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,

Adieu.

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.

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

another

and

another

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.

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.

"No, sabe que? Todo bien." Ella dijo.

It is a brand new day!
Gracias por las lecciones
De nada por las lecciones
I loved every minute inside you

De tus ojos
Y aun asi
me hayas dejado
quemando por dentro,

Estoy feliz.
I am happy,
because it didn't feel right
towards the end there.

It became something of a joke,
My love for you.
Que Dios os bendiga a los pecadores
Ahora y en la hora de nuestra muerte,

Amen!

Que sigamos resando
por perdones ajenos, queriendo
momentos prestados
nunca devueltos.

Cambio de papeles
Click Click Click Click
Alma capturada digitalmente
The Ghost In The Shell, it

Whispers sweet nothings
to an ear eager to please, just then
emotions become toys
la lengua en la oreja.

There is something to be ware of:
Te ame.
Verdaderamente lo hice,
pero eso fue, y no sera.

En el nombre del Padre,
del Hijo, y del Espiritu Santo.

Lunar Pirate

On Moons and other stuff.

Time weighs heavy and yet people still dance to old routines. It would be nice to actually find someone "different" for a change, all the wrong echoes, all the wrong flags, and the blind following on the tail of the devil. M-O-O-N: that spells torture, a Chinese finger trap and a packet of fags, don't get smoke in your eye.

Postcards To Hitler (part 3)

Can you imagine what it is to finally have your chat with your Devil
only to find that all it had in mind was to undress you—
ripping each and every article of clothing, tearing at your very flesh—
a frenzied attempt to subdue, to make a fool of you, with words
slicing at your very being, because that old demon knows what to say
to make your skin crawl. Another fine specimen is presented
all it has to do is breathe in a little deeper, and it is all gone to hell.

On the coming final courtain

Grandma is marking her last knotches
On the tree of life that has flourished
Given and shared so much with her
Her graffiti paints the branches rainbow
Just as she's about to
Completing a cycle of life in this universe
Yet she regrets not having loved freely
Being sold to a man for a family name
Bold when she professed the man she wholeheartedly loved
Was never good enough for her parents
Her heart aches still, so full of regret.

Tomorrow to visit an uncle
A poet, writer, philosopher
Who has lost his health to indulgence,
A leg chopped off due to diabetes, health
Thrown the last years down the tubes
All of his artistic work
Lays in the hands of family
Who hope to cash in
To make something out of the beauty
That the old man once saw in the world

To look into a mirror can change you
To look into two will change you
Throwing the towel is no longer an option
Loving art, giving it all to make a mark
To not end up missing a leg of life
Or regretting not having lived, loved.

Thoughts while she's getting naked

She looks cute
I like the way her hair smells
Her skin is so soft
Her thighs are as well
Her form envelops my mind
In the lustful things
That I am about to do
Between her thighs

As we climb the stairs

Past the gated door

Into her realm

of sexual ecstasy

Soft skin gives way to fingers
Coursing through closer
Just as she takes off her top
One thought comes to mind
With her sagging belly skin
Her reluctance to remove her bra
This whore is someones mother

Naked With Sour Girl

When she used to grab my shoulders, digging her nails
into my skin at the rhythm of our fucking, it used to be
enough to almost make me explode inside her. Now it’s not
enough to just have her nail marks on my back, I want
her bite marks on my neck, I want bruises on my sides
from her thighs wrapping themselves hard around me
as I pound and choke her into ecstasy eternal, my balls
covered in our cum.

There was something about needles that always
perturbed me, something about the way they would
plunge into my veins and then made all that liquid
disappear. It just never seemed natural. Then
one day I had my first taste of an opiate, intravenously,
and my relationship with needles changed drastically.
I had never felt such exhilaration at the elation of that hard
steel needle, plunging through my being, penetrating me,
then releasing its payload into my vein. It still
makes me hard every time I think about Sour Girl, my heroin.

Now this old companion has grown, it has
made its way into the circles I keep and
without fail has taken the heads of
a few people I’ve escaped hell with. There is
something to be said about the ones who have cut off
their own strings and burnt their own bridges, but that
is another poem all together about floating corpses
in the milky waters of the river Alf.

Gin used to taste terrible, its strong flavor would
make the sides of my tongue burn, the place where
my jaw and skull met would ache, much the way Vodka
makes me feel today. Then it was distasteful, but today
it is what I usually like to order, and with a simple “Gin
and Tonic, please,” my youth slips down my throat.

Speedy drugs had never been something I wanted to try,
look at, or even get into. Time starts to change its flow as
one gets older though, the days get shorter, the change of the seasons
becomes more apparent and enunciated by the aching
muscles and bones. To keep up through the pain and fatigue,
now there will always be methamphetamine.

Sometimes it is easy to forget when I meet you,
sometimes I’m reminded after I pass you.
It is not so much that I’m afraid of you,
but of the experience I’ll be missing. I eat my drugs
and drink my gin, toasting to old friends I’ll never see again.

Untitled

Lyrics to a song I'm working on. It is untitled, I will try to post a video of it once I have it down. It might be a while.

For Now:

there are some places between spaces

you shouldn’t cross

there are some creatures in the darkness

who ride the lust

calico vision vestibulary

you wear that coat

cos a harsh winters’ a coming

and it brings a razor of teeth

its got that beard of yours in sight

and it’s gonna win

time for your void inside the news cycle

no time for tears

the drugs they feed you seem to make it better

and while we’re here

go on forget about the way she mattered

one sorted kiss

lost inside diatribes

kept away from light

stinking of pesticide

and it’s gonna kill

She said ­— way he keeps on knocking on his coffin

might make me sick

I wish he’d stop going on with that rattle

won’t let me sleep

there’s someone out there digging six foot holes

right in the shade

of a cherry blossom tree

green pastures, happy green hills

of happiness, I sigh

as she lowers me in

Postcards To Hitler (part 2)

Who was dancing in the middle of hell?
It was me, with the whore and swill.
Wish you coulda' been there,
it was full of fun, they had this fantastic
grilled tofu. It made the evening.

Postcards to Hitler

Correspondence with heaven, send a letter to see the devil

Spend a lifetime waiting for a response. We just didn't know,

there was no way to know. Everything fell into place when we feared

our own shadow as it made its way to hide behind us, we faced him

it was then that we drew, our conclusions became delusions

floating on the ether, high upon the clouds

riding the back of Pegasus, the winged muse of hope.

Tasting Through Burning

Future people have no idea what it was like

that compassion runs dry, tears fall onto dunes

spanning over the horizon, just where the sun lays

after we shot it down, while screaming enough is enough.

"We'd gone to have a piece of its burning flesh

eat it up and drink its blood, become one and like a phoenix

burn."

Empty Seats

Every where I go
there are empty chairs in front of me
and no matter what I do
there is nothing that can change that fact

unless I spend my time with some junkie
unless I spend my time with some whores
unless I spend my time with another husk
of the people I used to know.

It's not so easy, to breathe freely.
"A lifetime of fucking things up,
all summed up in one determined flash."
No one wants to sit across from that.

Who wants to share my pain?
Who wants to share in my joy?
Who wants to share in the way I see the world?
Who would want to sit across for me at dinner,

starring deep into my eyes
as I complain that the carrots and the peas
make me feel like I could scream
at the top of my lungs FREE PALESTINE!

No one, at least no one I've met yet.
Each night I sit alone,
consuming the necessary protein
to survive another day

so that I may sit across from another
empty chair, mocking my intelligence
integrity, sanity, and reminding me of my negligence
when it comes to make friends.

Good-Bye's: A juxtaposition.

There she is,
blonde hair and painted up face
with her beautifully crooked smile,
her soft eyes peering through the crowds.

"Where is he? He's not here.
Good.
Now I may resume life."

There he is,
black hair and painted up skin
with his beautifully crooked spine,
his bright eyes peering through the clouds.

"Here I am. She's not near.
Good.
Now I may start life."

Songs of Velvet inundate her ears
as warmth fills the back of her skull,
she collapses onto her bed–
dreaming of days long before.

"I rest my head upon my pillow.
Tired."

Songs' Folds inundate his ears
as cold mountain breezes brush his skin,
he rises from the stairs–
walking with carefully calculated steps.

"I lift my head into the sunlight.
Alive."

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.

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.

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.