Idiot

I really don't understand why I allow myself to feel anything at all
each and every emotion drags me through the murky depths of my mind
with turns leading to parts of my id unknown, places that I should have left alone
though it seems like I always drag parts along the paths taken
or scooping up pieces of reality to keep safely with me.

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.

Hot Box Rental

There is a hologram that reminds of your golden splendor

another apparition of irresistible charm and woe,

so full of love and willing to commit itself to a life of rendering.

All in the name of passion, a life of unforeseen circumstances.

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."

I think I might be going crazy, I think I might be right.

Today I start a strange trip, to say the least. This time the movie has a script where my face is the star, and the spot that has appeared is co-star.

It hurt, it stung, it was painful. I wretched and looked over, there they stood.

One of them came up to me later, talked about how the gov uses certain techniques to shut people up, and out. How some people need to be "taken care of."

I don't think it was a dream, the memory is too vivid. I was drunk, I think they were having fun. But how did they know about the pain on my cheek and the burning sensation?

One of them said to the other "don't tell him..." He'll know soon enough, replied the other. They walked away.

Was I targeted? Was it a paranoid dream? I don't have paranoid dreams. Why is the spot on my face growing? Why are the lymph nodes on my neck freaking out? Why are the lymph nodes on my neck appear to be moving something? Linearly they swell.

One of the most important questions is, why me?

Junkies

People dance on the streets,
streets covered in shit and piss,
but they still dance all the same.
As the little bit they share

of fun and debauchery
course through their vain,
meanwhile just on the other side
people starve and beg for food.

The happiest people on earth
all have a reason to look away,
otherwise the front they've built would fall,
they wouldn't be as happy.

To truly see the pitiful eyes of the addict
begging for more change,
will make anyones heart quiver with pity.
So instead of looking

deep into their darkened ocular orbs, sharing that pain,
making that human connection for just one second,
it is easier to reach into pockets
paying off the junkies to walk away.

Junkies know and use this to their advantage, beggars
making sure to look into their darkened
empty souls, asking them to make a donation
to the nation of addiction and injections.

People dance, dance the pain away.
Needles drop on the ground, junkies
shooting away the day, trying to be
the happiest people on earth.

©Who_Leo All Rights Reserved

©Who_Leo All Rights Reserved

All Images Are © By Who_Leo May Not Be Used Or Shared.

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.

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.

So far...

Meeting a lot of interesting people in South America so far. It isn't half as bad as I expected. It has actually surprised me. Cannot wait to see more of the world.

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."

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.