He’s 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.
Tag: emotional
-
-
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
Barefooted 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
Lamb’s blood painting a story nobody knows that goes on
Anxiety outbreaks – three centuries long
He’s so twisted. He’s so rigid.
Never distraught
He stares tacitly at the ceiling while embellishing God
with his headstone reading “I wish you death. Rest in pieces, amor.”
He’s concerned he’s never understood;
Stained by indelible scars
A felon with no parole riding shotgun patrolling in cars
He tosses his palms up in a garden.
A prayer to Ra
Eric Garner’s spirit harnessed when he tries to relay all his thoughts
only to shoulder the weight that buries him all
Bury him. Fall.
Now look at the sowing you reap
He’s 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
Self-destructive. Unhealthy bargaining chips
biting down on stupefaction.
Nothing exists
It’s unrelated. I lick my tongue.
Getting me off
Symphonic bass.
Sweat bead reservoir.
Fucking me raw
We 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.
Demonstrably.
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.
There’s a parrot on my shoulder that already knows what I’ll say. -
You’re not what I dreamed of
Or hoped for, that potential was reached
Long before, I harbored emotions in secret
Sophomoric sequence, plot twist I saw all along
Held my breath for a year, lungs turned carbon to smog
Another movie screening, hold hands in between it
Reach maximum zenith, whisper “never leave me” under closed palms
So calm. Never flinch. A wink and a nod
No blinking for three hours. Let that sink in for a while
Lovers island. Skipper of ol’ overly passionate
Fingers stranded in your hair strands, bend over and ask me
A question, do I love you or not
Fingertips touching your every hope.
Every cross
Of fingers, wishing we would drift apart
I’m driftwood and you’re just another fish in the ocean.
Lake, spring, river whatever’s
Spend an eternity painting a picture to think us together.
Calabazas to pick. If I revisit you, I get a feeling to itch.
Uneasy. Breeze hits me, wind changing while each season commences.
We get lazy. It’s insane. Never connect but still swing for the fences
Up to my neck in words that don’t even exist.
Flood in my pharynx, like phalanxes fighting to fix.
Squad of anxieties I refuse to acknowledge.
Perusing the side of me I loosely demolished
Smokescreen dagger. Condensation hazy opaque
Wheatgrass chronicle, diary dripping sanctity.
Lake
Bedstand.
Siamese twin bed, oak crickety floors
The hole in the wall where my fist lived in before.
Unroot me where I stand, dandelion seed floating amiss.
Eve foliage, sin growing vivaciously when
There’s … Quantities of flowers germinating in spring.
Blooms of orchids in rancor
Temper tantrum fills in the hue.
Rhythm and blue soapbox
Sorted chrysanthemums
Most of it cloak-and-dagger. -
Hi. I’m okay. My name is … (private exchange)
Oceanic delight, Mariana Trench – let’s lie on the waves
Get lied to with promises as you wave your goodbyes
The “we’ll soon see each other”s, the “I can’t wait to arrive”s
Gesticulating giant, wide-eyed naivety shines
Juan Valdez roast – a vagabond’s variant vibe
Cash valet parking – pristine ’85 BMW e28
Cabernet off-switch.
Tannins drip from my IV ’cause I don’t bleed DNA
Deviate from the norm. Heliocentric.
Her face is a star
She makes the sun turn violet, and gives rainbows their scars
Technicolor stitches, wounds wash radiant art
Do re mi, one-way street of living, who’s to say that we are
In Eden’s garden, dancing naked to Purple Rain
My dorsal fin can’t navigate the deepest waters.
Irregardless, blood print barely cracks the surface stain.
The takeaway is mundane themes.
It’s okay to want a place to scream.
The days are hard-fought battles, wars go on for weeks, and
Hurricanes are taking shape in the subway steam.
Every Sunday, he tithes revived percentages of hope.
So, a little bit inside me dies from the carcinogenic dose.
AM country station blazing through the cigarette tray.
Grandpa’s epitaphs engraved in indirect faith.
12-volt Citroën culture, French press grit in my veins
Vaudevillian silhouette, it’s like you barely saw her.
Stained-glass windowpane
Leather loveseat
Frankenmuth Bavarian auberge
Accompanied by airport sound wave dispersal
Dial pound eight, to reach the operator rotary nuisance
Call me a mutant, because we hate feeling lonely as humans
Let’s huddle around the baggage carousel until we depart
What bothers me is the converging of a million souls living apart
Common courtesy talks, airplanes are altitude civilian parks
We’ve been displaced by a culture aimed to minimize faith
And dilute consumer bases, zombified mimicking ape
My father used to say – take walks when it’s pouring down rain
Why? So you can revisit the bridges burned in your wake
Never had a father, it was just something I said to myself
Did I divulge too much?
My mother always said keep to yourself
‘Cause the hearts on your sleeve are a poker player’s favorite tell
Manifest themselves as sheep who hastily offer you wool
Did the vague release of my cry remind you of wolf?
Hell in a handbasket, Riding Hood tells us we fear who we are.
Too many questions, not any answers.
Period, pause -
I don’t know what I want,
Whether it’s surface dwelling alone at the swamp
Or an oak in a marsh, soul-searching proverbial want.
We’re more or less spawns of monsters nobody needs,
You were my star-spangled banner, and I was taking a knee.Subterranean breeze, vitamin pond, still smell your perfume,
Every once in a blue moon, Dahlia Divin creeps in the room.
Black lagoon creature, months of despondent malaise,
Never under the same moon, but always got in your way.Every constant is change, every constant in chains,
The sheriff to my merits, conversation warranted pain.
Follow the tunnel light or continue to walk among the shade,
Politics, topic delay, boxer on the ropes.You taught me to love, but to love to be alone,
A hundred teeth sunk in deep, ’til they’re rusting at the bone.
Propaganda-prone, post-traumatic melodic drama,
Copacetic cathartic static, momentary sedative saga.Mama said to me never mince words with Misses Karma,
Megabit verbiage, sapient alma in the trenches of mock prison,
Velvet and soft linen, cotton henley makeshift pajama,
Couldn’t figure you out…Kissed crevasses in your skin, you were indifferent about,
You’re awkwardly distant to things that slipped through my mouth.
Look at you now…
Sinatra’s lovers glance, blood-soaked sinful devout,
The untolds dripping, gun smoke cigarette clouds.Love grows thinner when the sun strokes negligent doubt,
What comes, goes,
Hum low under floorboardsOr they’ll figure us out.
Self-destruct sequence, count to zero with me,
Feel your feelings metamorph like metaphors in the breeze.I don’t know what I want, I just know what I need,
Better go home before I’m awoken, and I see you,
Full of momentary passes focused entropy seams,
Beams of light bustling through cracks in the stream.Pockets of time form like globules; we’d skip stones in ravine,
Everything’s too loud even when the volume’s negative three,
Nothing we do can salvage this irreparable dream.Qué pena me da, que lo tienes sentir,
Shouted at you to leave as I whispered the please. -
I’m the saddest man on the planet,
Dulcet zones become eruptions of death,
Memorizing vocal tones, or numbing distress,
Most ballads hit home, requiem out of balance,
Such a synergistic release comes from this basket of malice.I’ll have it to here – 22oz black coffee French press,
Anarchy is best dressed, brown leather, headrest,
Sinning in her black coffee sundress,
It takes a village to raise a child, there’s no one to raise it with us.Pillaged through blades of grass, photosynthetic assortment,
Spilling your flask till it’s empty, blood served in a brass veil,
Vivider mass pavilion. Mom kept the pictures of Dad, still,
Photo album laminating, magnifying glass on an anthill.Steel razor tandem. Dear anybody, anywhere who has ears,
In a position to translate this ballad I have here,
Monochromatic Morse code, willing to listen,
Put your phone down, stethoscope to a torso.I trot through universes I never knew existed,
Thinking of becoming perfect with you seemed so delicious.
I press my lips against windows you’ve brandished,
Just to kiss what you’ve managed to touch,
I’ve become calloused and rough, galloping stallion tusk,
And you vanish.Melodies of Vanish and Hope
–––––––
-
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.
-
Grooving to the classics, velveteen smooth, with devilish antics.
Never seen through my pirate-themed ruse or the skeleton captain.
X-ray embellishing, developing cancer.
The elephant in the room, and the rest is in captions,
subtitled. Lexicons added for your pleasurable view,
I’ve got a penchant for ad-libs.
Subdued in my intelligence, say hello to the masses;
yeah, it’s just you, some gel tablets, and the medicine cabinet.
They’re like a president’s cabinet, a group of advisers:
the Vicodins, the vice president, the alcohol, the confidant,
all loose on the side. Hiding the bruises you’ve captured.
A group of counselors, grouped into family matters ending in -cillin.
The chancellor, the consultant, all there to mentor you, alla’them chilling ,
as if it was meant to instill some impressionable feeling.
Dandruff building, scratching until it bleeds,
where’s the Selsun Blue?
Telekinetic view, light a match
until it ceases and recedes until the black
hits my thumb. Black from the burning.
The burn will bring me back from the dumps.
Marvel at the stars, watching the TV watching me from the sofa.
I turn on the TV but drown it out with the garbage disposal.
My credit score is pristine, except I crashed my car last year.
Now I have nightmares about Geico could save me fifteen percent. -
Dreams and reverie boast,
Roasted with pearly green chimerical gold.
God Delusion. Hallucinating a miracle told,
Where lightning strikes the conscious,
Lively minded, constant.
Smile by a goddess,
Where perfection’s unfurled by Pangaea,
Curvy hips, sangria, and rooftops,
Inebriated in a sea, with a jukebox.
Charismatic, dispelling drama, adorable,
Gospel sings for the saga approaching,
Americanah and rooted, salsa and dance,
Savannah beauty, with a lot to command,
Sailor of wisdom, a body tailored for rhythm,
Samba routine, enigma, for her frolicking waist,
Marvelous taste, whiskey and fruit wine,
Yin and yang in spirit, spirits and moonshine,
Clamoring percussion, fireworks on the eve,
Ten seconds for eruption, heart on her sleeve,
Little black dress, static libido,
Attracted me, magnetic tuxedo,
Countdown in Manila, three seconds to go,
Loud sounds pound now, as we disrobe. -
Puncturing flows of buttery colors, exposed in
Post and pre-nuptial showmanship. Function control,
Amusing instrumental, effusive ode to hold this angel to a centerpiece.
Basil, with cloves, of energy that exposed a masterful synergy,
A weeded rustled drone that tumbled a quiet depiction of the color blue on a petal,
Succulent. Moss grows on my archer’s boot, and a straw of grass clenched by my jawbones,
A flux of rusty trombones that exude music through its metal.
I’ve heard poetry spoken in crux, bolded by a bellowing, bolstering,
Underlined by a snake in the grass, it’s so mellow. Just hold me,
Boisterous, soaked in droves of this sorceress satin.
She spoke in a language obscurely molded in Spanish,
Her lips curved, Sagittarius furor. Sandals and codeworded for passion,
Prescription for cures and an ailment aimed with her astrologer’s arrow,
A hollow barrow, and a node I focused on with a ridiculously pure heart.
Fluent in affluency, forehead kiss, and bewitching allure,
Potion and magic, with an inflection of sultry enchantment.
I’ve met a beautiful queen that I spoke to in Latin,
Aztec rituals led to a madman’s mystical matchmaker,
With slurps of a spiritual flask, drank from a vase of snapdragon,
Curvy dress with cottony ripples slightly past bony knees,
Impervious to the dogma your thighs created. Your soul’s a speech,
Red in a loud voice, in a cabin with a fireplace, abrupt,
Where the fire grows irate every time your feminine tone erupts,
Sensuous, cold, the scent is insane. I could hear your perfume luring me with incendiary allure,
Had enough with the tempestuous situation.
Where an ice-cold gloved gauntlet haunts your lightly toned marked garments,
Misses maestro lust. Larva finds a crawlspace where it bugs my life’s oak carcass,
I tithed to our religious cult-like chemistry,
Where memories like centipedes held life in their arms,
So magnificent, mount me to a crucifix, slow,
And show me the coloration of the sounds that I used to know.
Portuguese picturesque beauty,
Whisking along with curly-haired brunette insouciance,
Where a degree of our separation detonated my inner vignette of Vesuvius… -
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.