Snatched.

Upon the greatest warrior’s tombstone;
Intertwined deep inside, ancestral flesh and bone;
A trail of teardrops left by my circling drone;
Searching, searching…
Still looking for “HOME”.

Underneath the secret but long-known truths;
Lays the innocence lost in the days of my youth;
Unaware of the bullshit ahead to wade through;
Aimless, always aimless…
With no direction to point myself to.

A wise man once offered me his steady hand;
With his knowledge: an intimate lay of the land;
But his power frightened me – and away I ran;
Clueless, fucking clueless…
I should have snatched up that wise man.

Swan Dive.

I do not completely, and in every way fear you –

Not in the way that he threw a curse upon me to;

I still get warmed up by that appeal, so real and true;

A truth he failed to forever ruin with shades of black and blue.

I’m not so afraid of you – that I have no tendencies, no intrigue;

My body yearns for good sex to magically collide with me;

My brain gradually accepts and digests my life’s reality;

It’s a string of unknown variables: somehow bound to my own destiny.

What I find in a mirror – won’t let my brain truly perceive;

Along with so many pieces of my own history,

I’m a toddler again without a reason to believe;

My environment feels so profoundly abstract and obscene.

The good and the bad – patches of skin: paisley and plaid;

I spent so many tear drops that I now wish I still had;

To cry over the stabs at my womb and the kicks to my head –

There will be time to be held “hostage” when I’m dead.

Unrealistic, sadistic, chauvinistic lovers –

Sociopathic in the street and Pornographic in the covers

But then again, my position in the dark-lit corner;

Not really caring if you do or do not choose to stroll over –

I survived the same ways as anyone else alive;

I can only convey the things that my spirit and soul imply;

I have accepted the truth and jumped over the side;

welcoming the Unknown through a perfected swan dive.

Sunrise and ADHD.

What does this morning’s dawning want to bring to me?
I could wash the wood floors, or climb a tall tree;
I could force myself to get my lab work done, finally;
Or I could sit on the beach and get stoned, like I want to be.

Maybe I’ll go hide in the library…
I can read my favorite books endlessly;
Surprise Sensei Han when I show up for karate;
Or just sit on my ass at my desk and write poetry.

Perhaps I will lead, in high speed – at the racetrack, again;
Or maybe shit some overpriced ammo down the drain;
I could always go hiking and get lost in the rain;
I’m partial to the idea of a tattoo gun’s special pain.

Today might be the day I dive for abalone;
Or decide to set my family of society finches free;
I just never know what’s in store for me;
With a mind so confined by its A.D.H.D.

This Day.

In a different world with different endings
This is a day we’d laugh and play
this is a day we’d celebrate
a day with a new beginning
the love would be fulfilling
the night would not end with ushering in
so much emptiness
so much regret
This day would be reaffirming.

In Lieu.

The seconds don’t matter

same as meaningless chatter

the minutes form a comedy

that is my existence, actually

the hours are anchors

attaching to the fog

that I see the whole world through

not funny at all, but sure to amuse

not heavy, but sure to fall through

down into the thick and inky hues

now, a tragedy forms in lieu

and the audience applauds

clapped hands and head nods

as if they like to see

me poised here, ready to bleed

my hands can’t seem

to grip the props tightly

clatter and clang to the floor

in a room I can’t leave anymore

throughout the course, I become

unable to trust anyone,

unable to see what I’ve done,

unable to reach out,

far too gone.

 

 

Chaotic.

We never love them,
those flickers of,
Life’s candlelight,
when we get them,
nano-seconds in Love,
in the present tense,
in all its fickleness,
we fail to look deeply,
beyond the warmth,
of such selfishness,
we fail to recognize,
so we sit stupidly,
as nano-seconds,
swim right on by,
like robotic drones,
it is foolishness,
how soon we forget,
our very own,
flesh and bone,
where we came from,
childhood homes,
for we are not,
not a single one,
born to those,
with voices, drowned,
neither did we,
bore the woes,
Of Royalty,
donning the crown,
of the overthrown,
in the halls of the dead,
in the heads of the gone,
we will stand as one,
to the depths,
from the heights,
stars and sun,
days and nights,
like statues set in stone.

Under Foot.

Temper-treated,

pressed ‘n pleated,

predisposed and superseded,

diagnosed,

poorly heeded,

over-psychiatrically,

pre-treated,

super-imposed,

pin-up prose,

cake-layer completed,

centrally distributed,

locally re-heated,

self-stimulated,

pseudo-violated,

over-chewed,

nearly spewed,

swallowed up,

oh Hell –

regurgitated,

won’t sit well,

if stacked up to,

the tried and true,

another epic fail,

shoddily fabricated,

horizontally situated,

systematically nauseated,

linguistically free,

tongue in cheek,

verbally inebriated,

an atrocity,

a featherless Crane,

singed into the brain,

of the Herring,

a forsaken queen,

been busy,

out bone-collecting,

well beyond her means,

never satiated,

by her plundering,

blindly placated,

by the obsolete,

of the broken-spirited,

broken down,

rotted through,

to an army paraded,

beneath the sole of my shoe.

Tear-Stained Lines.

I dreamed of filling notebooks,

the same old tear-stained lines,

spiral bound and self-evident,

are these memories, unkind;

I dreamed of emptied oceans,

stripped to sand by Father Time,

doomed and underestimated,

are the pages left, unsigned;

I dreamed of darkened places,

with my fate not far behind,

the rotten, hollow carcass,

with a face the same as mine;

I dreamed of scrapping metal,

from machinery left behind,

and bleeding as I cut away,

each bolt to my bloodline;

I dreamed I found a serpent,

with spiders for its eyes,

and a carapace of razors,

closing in from every side;

I dreamed of Live Oak forests,

throttled by smoke and brine,

I opened my eyes this morning,

to the same old tear-stained lines.

Loop.

The looped-sound,
had been there,
in the background,
annoying,
skin-crawling,
spinning around…
thought-twirling,
discerning,
any new learning,
or knowledge found,
high frequency,
ear-drum atrocity,
this noise,
is killing me…
the noise,
resounds,
above the soil,
and underground,
molten-melted foil,
of a dead King’s,
former crown,
reminiscent…
of the tears,
dropped down,
residually,
hanging,
on its sound,
dripping water,
drops…
to the ground,
above,
my head,
sadness surrounds,
whirring,
winding,
tightly around,
this thumping,
this beating,
this…
primordial sound,
commands me,
moves me,
to speak,
concisely,
certainly expound.

High-lighted Pages.

Okay, then –
fine;
in the spirit,
of saving time:
allow me,
please,
to admit,
whatever deeds,
that you need,
to claim,
as being mine,
well, Hell,
oh damn…
it’s all my fault,
somehow,
once again;
see my arm up,
see it waving,
see how much,
bigger I am?
Gods’ damn,
“Little Man” –
who designed
your B Plan…
as it was,
just because,
so stupidly,
you now stand;
all alone,
left to hold,
a Mystery Bag;
no trigger piece,
left on your hip,
and suddenly,
that tongue of yours,
doesn’t seem to slip…
maybe you,
don’t really know,
how serious,
how deep this goes,
the importance of,
your admitted love:
for being in control,
Red Flag,
hash-tag,
highlighted pages,
deciphered by:
all the ages,
with the exceptions,
in each generation,
of the ugliest spirits,
with the prettiest faces.

Public Display of Unaffection.

He doesn’t want me to climb a high mountain,
to declare what is what from up there, before all the land –
he’d rather if I weren’t publicly affectionate towards him,
his body stiffens anxiously whenever I reach out to hold his hand;
sometimes, the tone in which his voice carries to me,
snaps my bottom lip like he spat the crack of a smart whip –
other times, his overwhelming affections remind me, eerily,
of a man too drunk to walk without having taken a single sip;
He becomes uncomfortably uncomfortable,
when I lean closely into either one of his ears –
it’s as if he expects my whispers to transform into Vipers,
spitting venom that he would sooner die than to hear;
I know it is only a matter of time before he’s no longer mine,
and this fact only makes me make him even less interested –
he says that I don’t communicate my needs and desires to him,
but when I do express myself, he says he wishes I never did;
it seems to be a losing battle with him, when,
he pulls and I push and he lets go and I eat pavement –
it’s a no go zone – despite the fact that it’s my home,
like shoveling the snow as a blizzard lays new layers again;
he can’t possibly have been feeling what I feel,
to keep me veiled by a curtain that separates a room –
my declaration from the mountain might be to him instead,
if he doesn’t help me find a way to climb up there, and soon.

Netherworld.

How this mind
of mine,
constructs a place,
a metallic taste
that saturates;
alive,
by the grace –
of another space
and time.
A Netherworld
just yours and mine
where the thoughts
of you and I;
pornographically
intertwine.
Nobody sees –
just you and me,
just the way
we like things to be;
You feel adored,
and I feel carefree.
A dream belonging
to who
I am when
I’m asleep…
to awaken
in the morning;
to the flushed cheeks
of your
time taken;
just freeze.
Stay locked in this position,
as the rain is drizzling;
nothing outside
of this place
where we hide,
matters too often
anymore to me, at least.
Real eyes
realize…
that time is truth
and truth is a lie;
Happily lost in
the cost
of your eyes,
Rain weighs in
lighter than
teardrops…
and take twice
as long to dry.

Mine.

Since the first night that I spent asleep in his words,
His – the most beautiful words this heart ever heard;
I fell fast asleep inside of an unfamiliar sense of relief,
To the lullaby spun from the lungs of a beast,
I slept like a baby as he looked after me…
He gave me shelter from the Carnivorous Things.

He recognizes the things that I hide for what they are,
He gives me real energy – such strength and power;
If he ever wonders, he doesn’t wonder why,
He’s wiped countless tears from beneath my eyes,
I let him pass through where all the other bodies lie…
Always knowing, always hating – he will someday say goodbye.

All I want to reach out for are his words as they float by,
Lusty swoon at the slice of moon that hangs inside his eyes
Since when he first folded me – buckled at my knees,
His strokes were long – songs, smiling growls down at me,
I’ve been captivated by a scent, taken chase – savagely,
Giggled schoolgirl, sprinkled sparks of jealousy…
He’s given me nothing, he gives me everything.

Snatched.

Upon the greatest warrior’s tombstone;
Intertwined deep inside, ancestral flesh and bone;
A trail of teardrops left by my circling drone;
Searching, searching…
Still looking for “HOME”.

Underneath the secret but long-known truths;
Lays the innocence lost in the days of my youth;
Unaware of the bullshit ahead to wade through;
Aimless, always aimless…
With no direction to point myself to.

A wise man once offered me his steady hand;
With his knowledge: an intimate lay of the land;
But his power frightened me – and away I ran;
Clueless, fucking clueless…
I should have snatched up that wise man.

Spurt.

signage

The music doesn’t calm my blood’s boiling;

The moon doesn’t rise when it should.

The sunlight’s warmth only cools my bones;

while I count these nickels made of wood.

My mind lacks comprehension;

My body is tired and alone;

My soul must’ve left me long, long ago –

My spirit’s gone looking for home.

There’s a place underneath buried bones of the deep;

Away from all the things that terrify me.

 

 

Tick. Tick. Tick

The moments between pulling the pin and clearing the distance necessary for safety –

These moments filled with dread and doubt and abandon –

Swirling with the desperate thoughts of a million and two suicidal in the final minutes of a million and two miserable lives, the air around these moments grows thick and greasy with the oils dug up from the deeps, worldwide; expectant of some kind of natural law to level itself out once more, but only thickening by the nano-second.

These moments after I press the ‘send’ button and before I receive a reply that is to my liking – one that typically never comes – those moments that seem to choke and throttle out small reminders to me of why I am so alone in the world, of why I always will be and have been.

These moments after I slice open my dried out heart to show you that it’s empty and withered away – to prove to you that there’s no blood pumping through it the way there’s supposed to be, like there used to be…

These moments provide this being’s only means of feeling alive; if only to feel the hurt and sorrow and pain and guilt – they remind me that I am, indeed, ALIVE with more blood left to spill, if necessary.

The moments hanging in air so heavily between one violent act and the next – spent in genuine hope that this might finally be the last time he bashes my head in – that this time his brute force and strength may actually do me in at last; between then and the moment he DOES try to kill me, and I am somehow overcome with shocked disbelief that he just cut my throat with his knife… scar tissue, stab wounds and slash marks are my life’s humbled reminders of the Hell I once drowned in, and the depths that I have also resurfaced from.

A testament in the moments of better days, to the unimaginable and quite regrettable past I’ve left behind like chewy dust in the sticky wind: my mind is wide open for the chance to be free and free others like me; my heart is behind my mind 110% during these moments that fleet across the void of mind and the dark of night.

I curse and long for these moments, these morsels of truth and what’s REAL…for, without them – I’m a simple, parasitic animal leeching my way through existence. Not a care in the world.

Perceive.

Around and around the wheel of luck goes,

Where it will stop, I’m sure that I know:

A miserable place that I’ve been to before;

where humanity is scarce and morale stands low.

The girl hates her mother for the life the girl lives,

her mother hates life and its perverse incentives;

Infiltrated then desecrated, see the foundation give,

for the entertainment of the “professional” collective.

It must be lost on all but me – the depths to this stupidity;

Each eye besides mine turns blind to space and time;

traveling, passing right through the heart of me.