Malaise

Im hurting myself badly
by not addressing these things inside me
that rot away at a nervous soul
Put on hold until my mind can be clear
Again
Is this death?
The transcendent soul numb,
cynically deprive of value
for these wonderful things
memories
I am tired often
I look for answers in my dreams
what am I neglecting
These flames tearing through the building
opening the sky on a starless night
a light in the dark
The void of preserved night
Pain seems too trite
to appraise this derision
but i aspire, nonetheless, for a brighter dream
For now it is that house on fire
To give my direction a destination
before it pales with time
extinguishing itself, spent of fuel
And i am lost until sunrise
Though it may be far too late
for these things inside
may have already rotted away
leaving a pile of ash
where my home used to be

youth wasted on the young

I think the traggedy in growing up is not in the wasted time of the "whatifs..." We did all that. OUr deriliction derives from a belief that we skipped the trantamount verses of youth. THe greater tragedy is that we did those among myruiad things yet forgot them; promissing to ingrain them into our life yet unimportant, left our minds fleating and never to be regognize. sad is the adult. sad is it to ruminize on what we have accomplised and forgot what brought us here/

Chaser

It didn't feel real
It didn't hurt enough
To convince himself that his desire was attainable
sadness
The achievement was the requiem of the pursuit
His life work was not to attain but to
chase
never will he be as sad when dreams become fruition
His purpose--as dictated by his host--was the personification of that
Perfection
Alas, consuming lust hoped that a misplaced decimal
or a glaring oversight immortalized his love
she, the ultimate puzzle
an untameable woman whom spouts scorn and ridicule
at the the slave to her sirenic mystery
But when the algorithmic key

abrogates the enigma

you know She by name

"There is nothing more i can give my darling; you're complete"
But leave your creator longing
begging for some reason or flaw with his design
to discredit the hypothesis
and bring his reason for life
Alive

multo fabuloso

what do you expect?
when the only humans i love are stagnant per page
their stories unraveling as they may
if you return to their epoch, it remains the same.
is it possible to fall in love with simple knowledge
a potation of a human emotion
an idea of someone contained

i have to learn that as the voice, I'm disgusting and deprave. that's the honesty my work needs; an unattended shame

bad bad man

When she dates a bad bad man
what do you say?
Apologize? No.
You're just saving grace
For a victim; a kind girl
she deserves so much better
her upright intelligence makes it hard to believe
that she could fall victim to such deceit
but the empiricals
numbers and shapes
follow a single formula
the function remains
what you put in is what you contain
But not for the science
of human connection
Complexities matching dreams and ideas
No two are manifested on the same kiln.
She loves him. Or does she?
Who am I to say.
I rely on my experiences
the relationships gone awry
But a girl I secretly admire
Deserves more than I can offer
Which is more than he can
But still
My envy translates to criticism
I appraise myself too highly
But I'm honest
I spare them the fate of my demise
A heartache undeserved
But some guys
Are not as merciful
They'll placate an artifice
to get their way
What they want is theirs
until they grow bored
and wash away
She's a big girl; she'll manage
She requires these straits
To grow into the fullest person she can be
But hopefully
It won't be too late
For me to ameliorate
only to be dismissed
When she meets another bad bad man

bite

bemuse my muse
wrap her in a tourniquet
limit the poison making it to my heart
YOU'RE AFRAID!
Agreed
But of what, I am uncertain.
Perhaps i should loosen the tension on this sleeve
Accept the poisonous alchemy.
Life becomes pellucid
When you share a bed with Mephistopheles

dog shit

It rained this morning. Had i been up to my usual habit, i wouldn't have known this. Rain stopped at 9:37am, or two hours before I wake up AT THE EARLIEST. I surveyed the dog poo mine field in my backyard. Eyesores with a putrid odor (i could only assume. cocaine had kept me up all night in exchange for sanity and my sense of smell). I thought about cleaning it up, but i visualized those little eyesores, mushy from the rain, turning into pudding in my hand; made by the indigenous canine of this terra. Flinch. I dropped the butt. I was so enamored by the little mounds of dog shit that I forgot why i came out here: to smoke a stogie. Now it punishes my negligence. If you play with fire, you get cancer. Assessing the damage to the satisfaction that i remained unmaimed, i just shook my hand, a reflexive impulse to singed fingertips, but also, in my own way, a gesticulation dismissing the meta appraisal of what I was doing. I just wanted to write last night. That's why i did the drugs. I haven't been able to write something genuine in eons. My life is just too boring...again. how do i know this? Because I have no good retort for "What's new?" I hate that question. More like filler. Yeah, that's just convo potpourri to uphold the didactic structure of conversation decorum. Place holders, ums, "well for me.."(another big turn off for a conversation; that other party dismissing everything you contributed to this artifice of a conversation to talk about themselves. typical. 21st century. with it, brah), what do you do? Dreck. That's why i don't go out which is why my life is bland, which is why i can't write, which is why this backyard is a reflection of my life. Staring at dog shit.

Flor-essence

I see a reflection of the sky.

Who's to say

tis not but a gateway

In some reality, funneling the day's life

into appropriated sublime

I see a reflection of the sky.

An artifice. STOP!

A light is still a light

G emo

Give me a pen and a glass of wine.

In return I'll give you something honest;

Genetically modified sublime

entropy

How much destruction for you can i be?

We are one in the same

no room for rationality.

Half-heartedly masochistic in our tendancies,

feeding our beautifully vile-ent sexuality,

a potation of hedonistic depravity

How much destruction for me can you be?

Fatal if accomplished properly

I'm in Love
I can wait
your mistakes
mark my intrigue
florae of imperfection
stand out in radiance

Felicitas Finem

Felicitas Finem
                 Envy the ambition
                                      Envy the enigma
Knowing the best
from a position of something less
makes your daily life

pallatable

Apples and Oranges

Something about Orange County...it's a time machine

I let the roaring of beaching water mute these thoughts; oh these debilitating and unrelenting thoughts. They brought with them the sort of feeling associated with nails on a chalkboard, or for less of a platitude, a paper cut under the nail, so perfectly obscure. I've just passed the monument of my 4th year in this godless city. This time frame bares a superficial feeling of brevity. Considering the scale of time i have left on this terra, it is an immense occupation of time. At the age of 25, I can feel the slow progression of life and lack of return of my endeavors disconcerting. I hate the beach. I come here because...Because I live here. A vacation destination for a major part of the world. A haven/ oasis from the bullshit. Can one be miserable in heaven?" The rhythm of the ebb and tied matched my mind's thought-cadence. My thoughts always return to deprecation, even in such a tranquil setting. It helped, the sound of the waves that is. That and the gram of weed searching for a neuroreceptor to call home. I was just that, intoxicated in what sort of fashion influenced the desired "feel".  I accepted that. We ask ourselves in a perfect situation, how more can I galvanize this bliss? How can i truly appreciate the sublime sensuality? Drugs, idiot. And so I found myself: self-loathing pity. Someone revoke my right to existence. Donate my idealism and abstract thought processes to University; study the suburban privileged effect. The sweat of immigrant parents translates to entitlement, but in the defense of mine dishonest host, the joys of sensuous pleasures is far too alluring to let my resilient youth go untested. So I gaze at the requiem of the day, the shades of Orange, a tantamount visual for the  warm evening. I don't deserve this moment yet I steal it away.

Secret Library

What can you catch in a glance?
Can you paint my face from that single glimpse?
What features do you accentuate most?
From beautiful to imperfect does your focus lie?
Every book has a                       spine
Brushed by your fingertips like
                                                  mine

fLeSh DrEsS

the byronic hero and cellar doors. 
The byronic hero and stellar doors. 
the byronic hero can sell her doors. 
The byronic hero can sell her cellar doors. 
the byronic hero can sell her stellar cellar doors. 

The byronic hero will sell her stellar cellar doors and stash the body under the cellar floors

Nothing less

Such a lot of nothing
Not enough of anything
Too Much of Too Little
Running low on everything