Trying

I waited to throw out the cigarette butts with your lipstick on them. I just couldn't bring myself to before, but now it's no biggie. I guess it's my way of cutting it out of me.

On a dream from a chance meeting

Had one with you in it. First off, I was at a hotel, expensive hotel, where my bag was stolen from the Sauna (?). When I was leaving, I noticed all of these people with weird things growing on them, so I headed straight for my bedroom to shower. The grand hall was enormous, mostly made of glass and crystal, women walked around in what appeared to be see through night gowns, but their faces... twisted and wretched. Lots of jewelry, and pretty things. This place was crowded. By the time I made it to my room, there were people there. It was strange, I only knew about half of them. I started to go into the shower when you walked in.

This got a little weird, because when you and I talked here, I wasn't in the hotel anymore, but riding on a car/bike. Something motorized. I was trying to get a hold of you to tell you about the party, but you were just screaming in my ear. I couldn't understand what you were saying. As this was going on, my bike headed towards a path full of hills and steep inclines, I had to hang up both of my phones in order to drive. Somehow I'm on the couch of the room again, and you are just wobbling around. Yes, wobbling, you were quite drunk. You kept saying how you were leaving, and that this shit was lame, that you had to see him. So I went to walk you out. The door led straight to the parking lot this time, and not the main hall. I was trying to talk to you, but you wouldn't listen, you'd just walk away faster every time I caught up.

Eventually you started to run, and I couldn't keep up at all. My knee, my weight... it all seemed to add up. Your drunk ass just kept running until someone in an orange Murcielago pulled you over. It was UN police. He asked for our ID, and all he had to do was just scan our fingers. This gave him all the info he needed. When he found out you were UN he relaxed, and commented on my tatts. I told him about them, and asked if he had any. At this point, he started to remove the hat he had on, and his head expanded greatly. First there was a butterfly and then a butterfly with glow sticks. Both lined up in the middle of his forehead like glowing antennae, which was now HUGE.

I wake up in my bedroom, you are nowhere to be seen, but I do have a piece of paper with the number of the room they gave you. 9005 or something. I try to get to your room cos we still haven't talked, but entering the elevator from the main hall, I fall into a movie (?) having to do with this disk looking thing that travels over and under water freely. It can do anything. So we head out and are following this rogue ship, but i don't want to follow no ship! We go underwater, and I can't breathe. Everything is just coming too fast while all I want to do is find you, and I can't keep the water from seeping up my nose into my lungs. I let go of the vehicle. I start to swim like a dolphin, towards this set of staircases that are going upwards. There is a light, I am drowning. I head towards it. It's a crystal door, heading into a hall. You are there, in crutches. One of your feet has been hurt. I'm trying to go as fast as I can, I don't want to miss talking to you. I swim as fast as I can, I attempt to scream, heading towards the light... And just as I'm about to reach the door to smash it and talk to you

I wake up.

Post apocaliptic soft release party

As it turns out things are well. To my readers, or those who just stumble upon this site, finally there is something about my life that I can say I am excited about. Will start English Pedagogical studies in about a months time. What does this mean? I will be able to teach English here in Colombia, South America; or even a far away place like China. I really want to get away and see the world, there is so much to see, to taste, heart breaks to feel, loves to miss, and strange looks to be had! Hahahaha. Truly though, I am blessed in the sense that I have finally fallen into a groove which makes me want more than just a 9 to 5 with 401K, a wife, kids, and a dog named spot. I don't want any of those things. I want to gorge myself with reality, with life and the air of far away lands. I wish to sit beneath a giant tree in India and hang out with Yogi's. All of these things I wish to do, and they will happen.

I left the US because they wanted to turn me into a statistic, and I will not be made just a number of. I would much appreciate if the state of the United States made itself aware of the erroneous ways of what it is making its' people live. Either way, I escaped the prison state, and I find myself thankful for the experience itself. It is not easy to live something like that, and walk out unscathed. I am very lucky.

Still though, one person still runs through my mind. She will always do so. I do not understand my obsession with Sour Girl. It was her genius, her soft fingertips, the silky strands of her hair, possibly her eyes, or the soul which laid behind aching to be touched. Still I see her in my dreams, her voice is a voice of reason for me, and every time I happen to make a good decision it is her who I envision pleasing by doing so. I do not understand my sickness, all I know is that I still ache for her, and although she will never speak to her, I sometimes hope she peeks in here for a bit of my insanity, and knows that I have not forgotten her.

On Lizards

She coils like a snake
shedding her skin habitually
leaving remains of who she was,
or rather pretends to be,
along with the carcasses
of those she's consumed,
eaten whole, swallowed,
perverted.

There is a glimmer in her blue eyes
every time her tongue sticks out
to sense the air around her,
tasting for a fix, hoping
to feel the warmth of the cold night.
A field of dust is laid before her
she crawls upon it with belly swollen,
the last victim of her bite.

She leaves trails behind
as her body moves, a straw,
clearing the powdery surface,
revealing beneath the rotten ground
kept from sight, hidden,
until her swift movements
clear a woven path visible
to those who dare pay attention
to the swollen mess that is left behind.

She coils around again,
having found comfort
upon the tiled bathroom floor
of a broken down house
with cracks on the walls
as it tries to hold up the sins of a past
which extends thousands of years.
Poe would have cried
at the sight of such visage.
Skin flakes, scales glow,
her long tongue sticks out into the night
as her brilliant mind is numbed away.

Good Ridance

I guess it's futile. You say I don't know my feelings, well I know my emotions well enough to be able to shut them off if needed be. Sadly, they are a sort of fuel, for living. I asked jim how you were. Because I have known him for many many years, and he's been like a father to me in many instances. You don't talk to me, you're cryptic, you push everyone away, and all I wanted was to know how you actually were. You claim that I am a pagan, but I don't worship anything, or anyone, or any names. I don't know where you get this shit from. I guess you must be high on some shit, which happens. I'm tired of talking to you and always getting illegible messages because you're too fucked up to type. This worries me. I don't want to worry about you, you're a grown woman who is killing herself. Not my fucking problem, and I'm sorry I made it so. Because I don't need your baggage. So I thank you for flipping out, because I didn't know how to push you away. I am sorry because of the human being that resides in you, but I can't let your shit get to me. As much as I want to help you, I cannot and shouldn't, for until you want to help yourself, there is no point. I don't know what else to say, but I hope you get well.

Four Years

Four years ago I met you,

those golden locks

like a fleece to be worn

by those who earn your love,

yet I never made a grab at

such wonder when

you had exposed that soft,

pink underbelly, the morning after,

as we smoked hand rolled fags

on the porch of your luxurious beach

home, I could have had it all.

Regret is bitter, that is why

you will always be my sour girl.

It's Okay

Trust issues disappear with age

once we realize

no one is to be trusted.

It is okay to tell yourself

that it's okay.

Trees will still sway

rain wont stop falling

your hair will stick to your back

and your dress will be see through

as long as you don't trust anyone

it will all be okay.

Don't forget to tell yourself,

it will all be okay.

In the shadows of betrayal,

it is best to not allow the knife inside,

with its wriggling motion—

a solemn reminder of being alive,

and that is the whole point

isn't it?

Pain is little reminders

of being alive.

It all becomes a part of the great show

curtains drawn

spot light on

and it's your turn once again

to shine.

So you better do your best

to hold the tears back

when it's her face you pine for

but it's the back of her head

you'll always remember.

On depression

So the thing about depression is that you can never really leave it behind. No matter what you are doing there it is, no matter how hard you pretend there is always something hiding behind eyes that once ached to see the world which turns them towards the dark and only want to sleep. In fear of sounding like some over sensitive idiot I tend to stop writing mid sentence, but that's only because of a series of social stigmas implanted by schooling and television, ex's, people who often drift through your life, which dictate that expressing emotion is wrong and shouldn't be done. Well, sometimes we stop caring enough to actually put something down on paper, or a digital format to be viewed by others. Maybe to help, maybe to vent, or it could just be to help the ego.

It just hides back there, in the darkest little parts of the mind. Any moment and every moment you spend on your own is a moment it gets to reach out further into your soul(?) and pulls it apart. So far, 28 years have passed through me and each and every year since I recognized this, it keeps happening. Sometimes the happiness lasts enough to let me see some sort of opening ahead, but just then the depression comes back and drags me back into the bush, away from reason and the ability to contain one self. As of recent one thing had kept me going, and it was as selfish as it could be. Being selfish after all, is but a lingering string that lets us find the way out, or sometimes even deeper into the woods. It really does often feel as if there is nothing one can do, that this is an end of sorts.

Covering up the wounds has become second nature, smile at the passing professors, the fellow students. Every once in a while you run into others who are pretending just like you. Something calls you to them, there is an inherent need to be near them but... it's never going to go into fruition, damaged goods and damaged goods probably shouldn't be together. Then again, in the pit everything seems like a bad idea, even the best of things that could help one move forward in life. There is nothing like depression to bring you to a dead stop, literally.

Drugs. Never had any experience with anti-depressants except for one bout where a doctor prescribed some wellbutrin to help with the cigarettes. They didn't do very well, still smoked. Ended up dropping the meds, it just didn't feel right. Alcohol has always been a friend, although sometimes it seems like the kind of friend that is willing to stab you in the back at any moment, a real cunt. Cocaine and other "hard drugs" are just that, hard. It's like getting fucked in the ass by a large prison inmate. Feels great at the moment, you enjoy yourself and even cum a little, but afterwards you feel dirty, used, and like your ass is going to explode. It's a real fucking trip. Marijuana is the only thing that has helped to keep it leveled. It lets some happiness in, reminds you that it's alright. Too bad it's as illegal as it is around here, nothing like having the government tell you that you have to get their sanctioned anti-depressants which might kill you instead of smoking a plant which grows from the ground. And people wonder why I'm so fucking depressed.

I was about to write some great paragraph about how people can be there and help you but, it's all a fucking joke. People only make it worse, you start to depend on some cunt of a friend and next thing you know they are just another notch on the post of souls to be avoided. Real fucking hypocrites whose only need for you is to justify their existence, be it with words or my dick. There is nothing like fucking a corpse, someone you know is already dead or dying in the great scheme of your life. Good-bye, it was nice knowing you, don't mind the load I've left in your "tunnel of love." There is something wrong with me, and all I know is that I'm the only one who can deal with it. I'll stick to my drugs, to my loneliness, to a sort of conventional mind fuck trip, a trivial yet ergonomic existence with the way in which the world has treated me. A real fuck you to the stars and to the heavens. There is nothing holding me back, so I feel like I can do anything, even if it's writing about my sadness, depression, about the small moments that add up to nothing, about the love felt and ignored. Because no one is going to read this and thing "gee, he had a point." They'll only think "what a sap, glad he never made it."

There is no place (to loose your head) like home.

There is no place like home
it's a quaint little chant
said by people far away
in worlds filled with flying monkeys
talking lions, metal men,
and the occasional stuffed brainless idiot.

There is no place like home
where the heart is
where the mind rests
a place to hang your hat
a nice niche to call your own
a world packed with comfort.

There is no place like home?
Another day between four walls
spent time seeping through fingers
as the bacon grease smooths hair
cholesterol is just another name
they give to the golden goodness in the veins.

There is no place like home
to loose your gourd
speed through movies
reduce the vitality of self control
triumphantly cumming on their lips
after an hour of oral fixation.

There is no place like home
to isolate and enslave
the last bits of humanity
to which one holds on so dearly
as to not loose bits and pieces
along the way, trotting
down a path all too well known.

There is no place like home.

FML (Inspired by Stitches)

You know, it's okay
life gets better
no need to
fornicate it

Poetry for Zombies

I would love to caress the ridges of your prefrontal cortex,
slowly feeling with my fingers the crevices of your reptilian brain, touching your pituitary gland filling the rest of your gray matter with orgasmic tremors synapses light up and illuminate your brain case the light behind your eyes.

Peaches

Her black hair flows over her shoulders
like the weights of time weigh upon mine.
Except her's is beautiful,
while mine is just a reminder.

A reminder of a clock counting down,
but who is to say that death itself is not beautiful
that the act of disappearing is not joyous,
only to be left in the memories of the few.

Coming up my throat I feel a snake crawling
inching it's way past my esophagus
cutting off access to lungs
and all of this is just one instant.

She waves a salute of goodbye,
never knowing when that bright smile
kind eyes and soft voice
will inundate the soft recesses of my mind

where pleasure is stored
and create a chemical reaction some have come
to call love, making me addicted to you.
I wonder how long this withdrawal will take.

How long my veins will ache
and my head will pound screaming
"more... more... more..."
with rivers flowing from those orbs

which knew and gladly accepted
the glow of your being
the curves of your body
the taste of your words.

Time stops when I'm around you
and death takes a step back.

Dancer

Dry mouth
chapped lips
fingers twitching to the beat
of base and drum
electronic arpeggios
inundate thoughts

Imagine her in her skirt
dancing to the beat
hips accentuating motion
as her body follows closely
like an enchanter
seer of visions
hair over her face
sweat pouring down her back
bare feet

The dust of the evening
seldom settles

Thinking

Tropical weather
topical anesthetics
copious and copacetic
moments washed up in the rain
as complimentary peanuts
are served with a hepi pen
contraceptive wet dreams
of triangles in obtuse realities
commence a new day
once the sun goes down.

Wishing on Dandelions

Dandelions are made for wishing
one thought followed by
a soft whispered kiss
from tender lips
into the wilderness of the world
and within that beautiful chaos
a white ball of seeds explodes
into a thousand pieces
each carried by the wind
hoping to find that heart
to set root in
and grow.

for now the warmth of the ethreal kiss
tender and joyous
keeps the hearth warm
during the nights they still haven't found
one another
at least  now they know
they are not alone.

The Needle

Every time the needle tears through her flesh

to find that jumbled mess she likes to call a vein

it is her soul which slowly seeps out in amber drops

down her arm, pressure tied off by a tourniquet.

In order to forget the pain left behind by heavy hands

to extinguish flames burning so bright

that only the milky waters of the river Alf

may extinguish her core in an explosion

of eternal ecstasy
an orgasm
meant to last an eternity

but only felt for a few minutes

because nothing is eternal,

only pain is.

He wanted to hold her but he knew she was not aware

of her nature and way of being.

That her own life was inundated with the facts

that she was not like the rest of them

and quite aware she still pushed away

those who understood and were willing to help

to understand how life can be and is, 'cos

when the world is a jigsaw you need to put it together.

He knew what she was and it scared her

he saw through her skin

onto the punctured veins

and it scarred her.

It never ceased to amaze him
her beauty eternal

the way eyes glowed in the light of the moon

tender fingers ran over scar tissue

soft kisses invaded her body

as he gave of himself to her.

Because it is no the way we think it is

not as if life has everything set up.

it is chaos in a civilized society

set up to illuminate the cauldrons of reality

with the hearth of hearts
beating strongly against one another

as she soaks her panties under her clothes

he grows inside his boxer shorts

both kissing on a couch

late at night

as her hair falls over his face

and she pulls upon his dreads.

 She drags him to the bedroom

and takes her pants off

as he grabs her from behind and with one hand

buried in her crotch

feels the rivers of love flowing fast

his cock jumps
she grabs it behind her

squeezing as it pulses, she turns around

penetrates his mouth with her tongue.

She sit's back onto the bed

legs spread, one hand saying

"Hither forth."

He kneels in front of her and kisses freckles

upon her face

neck

breasts

stomach

thighs

ankles

feet

legs

thighs

pelvis

he then swims into her

lashing his tongue

she thrusts herself onto him.

The needle comes out

it penetrates her vein

and the water of life pours into her

an orgasmic overflow

she caresses the shaft of her syringe

feels the pain and the memory go away.

Three Steps

Every time she takes two steps forward
he takes three steps back
it's not like he doesn't want her near
or would not enjoy the scent of her
closer to him
his senses invaded by her touch
the taste of her skin
the color of her eyes.

It's a pain he's felt before
that of being open and honest
of allowing her to invade every cell
penetrating each wall inside of his organism
once he drinks from her.

Being afraid of being
and loosing everything,
because
what he is isn't what you'd
come to expect
from a soul in a meat bag.

He adorns himself with scars from the past
each tells a tale of a woman he's loved
moments
etched onto his skin
caricatures
scribbled into the layers
reaching beneath the surface
burrowed
just like all of them.

Three steps back,
while she takes two forward.

He pushes away because of
dishonest
obtuse
obituaries
which his heart has written
for different parts of itself.

What would be so different today,
tomorrow,
or any time at all?
Those who are willing to break the walls
and seek audience with his heart
will be given the time
to make a case for custody,
to hold and respect.

Three steps back,
three steps forward.
He wonders what she hopes to accomplish
as soft tender lips reach for his own.

On fear

Afraid

because it's you

who can break my heart.

Time is a river

A couple together

walking down the breezeway

holding hands

she leans on his shoulder

he holds her by the waist.

Two old people sitting in a booth

ordering the special

they both have shared in the good

in the bad

and all the in between's.

An innocent child waits by the staircase

while mother locks the door

their one bedroom is a safe place

they both hold on to the railing

as they descend wind blows

the hair from their face.

He sits on a stool

in a bar

with a drink that never runs out

his worries, all watered down,

cease to exist for just a little while.

She hangs out at a party

suitors all tend to her needs

the well never runs dry

when so many are willing

giving it all they have,

but it's all just a game.

In dreams they meet again and again

aging stops

preconceptions stop

it's the purest feeling

as water dragons dance for them

love flows yet again.

I'd be Gay for you.

In the darkest of nights
and the brightest of days
you are the light
you are the shade
even though it's been so long
since I last kept your breath
inside of mine
I can still taste
the way your hair smelled
on top of our sweat
tears
secreted bodily fluids
meant to lubricate
as we turn into one
magnificent being
completely enveloped
in the moment
and lost to the world
because that's how you made me feel
make me feel
even though
I'm sure you've forgotten about it all
even burned me at your stake
it's something I'll never loose
such a sweet memory
tender
and smooth
like the skin on your breasts.