we reached in, and nothing came out.

at best
we are like lions in our cages
at rest

we are living for the big deal
the cheap thrill
the endless fears and days blurred into one another.
cheap booze
and more coins to collect in our pockets

we rummage our minds
for something worthy

while I value your inability to be unresponsive
to my most burning questions and
You resent my ability to point out
your inability to be unresponsive.

yet, we burn
through the slick midnight streets
inebriated beyond ourselves
beyond imagination
turning corners
in every city
swooping down
like vultures

blood thirsty
for something bigger
and mightier
and explosive
and terrifying
and gorgeous
and brilliant
and just as lost
as

we are

and recall the moments
when we were almost close
to catching ourselves

but never just as quite.

Luck, or something like it.

I'm riding on luck
holding out my arms
to
an idea
or maybe just a dream
thats yet to manifest.

self sacrifice
and
emotional masochism:
i've got them down
in such a casual way

cause there's nothing more foreign
than you..
nothing more further
than the truth
than a man talking through
a telephone
just as much a stranger to me
as the people on the street

what a fool i have become
to feed such desperate dreams

or maybe
i'm just an undercover lover soon to be discovered.

better to stalk the truth
than live a lie,

i tell myself...

Seperation Perfected.

sleeping with loneliness
as my karma unfolds
thoughts entering like hurricanes
manifesting themselves
inside the movement of my dreams
unstable emotions
waiting for their cue
falling all over myself
head over heels but
I am still not in love
with you.
words broken off
into great rivers of silence
biding time
watching 4am skylines,
as empty rooms everywhere
keep secrets of our past
unfaithful lovers shift under covers
while Los Angeles searches
for truth.
head over heels
but
I am still
and won't ever be
in love with you.

Summary of an empty night

I laughed as he threw empty beer bottles into the neighbor’s yard, and it was close to midnight, on a Thursday, and the view from his balcony was refreshing but I felt it lacked something.

maybe it lacked love.

maybe it lacked truth.

i'm tired of the truth anyway.

but he says I'm fun and we danced to some obscure music, while I wondered if UFOs were circling above us, masked as stars and maybe somewhere in another lifetime or galaxy, a girl just like me was laughing, as a boy just like him, was throwing his soul into a void, just for her, and there she is completely clueless and laughing at it all because she knows all things come to an end, even this boy, who could be anyone, really,

and that's the truth.

but I'm tired of the truth!

so I kept drinking and dancing and daydreaming myself into a lubricated oblivion like another dimension that I'm always attempting to reach, or like real TRUE love giving you a push into your battered heart and begging for it to give up, give in and take the goddamn risk! While it’s on its knees now, I see it in the distance; a fast moving train heading straight towards me, a blinding flash of brilliance comes when it’s swirling in the blood....

I leaned my head back and waited for its sweet and tender kiss.

fortress

touch.

boys with arms like ropes tying me up.
boys with eyes like satellites watching me all the time.
boys with hearts scarred for life, boys with bruises and wounds I can never heal.
boys with infinite sadness and golden souls, begging on their knees.

I want to conquer them
love them
hate them
adore them
run away from them.

but I never learn my lesson.

the prince of thieves

it wasn't the same without him

they respected him like a god
and loved him like a family member

and yet he was the loneliest boy in the busiest room

moving through all his admirers like a ghost
lovers and poets and musicians all made him their muse

but he just preferred to live
in total isolation

how did they not know
that he was so lost
between heaven and the black abyss?

when they were so shocked to find,

he ended his life
with a quick swan dive
into the ocean

and the ocean,
knowing who he was,
embraced his body so enthusiastically
like two reunited lovers, pulling him deep into that blue eternity
where he just became nothing but a passing thought
on the minds of all those who once adored him.

last night i dreamed you were a robot.

soul music plays on my radio
while I'm fixing my makeup
the cat wants to bid farewell
staring at me from his personal hell
the clock ticks away
inside my frozen belly
the world is spinning inside
this rotating wheel
of love & hate and all emotions within that range

all the clowns disappeared in a strange cloud
of all the world's miseries
including its cruel histories

bring on those spectacular collisions!
we recorded them by brainstorming
in this empty vessel of humanity
all sliding through the veins, the wires, the chain link fences
and we've made incredible messes
for the masses,
cause the message never got through

i was overtaken by the biting curiosity
while fixing my make up
on a Friday night while the cat sat and could tell
that we were all just wanderers
living inside our personal hell.

Born of Frustration.

i didn't cut deep enough.

This is all I could think while my sister, her neighbor and her boyfriend were staring at me like a mental case. I sat and cried endless tears, eyes and face swollen and pink, crimson slices up and down my wrist & legs, that were begging to be ripped open, begging for all the pain and the life to drain out of me. But all I felt was a stinging pain all over my body and all I could think was

I didn't cut deep enough.

The thing is, and I know just as well as anyone, is that if I really wanted to do myself in, I would have done so. Completely and quickly without a phone call or a text to someone who I trusted to save me from myself. I would have written a note, explaining to my mother how it wasn't her fault, but that this pain was heavier than my willpower, but I love you, and I'm sorry. I would have set aside the important things for my sister to keep, and cleared way for the aftermath upon my emergency exit. But,

I didn't cut deep enough.

And I felt worse than when I woke up that morning. When I opened my eyes and thought: Fuck, I actually have to try to do this thing called living..AGAIN? When I made myself eggs for the 50th time and realized how empty the ritual became. Even when I sat on the couch, still in my bathrobe trying to find reasons to keep being productive, happy, faithful to work and to my cat and to...the many nights coming home to an empty apartment. When the heaviness in my chest began to build up, when the vortex in my heart began to spin, when I asked God or whoever made up this shit to prove to me there was something worthy and all that came to be was total silence and a giant black hole in front of my face, I started to cut away. I cut away at my flesh as if I were trying to release an evil that existed inside me, all the dirt and grime that stuck itself to my soul somehow and wouldn't let go until it grew like a fungus taking over my heart, my brain, my perspective.

I cut away at first fast, and then slow and then sometimes over in the same place I cut before, just to make sure.

But I didn't cut deep enough.

So I found myself in the middle of the room, with 3 people staring at me all recalling their own pain all of us unified in that familiar stink of depression, all of them staring at me because I broke down in the most dramatic, embarrassing, heavy and selfish way: I cut myself up like a human shredding machine, cut myself to release the sadness that existed inside me, cut myself up as a way to be heard, cut myself up to express the self hatred I didn't realize I had, cut myself up until the stinging was proof that I was still alive, still feeling, still hurting, still ALIVE..alive and at the pinnacle of my misery as I will ever be..

and I saw my sister's deep weeping face and the pain was enough to drive one insane, and my cuts were nothing but reminders of a life still yet to be lived, still left to sparkle & shine like scattered diamonds in the sun, so many faces yet to meet, so many things yet to discover, still yet to fall in love with myself and with someone else and all I could think was

thank whoever made up this shit because,

I didn't cut deep enough.

i have writers block

i have had it for almost 3 years now.

on occasions i've managed to vomit out a few interesting, but not quite profound strings of sentences in order to convince myself that I am:
still having a writers block.
still not a great writer or original.
still stuck on pursuing something I may not ever really catch.

what happened?

where did it go?

how can words just stop pouring in?

where do they go? are they off to someone random blogger? are they being formulated in my future childrens minds? have they drifted off into a sea of sentences along with suicides of great men?

where do they go?
and when are they coming back?

equal measure

I cannot function today. I was standing in the 7-11 parking lot questioning my existence. Am I really doing this? Am I really here? Who dropped me off and left me here on this planet? this life?

I cannot function today. I am staring at my computer screen waiting for something.

Maybe if I pretend a little bit, I will get through the day.

I am walking on a hairline between total dysfunction and success.

I am upset that I cannot create, that I am no longer as brilliant as I used to be, no longer serving a purpose, no longer connected to art, to myself, to you, to that inner light, which is vastly growing dim. But I am pretending, pretending all the way into the bottom of the bottle where I find myself again, reaching for something, and rising up like a phoenix into an artificial life, comforted by mediocrity, accepting the dysfunction and allowing myself to just sit in the waste.

end of note.

______

this is blank.
see this line?
its blank.

my mind is producing nothing
no paints, no brushes, no notebooks filled with stories to tell.
nothing
but white space.

see this?
its blank.

i've been caught in this
thing
that is giving me nothing in return.
its a bad relationship.
i am unfulfilled, unsatisfied, empty, waiting and waiting

you see this?
its blank.

nothing is happening here
but white, white space.
endless white space
in which to float on
drifting and falling
and crashing
into nothing
but white
space.

you see this line?
it doesn't exist
i'm making it up

this is nothing.
what you see here
is a figment of your imagination
and i am
a
magician

you see this?

nothing
but
white
space.