02 January 2017


You spend years hoping for someone to love, and there are those just waiting for you out there, people who hide the fangs and sharp talons in their skin bag garbs. Those people, some would call them people, are the true monsters that hide under your bed, behind the curtains, in the dark corners. They await a chance to sink their teeth in, to rip you apart, because they don't know better. Animals, they are no better than animals. All they know is pain and carnal pleasure, it is all they seek. This planet just happens to be inundated by them right now, they are all over. It is hard to imagine a world free of them, it is impossible. They are what nightmares are made of, they are the creatures that you have feared your entire childhood, the true inspirations for the vampire and werewolf, they are sociopathic, killers, and would eat you whole if given the chance.

So don't give them the chance, don't allow them in. Who are they? How can you tell? I pray you tell, for I cannot show you the way, I have only just started to realise the dangerous beings that roam in the darkness, seen their eyes, felt their teeth, lost a limb or two to them. I am just here to warn you, beware.

22 October 2016

I Am Forgotten Emotions.

A sacrifice in the park
to the pigs with their guns
searching boys in the dark, I beg forgiveness for you—
you are sent home;
meanwhile, I am jailed over and over,
spending a night of Police harassment with a head full of acid,
each time you slide your access card
to the places where you
wouldn’t be allowed in otherwise.

I am your forgotten emotions.

Now you, that first lover,
I am the pain in your heart—
those scars left behind from a series of kisses,
a gentle touch, the words I love you are
over and over, carved inside its walls
reminding you of the sacrifice we made
in order to keep your youthful allowances,
each day I wonder, was it worth it?

I am our forgotten emotions.

I carry the numb places in your memory
where once shone the abscesses of childhood trauma
which removed and dissected for you
keeping you sane through hell and back,
are then swallowed and absorbed in this psychic
vessel, burrowed to purify deep inside.

I am your forgotten emotions, watch them as we bloom.

I’m here to remind you,
you, the one with the pedigree,
that I remember how you walked up to the bar
during our friends birthday party, you were dressed
like the beautiful whore we all know you are,
flirted with me, then said “Gosh, I’m mean!” giggling to yourself,
walking away laughing, I was a joke to you,
but I never laughed—
when your story was something to listen to,
when my shoulder was all I had to offer you,
and your broken heart was all I meant to mend.

I am your forgotten emultion.

I am the nexus of abhorrence, your loathing,
something to talk about over a beer—
another one of the horrible people,
keeping your friendships glued together,
kindling for your hatred,
when you can’t talk shit about one another
in fear that in turn each will know the truth,
you, with the faces like revolving doors.

This is for you.

To each and every one of you—
I am the louse in the corner,
the weirdo in black,
the one you’ve all turned to when no one would listen!
Look here, don’t advert your eyes,
I am here to remind you
that once your emotions were real,
not make believe, nor shadows of their former selves.

I am the luxury of forgetting
passed around a table
full of empty rotating faces
all stuck drinking from bottomless places.
but now I am no more for you or any of them,
you’ll have to face the truth of each other,


12 January 2016

I am a Black Star

I was born the day you died,
thirty one years ago—
I was reborn when you died,
yesterday mourning.
It all started eighteen months ago:
our slow death.

I Bow to you, master smith of universes,
Mighty Goblin Disco King.
You pass the torch on to the world
waiting for the next Black Star to shine,
we are many, a legion of your children
all awoken by the changes in your persona
arranged movements of your beauty
all spoken, sung, made into discourse
of falling walls, bullies pushing,
drugged out evenings, dancing china queens.

I breathe, because I once saw the light which took you,
it said that it would be hard
it said it would be difficult
yet I know it was love which spoke to me,
it was love you went towards,
it is where we all go,
Us, Black Stars.

30 December 2015


What will you do?
What will you say?
How many videos will you share?
Only time will tell, won't it?
Only time will show me
just how desperate you people are
you Dwarf, you Witch,
you Brother and your whore mother.

I know you.
And that is what scares you.
So many people know you.
So many.

27 November 2015

You deserve each other, you and those monsters

There is no easy way to say this
but I've been thinking about turning
not running but rather
kind of like a werewolf thing
unexpected, transcendental,
not a kin to your kind anymore
I mean, who would want to be?

To be known as your ex lover
to be seen as someone you once held
it is repugnant, to think I shared myself
to the last drop, with the likes of you
your family, your friends, the lot of rats
merely scrapping by, because that is
all you know and can do.

Once I tried to help you, twice I did lift you up,
and yet three times you did betrayed me, then the fourth
you left me to die in their hands.
You knew exactly what you were doing
taking away from me all that I held dear
my own choice to say yes or no, to consent.
To you it was just a game to play
just another piece of meat to bite into.

I loved you, and I gave so much of myself to you,
and as before I was betrayed by a most heinous of acts
done by a heartless bitch just wanting to get rich quick
because you never knew how to sell your mind
the work you did with your hands wasn't enough
if it wasn't holding onto someones cock
and you couldn't do any good talking with your mouth
so you had to get on your knees and pray for milk
with your baby boy so he could eat.

You deserve all you get,
all of the lies you are fed,
all of the people who will use you,
you deserve each and every moment you hate
the smell of the garbage pickers on top of you
because your love is something to be sold
because you can be bought and traded like a commodity
there is nothing about you which is redeeming,
there is nothing about you which can be saved.

I do not want to belong to the same genus as you
I do not wish to be cataloged among the same lines
as someone who will sell their own blood young and fragile
as someone who will take pure love and corrupt it with hate
To be with you was a learning experience of all I do not want
To be with you was a task to be completed in order to grow
Now all I can think of is making my memories of you disappear
Now all I can think of is remembering you so I do not forget
Why I want to become something else
Why I want to be free of you.

09 October 2015


It's not for nothing, but there is a lot of different things in life that can always keep you occupied or at least help you forget. Some things are not that easy to put behind you, to think about differently. Some things are fleeting memories you don't want to make disappear, but there is no other way to move forward. Each and every day to wonder how many times it has to be relived in order to be understood. There is the just idea of the law of threes. This will never stop being a reality, a truth. Compared to the music of angels harps, this is nothing, but it is different. Maybe, maybe just enough to keep you going. There is a lasting choking point, thrusted upon the bay of human treachery you'll find it, and it will be something you can see and feel just as well in your husky insides. That gut feeling. Don't forget to listen to it. It doesn't mean you have to run away, it  means you need to be ready for anything, to study, to be on your toes. Stick to your love, love to love. There is no greater joy than to be truly on your path, be it what it may, even if you're so afraid and it can't get any worse just know one thing, it can and it will but you're strong enough to take it and smart enough to stay alive. God-speed.

01 October 2015

Pumpkin Spice Girls

This season,
I will have a Girlfriend.
Things will be different.

So what if I am a fattie?
It only means I know
how to eat well...

You know what I meant?
I mean cunnilingus.

27 July 2015

Conversation With a Recovering Sex Worker

"They all have a prize" she said,
"Each woman out there is willing,
has, probably is at this very moment,
selling herself for something.
Some do it for love, others for money,
there are those who do it for need
be it food drink or drug,
others just like the way it feels
to have a cock inside of them
that loveless embrace and meaningless fuck,
with some cash thrown on top
anything is good enough for them to cum."

She sips her coffee,
lights another cigarette
and as she looks down
cup in one hand resting on the table
bitting her pinky finger
then taking a big drag of smoke
and as she exhales she says

"But all of those women,
especially those who do it
for money or for drugs,
will have to fuck guys who are just dirty,
their cocks unwashed for days
with that white smegma shit on them
and who knows what else!
That rancid sweaty smell–
some stinking of garbage
others just violent assholes. You know,
the moment they close that door
those women are slaves to those men,
sex slaves. They've sold themselves
for twenty thousand pesos, their freedom
for one hour, they belong to them."

She takes another drag from her smoke,
her voice is shaky, her grip on the glass is tight.

"Those men are the kind of people
who'll do all sorts of perverted things,
especially to a young woman,
they like to see a pretty face wince in pain,
a pleasurable agony."

She looks towards the green mountains,
past the city skyline, past the busy and working city
as a serene air comes through the large windows

"I stopped doing that a long time ago,
sure I have my price, but it isn't some thing
just anyone can pay for. I gotta like you,
you've got to buy me dinner,
take me out dancing, show me
a good time around town.
Then, when we are back at your place,
then, and only after we've met MY
expectations, then you can ravage me,
or I you. Well, not you you, but
you know what I mean, don't you darling?"

She snuffs her cigarette.

16 June 2015

This is the ebb of the tide of our love

I asked her if she was going to sell her body again
she said she didn't want to talk about it right then
so there was something to talk about
something to be aired

It wasn't hard to figure out,
she was making ends-meet when I met her
then once we hung out
she told me of all the evil things in her life

her boss who is always asking for head
because he said he needed to get off
it made him feel better, she said
his balls hurt, it was the clap

when I first noticed it
I showed her what was going on
she thought that always happened
that it was normal in all men

before I had gone to her work,
because she invited me to
every day she said I made her feel safe
for two whole months.

She was still working,
not making enough money
although the designs all went out
she made a measly dollar per

though when she staid on
without me there
doing her deed in the bathroom
she could pay
for her babys' food and then some

so she told me one day
it is over
that is that, I cannot have this with you
She got new clothes and make up

Her shoes were also new
everything about Her changed
Her demeanor towards me
there was another man

other men
the smell on her, the ebb
in her

rising out and through

and that fucker told her it was normal
for your dick to drip like that
and she believed him
bringing it into our bedroom

I loved her
with every ounce of my being
although with this betrayal
I could only learn to forget her

and these realizations were just the beginning...

And she's a Moon, Cosmic.

Thinking about her
seems redundant
for her own existence
is but a figment
of her own imagination.

She's lived a thousand lives
worn a million faces
with each mask falling
from her broken facade
to show the ruins left behind
from the drugs and selling herself

so that men may have their kicks
so that she may make the bills
to pay for the little one who waits
back home to get sick from her breath
covered in the cum of her clients,

Still she wonders why her family gets so sick,
why her child is always ill sleeping next to her at night,
why her parents always look at her
with eyes so empty–
because they know what she does
in the bathroom stall of the print shop
bending over to show how well she's studied
and done her kegels to please the men.

Her parents know
that she drugs unwilling parties
with the help of the dwarf
to make her wallet bigger,
but what she doesn't remember
is if the coffee he's brought her
was dosed with scopolamine or not

sometimes she's curious
why her pussy aches,
why her chest pounds,
why her neck is sore,
why her head hurts–
scopolamine, burundanga.
He rapes her
when he doesn't want to pay her

she's okay with it
she's fine
she's a good girl
when she's on her knees,
her aching knees,
when she's bent over the toilette

getting pounded from behind
by yet another
and another
and another and another
and another and
and another,

she's fine with it
it's what she's been taught
what she's been made to be
what the drugs have done
what the desperation led her to:
becoming a tool for the pleasure of others.

05 June 2015

Contrary to popular opinion I want to LIVE!

When your life is a roller coaster
you've got no choice
other than to take that ride
enjoy your time in the light
shadows and spikes
like a neon forest
climbing up the side
its glow engulfs you just
as you fall down so hard
as you fall down so far
that the only thing you've got
is that breath
coming quickly in and out
you're so in love with it
you're so in love with it
with yourself, and that is okay
because we all want to live
we all need a break

01 June 2015

Her Eyes Shone Like An Accretion Disk

She speaks to me in code
with the way everything came back
the memories
of nights at that bar just talking,

chatting, asking to just imagine
how blessed one must be
to be able to teach someone
to make love again.

Then I didn't know
I was completely unaware of it,
I had never had that chance
and never thought I would get.

Until I met you
and we went into that room
where we took off most of our clothes
making love without kissing.

We talked afterwards
you looked at my tattoos
I looked at your lips
the gap in your thighs

We didn't get to exchange numbers
but I looked for you there
many times
many many times

and you probably saw me
but you didn't let me know

I wanted to love you
something inside me just
wanted to love you
all I really wanted

Time passed, washing away
what happened that night
putting it in the back of my head, memory
where I never suspected it would come back.

So we met that day
9 months later
and you pretended, as
I pretended

like it had never been.

We saw each other
not 15 hours later
to catch a movie
about gentlemen with umbrellas

I touched your hand
I held it in mine
and from that moment
You had me.

I didn't care where I'd met you
before, on the streets
all I could see was that beautiful being
there, inside your eyes.

Flickering screen turned into flickering dance floor
we moved, swinging to the music
and just as the place closed
I kissed your lips

Then just outside on 23rd I kissed you,
then on 17th and 6th
again on 15th and 6th
all the way to 12th and 6th

Until you came up to my place,
invited because I knew your friends,
we talked about this night
then we went to my bed

I touched your skin softly
making amends where I could
stitching together the gaps
in your corporal heart.

Tearing my own out
undoing years of slowly sowing
stitches together, I found you
but you unraveled into a lie

with the Cinnamon water
blessed by a priest
sprinkled inside the corners
offering to open up some truths

which just came pouring out
like a sickness slowly dripping
to the sound of meeting hands
painful globes and wretched stench

of the truth leaking out.
She said it was normal
to feel this way
I said it was a terrible way to live.

She said I'd taught her
how to make love again
feeling herself in the moment
not having to forget.

For that I am thankful
because that night
so many years ago
sitting at that bar in Coral Springs

Sour Girl and I had our chance meeting
without much do or say
we were dancing around each other
like stellar bodies nearing decay.

You spoke truths
words that echoed through time and space
did I not listen well enough?
Where were you from?

Live Long and Prosper.

26 May 2015

On a rainy day, court is in business.

There in the court
with the massive Queen
which sits in the middle of the great hall
just spitting out words to the masses, orders

Our lovely maiden–anticipates
swords unsheathed all in a row, stiff
a queue of would be gentlemen await her
across the entrance of the great hall.

While their hands tightly grasp their swords
their lips whispering of her great deeds,
it rains as the Queen loudly drowns away
a soothing sound of water coming down.

If it doesn't rain, the land withers.
If it doesn't rain, the crops die.
If it doesn't rain, there is no dinner.
If it doesn't rain, babies starve.

So she saves the world
enchanting crowds with red lips
floats across the open court
on her nimbus cloud.