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