They won’t exactly be sending out search parties for you, so no need to cast a longing gaze toward Gomorrah.
It’s quite an interesting connection between me and all these naysayers, almost like some cosmic joke.
Imagine a leaf petal doing a helicopter impression, whirling around in the wind and making a melodious entrance onto my skin, brushing past my clothes, and tickling my senses. I really ought to cut down on the overanalyzing of every little thing, overthinking even the simplest of thoughts.
On occasion, the descent of a solitary leaf serves as an emblematic reflection on life’s simplicity- “a leaf is just a leaf” I tell myself.
I possess an inclination to imbue every encountered element with a sense of romanticism- something beyond just normal acceptance.
This tendency, I suspect, emanates from my earnest desire to substantiate the significance of my existence, to give me reason, purpose- beyond the mere spectatorial role within someone else’s subconscious reverie.
My yearning extends further, reaching for a heightened emotional intensity, surpassing the present moment’s fleeting sentiments. This proclivity can be attributed to my perception that within the depths of my tears lies a reservoir of unwritten verses, and as they cascade from my cheek, they unfurl entire sagas upon unwitting onlookers.
My own faculties mirror the (what it seems like) perpetuity of a spinning dreidel, ceaselessly whirling through the vast expanse of thought. My goodness.
Like a melody resonating within the confines of a padded chamber, only then will the monotony of existence become stifling.
There are moments when I succumb to a slumber that seems to span epochs, and upon rousing, I encounter a reflection in the looking glass that scarcely resembles the person I once knew- a glimpse into the past of someone that I didn’t want to be anymore.
Every now and then, I can’t help but envy those animals that can wrap themselves up in a cocoon and seemingly take a lifetime to emerge anew.
I know it might sound a bit dark, but I’ve often wondered if cryogenics might have a place in my future, like I’m some kind of butterfly waiting to unfurl its wings. To start the cocoon process.
I’m still in the process of becoming the person I want to be, not quite there yet, not quite cocooned enough.
I tend to toss around the word “kaleidoscope” quite a bit- It’s like I’m navigating through a labyrinth, and I have this persistent feeling that I can uncover the hidden ending to the ever-shifting ultraviolet pattern.
Somewhere amid those rose-colored glasses, there’s a door with an infinite keycode, and I just know the password somehow. And when I finally open it, I won’t feel lost anymore; there’s someone waiting on the other side for me.
Tag: prose
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Between the Rose-Colored Glasses
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There’s a point that I’m reaching Metal-stained depression that questions my poise. Soy sauce and Som Tam alleviate my diseases Witherspoon Street, right off of Des Moines. I’m better off. Leave me- said in telekinesis Park my car in dimmed city streets, seemed so adroit. As a meditative escape- to break free and avoid the Culture clinic. Social sipping soak my inner Peaces. I’m always five seconds away from decadent noise A dollop of pain, cured by laying in bed just to waste. Better today. Better today. I’m better today. My heart’s national anthem never displayed Harlequinade. Awkward delay, fault and dismay. Darkness, decay, harvesting pain. Hop on the train. There’s a billion souls unlike me not trying to rot. How am I supposed to decide to just stop? Contractual silence. Contrast, brightness and sharpness. Liability issue. My investors predict a crash in my stock. There’s no return in peace if I happen to drop. You speak a dialect that only I could embark. I’m a poacher with a penchant for a lioness heart. I need sunlight and you seem to smile a lot. You give me culture when art forms die on the spot. Super setting. Filter mode, neutral touches interwoven. Two Excedrins in my throat, you can barely sense the hope. Ibuprofens stashed inbetween the Miss you poems. Hello, I miss you, so I miss you
The Poacher’s Liability Issue
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I feel like an addict. I whispered as I fell asleep by myself Waking up in shivers and zero responses to my pleading for help. I’m normal, I’m honest Sitting beside a two-week headache and a toilet of vomit Telling my Tylenol I’ll be back before dawn. Another broken statement soaking in promise. My mind’s a loitering bomb, the hopeless subconscious. My most genuine curse is never being sorely immodest. You make me trust, and make me love you Wrap your arms around my kudzu My battle armor cast in blood, the vagabond of listless lust. You’re the art of war to my Sun Tzu Dragging on, my past is gone. Just catacomb the ambiance Grabbing on to massive oars to run across the transient. Summer’s dawn is halcyon. A cup of coffee. Allocate the demitasse, and pillow talk your champion. Touching softly. Rugged often, my flesh peels off when I’m around you. Come with trigger warnings, and oxytocin. Purple-flavored dulcet moans, Coach your climax until you’re gone. We left our mantras and conscious open Erotica, the constant dosage Our Jupiter’s and Venus forged Carbon copy, and common stories Almost called derogatory hear the demons speaking for me. We want peace, and peace and glory But what brought peace is knowing Thieves only steal things worth hoarding. The mana source. The chakra pouring. Muladhara. I want more. Kehlani to your body. Roar growling and the sounds explored. You look good on paper, and good in person. My only failure is mine alone. Flushing out the ill-behavior. To amputate and cut off the source. This faucet drain pumps blood no more. It’s just stained.
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I have so much to say, and nothing suffices
The honest truth is, I just want to cry
Enough violence of my energy marks being assaulted
My silence comes from expecting nothing less than the obvious
Misunderstanding, awkwardness, overall shyness.
I acquiesce solely out of exhaustion.
Closed captions underneath both of our eyelids
Touch my cheek with your hands as I squeeze them as tight-
as me clinching onto my blade ’cause paranoia has taught me to fight
Slightly understand the plight of women walking at night
I want to enjoy the things that so many like
Tired of looking into your eyes without me inside
of you
I drift off into codependency, where I’m rarely absolved.
Connected. I dissociate and stare off into space.
Finding it odd – an atheist when I’m alone in the dark
Having interrogations with God. Asking them who sent you.
My disposition to avoid pain has rendered me recluse.
My character arc is a biblical miscue
Noah memory thoughts, Euphrates flooding with ‘I love Yous’ & ‘miss Yous’
We’re barely a speck. A floating rock in oblivion
Literally looking for something on the cusp of existence
Most of what my therapist says, I think is a trick
When I’m writing in my journal, I can feel you touching my wrist
I don’t know if I’m supposed to be thinking like this
My first poem titled: My last healthy relationship doesn’t exist. -
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
Millennia’s not enough time to fix things we destroyed
I feel violated.
Pass me the void
Barely observant. Just an impressionable boy
Unpacking post-traumatic memory noise
Your electrical currents blend into words
Ready to work, to have me possessed, like your servant
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 and it seems that way
‘Cause I feel she turns the other cheek when I plead my case
You chiseled your name on my torsoI call them the Ouija board hormones
You summon them like you’re playing a gameHeart strings tug at your love’s 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 downpourCrowned thorn.
Your love was the last remaining oasis outsourced -
If… I get to the point where no one’s love embroiders me,
I’d mix the oils, clay, and color coordinate the sordid seams
Avoid distaste. Anointed is the day she’s 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
Nirvana’s intensely consoling.
And I’m pointing to God
For answers. For pensive motions, for something to want
Memorized Medusa’s feet, and 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 in stone was the mountain between us
Consider the fact, we’re considering redacting
What’s upsetting to me, isn’t your lack of attention
You could whisper sweet nothings, molasses infested
But that wouldn’t matter. Instead it’s your ignorance
Your pallid irreverence against my calloused dejection
Your beg-to-differs, go-figures, your knack for these idioms
Perhaps, it’s your undercut mouthing of idiot
The teeth grind to the bone you experience
Perhaps, it’s that motherfucking tone it’s 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, ashtray and continued bewilderment
Embark through the shadow, the only thing keeping me going
Apart from fleeting emotion, is gravity from this black hole
Swear to God I got a disease in my bones
Called Squeezing inanimate objects and pretending it’s 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 couldn’t 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 resourcefulness
Now all of a sudden you’re super conservative?
Save it. -
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. spot the occult in the psalms.
the rejection. a song in the hall of this crazy asylum
straitjacket is off, but I still feel like i’m
binded
abstaining. no hiding. not restrained or assigning
what’s a goon to a goblin–12 noon to this bondage?
loudspeakers.
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, it’s so fucking intense
influx of attention. but none to respect
found you by searchingyour 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
test love like currents, to conduct an experiment
shave off bucks antlers, concoct my lovers potion in dye
appearing like, serum – you took most of in stride
the locust–conniving, it’s 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- unhook your brassiereabsolutely 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:no feeling remorse
like a fleeting emotion, cleave through divorcing
she march to the beat of her own drums. cheeks are like porcelain
its by gods grace- strawberry-stained bleeding disorder.the heart beating endorphins
let’s ease up and leave one weekend in greece, white villa is all that we need
cherry stem in her teeth. counting twenty sheeplings to sleep
night time plagued by beehives and wasps, in a treetop that’s neither streamlined nor warped
pero 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, and you as a darling, 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 counti’m sorry
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He’s 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 okay. He told me he forgave me for what we brought, but he’ll never say. (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 are 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 than enraged, I’m sort of conflicted. Sort of insane. Hold me no longer. Aborting the mission. There are holy ghosts that I pray to. Prayers vanish. Displaced. I read Nietzsche and questioned myself. I read what she wrote me—- answer to questions dispelled. There’s 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 flies 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 cane in my fist, never without format, never existed, a whisper that’ll forever persist