiety outbreaks – three centuries long
hes so twisted. he’s so rigid. never distraught
stares tacitly at the ceiling while embellishing god
with his headstone reading “i wish you death. rest in pieces, amor”
concerned he’s never understood; stained by indelible scars
a felon with no parole riding shotgun patrolling in cars
tossing his palms up in a garden. a prayer to Rah
eric garners’, spirit harnessed when i try to relay all my thoughts
only to shoulder the weight that buries me all
bury me. fall. now look at the sowing you reap
i’m a cannibal wolf in a room full of sheep
thinking how wonderful it’d be if you’d change for me
self awareness comes with a cost
reality, unlighted tunnels, perilous concepts
unhealthy bargaining chips
biting down on stupefaction. nothing exists
it’s unrelated. lick my tongue. getting me off
symphonic bass. sweat bead reservoir. fucking you raw
fall asleep. counting me, after my unconditional teaching
teeth in you. swearing i fucking need it
barely breathing. rib cage fluctuation, sepia pause.
throat curvature, palms.
fixed to your arched spine. getting involved
brain emitting July’s bohemian sprawl
reading her body.
handprint stories on your thigh and neck
finger tracing in half speed, panting four times a second
close your eyes, heighten senses
wavering boomerang into unconsciousness

i call it gigawattage catharsis.
purge you of any worldly distress
whirl on your neck. middle finger dug into your nape
mine for the time being. set sail in your lake
want to escape, fall into you & dissuade
half-life with a half life. don’t let me decay
knowing that we’ll never look at each other the same

theres a parrot on my shoulder that already knows what i’ll say


it’s almost time
for a confessional. let’s bathe our feet while we dance
sediment wash. baptism in the chemical sand
trekking through the barriers that barely stand
in touch with invariance.
writing love letters. barely legible; sun setters
cantaloupe sky. dusk settles. what’s warm love in november?
it’s cranberry cheeks. your tongue tingling. teeth
surrendering ourselves to eruption. lungs blistering. freeze
i’ve talked to god on occasion. mention mary and seph’
carried a mountain on my shoulders through a valley of death
i’ve longed for delay. had a walk through nirvana
hoisted a banner reading ‘i want to be craved’
we just want to be loved. we just want to partake.
on a trotting that doesn’t involve being numb
noticed your aura carrying breath of life to grave diggers
make their shovels change to pens like shape shifters
paint pictures. plant seeds that proceed to out wait winter
gasp. breathe. then watch spring make way
that was a metaphor for how fruitful you are
when i think of kissing you, my fitbit thinks I’m working out
and when i talked to you
my fitbit said my heart rate slowed down
that’s just testament to how you slow time down

it works out.
want to spend time with.
lets cascade, the sky, rip.
over to
your face visage. that’s engraved under eyelids
to my future lover. i’ll consume you like no other
keep you fluttered. keep you covered. with an influx of these crimson colored kisses
mission: smother. mission: touch her….
heart, create a spark that dwells deep within ventricle walls.
imagining ember blaze, rinsed with a dab of my tender gaze
create mendable art. candlelit wicking flame
absolutely delicate. trapping in shadow
everything’s past tense. everything matters
speaking weakly under covers. cheeks in blush
proceed to hush the noise. drown the sound.
unsheathe the void
asleep we touch.
wake up. innocent eyes. glistening. tithe.
as morning UV bathes our skin with it’s dye
remember this line; we could drift forever without an anchor
pigment alignment.
so fluid. our loose lips could sink battle tankers. finger paint on each other within our silence


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 im 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
were all enraptured to die
for worse, or for better
choke in the sandsurge 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 gaping a 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 payed respects too
    every morning at three, pray at your feet. and rest for awhile
    heard nothing but echoes. tense moment denial
  • the depth of the situation, brought me closer to ire

    stone & ashes, your ghost and some fire
    heads closed in. like a labyrinth threshold.
    side-thorn, blood shot. gigawattage electrode
    eyes sore, daily. i ask is there anything left to fight for?
    life is a cuckoos 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
    reincarnations 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 awhile, 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