schism. 1

don't waste away. leave this place. quickly.

the weak are like vampires. i use my compass often.

i
try to say
what
i
feel.

always. i have been cursed from the start. torn apart. lifted, then thrown back into the pit.

it's black magic!

it's the universe laughing at me!

it's something i cannot confess or conceal!

i'm sliding down into myself. making sense of my shadows. dwelling in there, simmering, bubbling over.

something reached for me. i pulled away. i will not be caught...yet!

i will not be caught, i will not be caught.

i say this over and over; it is my mantra.

maybe someday, i will believe it.

I am youthful in appearance
worn down in the soul
heart jaded or more like,
pre-occupied with the minor things

I sometimes spin a confusing web
of stories that may or may not be true

I've left situations in chaos
stirred up the pot by my own will
I've decided I'm a fucker
rather than
being fucked.

I've decided I'm many things
and easy isn't one of them.

You can travel down this road
with a plan and with a map
but you will get side tracked

I will make sure of this.

I am youthful in appearance
with a sweet devil smile
one hand behind my back
and tricks on my mind

but I assure you
it's a fun ride.

spilled wine.

I was staring at the pictures of you and her;you looked so much in love. Her pregnant belly stuck far out and she looks content. You had your arms around her and you smiled that fierce smile I know very well. You both look happy, fulfilled, and perfectly matched.

I remember when your motorcycle would pull up to my apt, and you took me out riding. we had no idea where to go. We had lunch at a coffee shop where we talked about creativity, sex, and the world turning shitty when you've "given up and given in" then you'd kiss me with eyes closed pulling me very very close then you'd get back on your bike and ride back home to her.

I'm happy that you're happy.
It had to happen to one of us.
eventually.

unexplained and unreclaimed.

I'm creating these spaces just for you. Making room for no one else but you.
when you decide
to swallow your pride

see these shifting movements will collide in time

im running circles around you
but just in my head

i'm wishing things were more simple
i wish i was more aware of the obvious things
the big picture
the generalities and such

but it must start somewhere

one cannot start from the top
one must work they're way into that envisioned splendid glory
from the bottom

write me a letter sometime
shift the car back into neutral
find the territory where you'll be "safe"
catapult those nightmares straight into space
downgrade your attitude
give me some room-dont assume
learn to assimilate with those you call your "closest mates"
call out
or
shout out

i'll be waitin in the woods.

the lesson.

start from the top
then work your way down.
work through the chaos
chip away
all that is false.

start from the top
work your way down
dig deep
move fast
or slow (if thats how you like it)

be attentive
at all times
learn to read
between the lines
pay attention
move left to right

find the spot
that makes the heavens explode
breaking down barriers
push if you have to
pull if you want to

tense and rough
or maybe
soft and slow

magic only happens
when you know where to go.
let it out
push back in

start from the top
then when you're done,

start all over again.

bender.

dirty dishes in the sink
waking up to this incredible heat

last night was a blur

what happened?

strangers asleep on my living room floor
needle on the record (Pink Floyd) ready to be flipped hours ago.
empty beer cans found in unexpected places:
behind the toilet
under the sink
in the closet

my head feels tight and hot
my stomach is spinning
and I want to shoot the birds outside
for chirping too loud

the cat is looking at me, cause clearly he has all the answers.

I take a look around my apt and survey the scene..
and wonder to myself
if i should just fall back to sleep.

I reach for the clock
and realize

its early morning Tuesday, 8:15...

push, force, pull, retreat.

They walked for miles until they came to a cliff. They both stared down into an abyss.
"what should we do?" he asked.

He was good at asking questions, but not good at providing answers. He was always happy being the one without the burden of responsibility.

He was also the one that led her here:

on the edge of a cliff, looking down into an abyss.

there was no wind, the weather was flat. Neither hot nor cold, just flat. They had many years together..a shared life which consisted of outings with friends, drunken moments punctuated by disappointing sex, families and bank accounts merged. He knew her well and she was comfortable.

too comfortable.

Something needs to give, she thought. she found herself growing distant as the years passed, he found himself getting old and set in routines.

She found herself deeply entrenched in a passionate love affair with her boss. There were many late nights and business meetings. While he stood home and watched amateur sex videos that had flat-chested brunettes with large asses, which closely resembled his crush in Jr. High.

She knew of his porn, he knew of her affair. Both played dumb to the facts. They were not making any sudden movements, anytime soon. They had history.

History between 2 people can either function as a strong bond or a rope that binds too tight, and sometimes even both.

so they kept on. Accumulating years, memories, wounds & doubts.

and here they were, standing on a cliff, looking into an abyss.

so many questions
no one wanting to answer.

the symptom of something larger.

it was the tip of the iceberg
lost by default
shifting inside this madness
my heaven
my hell
the shadows i dared to dwell
im soft and lost and infinitely blue
wrapping myself in something
getting lost in you
turning sour
turning sweet
faking this new dance
stumbling over my two left feet

kiss me while im still alive
and waiting for the skies
to open wide
and swallow me up
find me gone,
gone, gone,
gone.

i should have seen it coming
but its best to be blind
sometimes

fact & fiction

detoxed and fresh
no longer spoiled
clean and wiser
happy and balanced

renewed, clued-in and excited.

ready
to
start
each
day
with
an
optimistic
point of view.

head up, walk straight, and show your smiling face.

no longer depressed, head in a mess, constant stress, evaporated morphine sister-less, no more neediness.

watch out now!

good times are ahead!

yes, indeed,
someday, i said.

title 2

introverted boy wonder
makes me sit and think too much
makes me sit and drink too much
i make up stories inside my head
he reaches for the bottle
instead of the pen

he's an artist
just like me
you see,
and we've both got demons
that sit in the room
with us
every night
as soon as the boredom
starts to set in.

boy wonder
doesn't speak much
but translates everything to me
telepathically
and sometimes
i misunderstand
if i try to read it through his eyes.

i am convinced
there is a symphony inside his heart and
behind those blue eyes of pain
there is heat and wonder
for everything good
and everything bad we want to burn away

he's an introvert
and i talk too loud
when i enter rooms
extend my hand to strangers
the same hand thats ready to fight
because i am confrontational.

he's like a calm sea
while i am a hurricane

we sit in the room
with our demons
and i make up stories in my head
he reaches for the bottle
instead of the pen

we know we'll both give in
but its just a matter of when.

you dont know me but,

send me a prayer
while I dance upon broken glass
wish me luck and cross your fingers
while I spit out lies
and attempt to hide my madness

Ask the saints to watch over me
while I lay down this destructive path
pray that the Gods forgive me
when I've stepped out of the light

when I'm tangled up beneath the covers
when I'm crawling backwards up the walls
when the fog is settling in
and the dogs are ready to tear me apart

send me a little prayer
and relieve me from this
so that I may be delivered
into the hands of mercy

and I could breathe again
in the wake of my new illusions

Dive.

you burn your bridges girl...
faster than
you change your underwear.

your mouth shoots poison
quicker than your brain
can process
the consequence.

look at you girl,
spreading your love
as if you were for sale
always entering rooms
like a hurricane

you remind me of:
a wilted dandelion
inevitably being pulled
by the wind

no care,
no mystery

just a bruised, paranoid heart
stitched onto
a used up sleeve

we had the blues while the city was on fire.

the scene, currently:

I am in a blue room with an orange painting that hangs to my left.
a dead, colorless rose, pinned to a wall with a frame around it.
last nights bottle of rum, sits lonely and forgotten

outside,
the city glows orange
from the fires
in the hills

its just
heat,
suffocation
and stillness

everywhere

but

we are inside this room
we are buried inside ourselves
we want to sleep
yet we are not awake

we're simply
just being

much like the orange painting hanging on the wall
much like the colorless rose, framed
much like the lonely and forgotten bottle of rum

we are all of these things
and then some.

the suffering.

The suffering

Has outlasted its welcome

Like a friend from out of town

Crashing on your couch.



The suffering

Has us

crawling on our knees

scraping pennies

Eating peanut butter

For dinner

Out of jars



The suffering

Has us

Traumatized

From over drafted bank accounts

Cars running on empty

That familiar tightness

In the belly

In the heart

On your life






But don't fret

The suffering

Is your friend



It drives you

It propels you

It separates you

From the rich bitches

With soft asses

And bored hearts

Who know nothing

About

Getting down in the trenches



When the days are cloudy

And the nights are long

When you go to bed hungry

And your mind is about to break



Remember

The suffering

is the teacher

that demands discipline

from your heart

for whatever it is

you're putting on the line.



This suffering

Will tear you down

force you out of

that comfortable

and familiar rhythm



and someday

You will thank it

When you've finally reached

the place

and the person

you were meant to be.

Learn your lesson well.

Listen,

Just cause you bought me
fancy lingerie
from a high end store
doesn't make you
my boyfriend.

it just makes you
a sucker
who had high hopes

the crusade of apocoloyptic christians and the study of man.

we're anticipating the arrival of something.
we'll know it when it arrives.

we don't know what it looks like
we don't know what it smells like
or how it feels
but somehow,
when it arrives
we're gonna know it.

we're waiting here
with open arms and high hopes
we've even got our Sunday's best on

we're all waiting for the arrival of something

what it looks like
how it arrives and when,
we don't know

but its gonna save us
from ourselves

somehow.

for Hank.

this sickness,
we all have it
inside of us
growing like a baby in the womb
destined for doom

but its not all heavy
its not all war all the time
but more betting on the muse

its easy to misinterpret
something that seemed so ugly on the outside
but was really just careful beauty
on the edge of a raw wound

thats whats wrong with most people
(but not all)
you give them something
and they translate it to their own vision
just like the bible

what can you do,

but roll the dice
drink your beer
and dont up a fight.

sunday's dream.

when the ship started to sink
they all jumped overboard

except for the captain
who sat in the corner
and whistled a tune
to himself
and to all the sea creatures below
and to the angels he'd meet
and to the hell he'd probably get to see
and for all the women he loved before
and the women he'll never get to touch again

he whistled that tune
until his death

'to live by the sea and die by the sea'

was what his tattoo had said.

automatic midnight with boy wonder

he was pale and very thin, with long limbs and jagged boned hips. he wrapped his thin arm around me and kissed me on the forehead. we had been drinking since 10pm and now it was 3am. his blue eyes are beautiful still, even when the redness in his face gives away his severely inebriated state.

i fell asleep somewhere between our last conversation and when the room started to turn that calming, peaceful blue. it must've been 5am.

when i woke up again, he was asleep, lost in a dream. and when we woke up again, it was 11am. he started to have the shakes. i was both terrified and sad to see him in such a state. i fed him breakfast: an ice cold tecate with lime, and he seemed better again; he seemed himself.

so this was how the weekend came to be. and i couldnt help myself to join in, because i am just as much addicted to what he called 'Mother Booze'

we both described that warm embrace as soon as the booze kicks in. we had this thing, we had found eachother although temporarily, we atleast had this. everyone picks their poison..and i confess to choosing mine.

"mother booze. both my curse and my muse" i recited to him as we cheered eachother and drank our fears, our fucked up childhood memories, our loneliness, away with every bottle.

bring on that warm embrace as the alcohol takes place-swirling swiftly through our blood, casting that magic spell making us reach that destination we're always trying to find sober and never can. i know, its the problem we have but everyone chooses their poison and at 10pm on a saturday night, we are lost inside the bottles and in our own made up dreams.this make believe life we create so that we are allowed to exist, to manage all the painful shit.

and at 8am, when we woke up again still drunk and light headed, he asked for more beer before the shakes set in again. i gave him another and watched him down the can head back and eyes closed, his body naked, pale, and thin. a boy and a man, far ahead of me traveling down that grimy road.

sometimes, some people gotta travel their own dark roads alone.

judgement day.

false friends
and future lovers
im pleading
can you hear me
inside this celluloid womb?

i watched as
a billion faces turned to dust
shining bright lights like glorious diamonds
straight into my skull

desert trips embraced
by my memories
squandered by emotional catastrophes

and im singing loud
to drown out the sound
of all the bridges collapsing
around me

there was a purpose
to this disguise
ripping myself open, deep & wide

youre gonna know the trigger happy girl-demon inside apocalyptic dreams
falling apart straight from the seams

remember me
dont forget me
write me
when you wake up
from your poisoned sleep!

this that and something else.

left the house this morning feeling optimistic. no idea why. these things just happen. Been trying to move past certain things that have felt like anchors, emotionally. everything once familiar, now gone. all swept up in one full motion. maybe things are best that way? forces you to think on your feet.

i arrive at work, already one cup of coffee in. i sit in front of the computer from 11am to 6pm or 8pm and sometimes 9pm when i really don't want to go home.

went out last night. been going out almost every night. not sure what i'm trying to find. but, overheard a close friend's conversation about me:

"yeah, her? she's rad. she's so tough! dont mess with her..."

makes me sad a bit. i understand i've done my part to uphold this image of a totally insane girl throwing punches and all that.

Although, its really all crap. anyone smart enough to look past it, can easily see a very confused girl, an ultra sensitive girl.

too damn sensitive, matter of fact. i wonder sometimes how i even make it through this world, when my heart weighs so heavy. its too much sometimes. these feelings are like tides, sweeping me up in its arms and carrying me away. i often feel tangled up in other people, lose myself and not being able to figure out whats true and whats false.

but this is the truth, as far as i can see (or feel for that matter)

and today i'm feeling optimistic.

void.

after she managed to fuck all of her close friends
she moved on to picking up strangers at the local bar.

she'd find courage after a couple shots of tequila
stumbling her way across the dimly lit bar
while cheesy R&B songs played in the background,
her eyes would settle on a unsuspecting lucky stranger

and we all know
it doesn't take much convincing
for a man to take a woman home.

and so it goes

night after night

of unfamiliar faces

the smell of booze and sex
clouding up her room
like familiar ghosts

she was trying to escape something
or trying to find anything
that would make her feel alive
or worthy
or perhaps it was just nothing
but the simple pleasure of fucking

bruises on her inner thighs, like badges of honor were just little reminders of tuesday night with so-and-so.

its just so easy to be so easy, see?
no one expects anything.
no conversation, no emotional revelations.

its just on your back
or on your knees
or skirt pulled up and against the wall
or on top and head in a dream

she explained this all to me
and i was jealous for a second
because she learned how to extract her heart out of it everything.

but i just could never get over how
lonely and vacant her eyes had become.

(to be continued)

word play. my way. i cant write today

this is the structure of things.

strong foundations. warm covers. steady and ready. gone in a flash. personal matters filed away in complex folders, and hidden away forever.
escaping the mundane. flesh for an equal exchange. cash value, no value. dropping out.


my baby died so long ago, she cried. collapsed into nothing. sweet derision and emotional collision. stay fierce, stay strong, say nothing.

these are personal matters, let me remind you. as the clock announces our demise.

i cant write today or i cant find a subject. im writing through it. working it out, working it out. its a process

a process
in finding where you fit inside of all this

adjusting, redirecting, shifting focus, find a new perspective. start again
win the war
claim your place

ugh

i'm laying it all out for you
i have no clue
what else to do.


-end-

custom made.

another night and i'm attempting to lose myself inside a stranger's kiss. His arms are wrapped around my waist, he's pulling me in, but i'm not there. he's pressing up against a false myth.

another night and i'm drifting away while being hugged by a stranger and his arms feel like ropes and his feelings for me feel like anchors. theyre weighing me down, holding me back, keeping me from

something.

another night inside this crowded place, that is my head and i'm attempting to drink my way out of it. but there's not enough alcohol to burn away these emotions. so i'll hold on to them in hopes that they'll expire while i accept these substitutions...
these empty illusions
this constant emotional confusion

theres a world outside
fighting to stay alive
breathing through my skin
a movement waiting to happen

collapsed ideas
burned out hopes
sliding down the death ropes
im a dealer of false romantic notions
making love inside my self made corrosion
I'm sending you images telepathically
creating these over-dramatic tragedies
destroying lives and
adoring the abnormalities
staying dry & open wide
here comes the memories
wrapped up in clover
and its spilling over
in this Styrofoam death cup
Pouring over fresh cuts
I yelled loudly across the room to myself:
SHUT
THE
FUCK
UP

hopping the night train.

empty bottles litter the floor. static on the tv and dinner, cold on the stove. you won't be coming by and i'm drinking my last bottle of wine. sanitizing my heart and annihilating these thoughts running rampant inside my head.
i'm going all the way.
watch me laugh again.
prying open the screens and letting out the enemies. inner demons, watch out! you made this a fun ride, a black hole vortex and a slip n slide. i'm digging out the worms, bit by bit and loving every minute of it.

take the bottle to my lips wash it down with a prayer i memorized when i was a kid. with every drink i am lost and found then lost again.

its a war i can never win.

Craig Burns who lives on Normal St.

Craig Burns told me i was pretty, smart, had a nice rack and could rule the world if i wanted to, at 11:59pm on a friday night while we sat inside a small karaoke dive bar on Virgil st. I remember his tired but shockingly blue eyes staring me straight in the face as he said it.

Craig Burns was built like a lumberjack. He was thick handed, slim waisted with long legs that i already imagined being wrapped around. I don't usually like blond boys, but there was something wildly erotic about his dirty blond hair laying unkempt and unwashed atop his precious skull.

While the 100lb disheveled hipsters ripped apart Otis Redding and Tom Petty songs at Karaoke, we talked about music:past & present. Everything from New York 70s punk to the lonely and brilliant songwriting of Bruce Springsteen's Nebraska. The conversation was climbing to such intensity, that it was clear this was some sort of mental foreplay.

Craig Burns' eyes glistened underneath the red bar lights and my smile, while giving away my mental state, would not leave my face. He was 10 years older than I and more experienced and knew he could easily take me home that night without a fight. Hell, he could have thrown me over his shoulder and walked out of the bar carrying me like some kind of captured & clubbed animal.

But at the peek of our banter, Craig Burns took a swig from his Miller Light, then turned to me and announced he was going home to listen to his records. Then he got up and walked out the red velvet curtained doorway. Leaving me at the bar with his ghost and a scream in my heart.

Craig Burns said many things to me at 11:59pm on a friday night while we sat inside the small karaoke dive bar on Virgil st.

the year we found (black) magic.

i dont like hot weather.
i'd rather stay in.

this is what he told me, at 2am. while i tried to read in between the lines. while we were legs and arms intertwined beneath the covers of our make believe life.

i like the rain best.
i like it when its cold.

i said this to him, noticing the far away look in his eye. he was always someplace else. always not with me. maybe trying to escape me, mentally. emotionally. i always tried my best to pull him back in. with words of love and encouragement. but it seemed to only work when it was words of hate and discouragement.

us two together, were warped twins.
friends called us the terrible twosome
and i cringed when i saw lovers carrying on happily. hugging and kissing in the street.

inevitably, the conversations turned into ugly little things. like,

i cant stand to hear your voice

or

i dread coming home to you

oh, but weren't they such magical moments we had even just for a little while? atleast when things turned shitty, we managed to set eachother free.

me: riding happily in the single lane
and you: with a girl that looks just like me.

success machine.

sitting inside this stillness.
inside this place where it all begins.
waiting and waiting
for something to happen.
and if it comes (as it usually does) then i'll climb on top of it
and ride it straight into
it's sweet,sweet glory.
and if it never comes (it sometimes doesnt) then i'll just throw down this towel and just say,


fuck it.

the beginning of the end.

monetize and scrutinize
transformation and metamorphosis
the cultivation of
the cultivation of

i had a line in here somewhere waiting to break free but its struggling to come out. it started with transformation, formation and turbulent endings or beginnings or sometimes they're disguised as both. dont scrutinize. we're all liable. wrapped inside these conditions, formulating our death wishes. last rites. dont put up a fight. bleed it out until youre dry. i had a line in here somewhere that haunted me from 2am til it showed up in a dream where i was 8 years old, trying to run away from it. i had a line in here somewhere. its saved in the distance between you and me, or between me and the stranger in line next to me, or me and the shattered 5 year old me. its written somewhere in a filthy smut magazine. revolutionized, categorized, memorized and coming down with frost bite. wait,i'm trying to express something. trying to expose you. me? me through you? i'm trying to say something that i haven't said before. i'm trying to be my own muse, but am turning into a poem whore. i'm trying to give you something you can't refuse! I had a line in here somewhere...

the sound of glass and black hearts being broken.

the cultivation of sweetness
can never actually be cultivated
when youre a raging bitch
and have mutilated a few hearts
with your eyes and your mouth.

it doesnt matter though
if no one really knows

about your rotten heart
and the black emptiness
you call
your personality.

youre really just a shithead
parading around as a great friend

but

no one ever see's you coming
like a right hook to the face

and

no one ever see's you leaving
like a thief escaping without a trace

wrestle with this.

dirty fingers
reaching up towards heaven
with filthy hands
i am well practiced at the art
of manipulation

i still feel joy, somehow.

dreamed last night of broken teeth.
they all fell out one by one
while i screamed at the reflection in the mirror
of someone who was not me

i feel relieved, somehow.

these dirty hands
this dirty mouth
shouting out
obscenities
cultivating this fungus
growing inside of me
i asked you for something
you eventually forgot to give me

and i feel redeemed, somehow.

dirty hands
reaching up
dirty mouth
screaming out

dirty girl

but you love it, somehow.

Fire & Movement

tell me your secrets
and i'll show you
everything
from the inner atmosphere
of my body
to the depths
of my vulnerability

i dont want to break free
just keep me tied to you
bury me deep
inside your wounds
i'll lick your pain away

transform this lust
into a cocoon
we both can occupy
seal me tight
with your spit
and i'll
open myself up
bit by bit
take you in

tell me your secrets
show me where to begin.

i wrote this, then deleted lines, then got pissed off cause i lost my momentum and now i just dont care about it anymore.

losing sleep
short shelf-life feelings
damaged back door woman crawling on her skinned knees
sharpening the knife
thrust it deep,deep

broken free

little exploding orgasms, illuminating my lust

inner turmoil making this an adventure

broken hearts, souls, minds break free, finally

close your eyes now
the damage is done.

what do you say, morphine sister?

my morphine sister resides in the pockets of my brain. my brain, too jam packed, plays blues and jazz whenever it rains. its like an endless loop of Miles Davis and sad saxophones. my fingertips are searching for something new, they reach out into darkness, searching for you.

one day, i'm gonna write a novel

and it's going to be called, Hurricane Season

and it won't have nothin to do with

the weather.

my melancholy heart is clipped onto the clothesline, flailing in the wind. my frozen fleshy belly counts to 10 and wishes it had other things to do. You just cant help this sickness. what do you do with all this flesh & bone, brains & soul, perfect comedic timing, the ability to empathize, and the quick wit to put an out of place comment back in line. Just what do you do, morphine sister?

her glass eyes, distant and cold say nothing

to replace the silence.

when i write that novel, things are gonna change then.

destination: nowhere

i sit here
locked away in this dungeon
eyelashes scratching my eye
cat meowing in the corner.
the world outside is bustling
moving about
they know nothing of
this girl, locked away in her tower.
there are moments of clarity and
brief moments of anxiety, panic, depression
but nothing big enough
to get sick about.
i write letters
and sometimes i mail them.
i write short stories, long stories, poems
and sometimes i like them.
truth be told,
i don't mind being alone
its just when the loneliness creeps in
like an unexpected guest,
is when thing get a little hazy.
still,
i'm locked & loaded
full of imaginary scenarios
and in this particular one,
i get saved.

100 ways to escape.

there's an old drunk who lives in a shack somewhere in that urban jungle of concrete and broken pasts. He sleeps on cardboard boxes, folded in half, lays his head on a pillow made of regrets and warped memories. he's got 4 children, born of him, born from him, who are much like him, but stronger & wiser. They bear the kind of wisdom that is gained from being thrown in the trenches at such a young age. An age when one should be thinking of toys and friends and school, instead they thought about new schools, 100 ways to escape and the difference between apartments and living under random relative's roofs & rules.
That old drunk who lives in a shack, carries his curse and his wounds in a crumpled up paperbag. he pours it into himself as a way to wash the past, forget the present and to spite the future.
That old drunk with the empty soul eyes, cut his heart out long ago when he left behind a young bride. memories of a girl climbing out the window to escape into a life of struggle and near breakthroughs, but the life she imagined, never did come true. she is now a ghost that walks through his dreams, while he falls into his soft and hazy sleep while every night will blur into eachother creating a string of days and nights that happened or never did, or maybe have; he can't remember.
This old man, drinking himself into uncertainty, until he'll be found at 4am staring up at the ceiling of his own self-made nightmare drained of all memory, wounds, plans and hope. Looking like a used up angel, a little boy lost. Sad. Desperate, but finally, relieved.

-Barrios

Universal Theme I

heart full of dust-
it's a desert, a barren landscape.

I'm a fraud.
when held in place,
when told to relate,
when asked to express
these secret words.

the truth is revolting
but I'm willing to be shattered.
spinning my own web,
I'm making it easy
to fall, to collapse, to destroy
this heart,
which is more like a curse,
than a blessing.
more like a burden
than a pleasure.
more like an excuse
to dive into the bottle
or a beckoning river
or an emotionally unavailable & resistant lover.

I'm making it easy
spinning this web
thinking and collapsing
destroying myself, reminding myself
as I'm watching you
drink your coke
on a Sunday afternoon.

drifter and a moment of clarity while thinking about karmic retribution.

a
cup of
cold coffee in the morning
and
a mix of blood
and
a mix of anxiety
stirred into breakfast.

a loss for words.

alone and aware
from the wreckage
left behind:

the collision of memories and emotions
conjure up spells
and this veil has been lifted.

weak bones, jealous bones
our corpses entangled in lust.

a
shot
in
the
dark
for you,
sweet drifter,

vanish off into the horizon
into the sun
into this life
into this violence
into oblivion

then wake me when it's over.

inside and out

we were something, weren't we?
you, with your gapped-toothed smile
me, so young and naive.

I would've followed you
to the ends of the earth
if you had told me too

but our roads split
forked out, different direction
both into oblivion
you sat and stared off
never wanting to make a move

I was happy, happy, happy
to move along
fast and far, far away

never realizing you actually stayed
in the same place
where I left you.

biting into the beast and then the travels of the abused mister.

I'm comfortable with the noise coming from the trains, loud and clear inside my head. Vibrant like the sun, setting hills on fire
animal carcasses scattered in the desert. Stories left untold.

I'm biting into the beast!

watching lines form around your divine eyes, a skull filled with cigarette ashes. remembering back in time of a booze fueled night of senseless romanticism.

I'm biting into the beast that calls my name, night & day, night & day.

I'm comfortable with the noise of these loud trains
inside my skull and your heart, which is a black hole sitting in the middle of your chest. You've learned how to pick and gather leftover love, dismissed and broken on the side of the road. Making love like loud and sloppy animals; tore up from the inside. You've learned to travel down dead end streets and I'm watching you slithering like a snake across your bedroom floor. I'm watching you with Neptune rose colored daydream eyes.

I'm watching you
watching you
watching you
biting into the beast that tore the flesh off of your own self respect.

casting spells (unfinished)

pushing to shove
got more love
than anything
I've ever known

the last stand

the hurricane arrives
just in time

clocks push forward
rhythms move in rhymes

the misery loves company
as the clowns drown in sadness

compose and propose
as the feelings escalate

shadows fix themselves
upon your walls

time moves forward
regrets nothing

push and pull
until you've become something

a dance
a song
a flash in the pan

kill it while it's still moving.

remnants of a lost conversation while standing on the corner at 2am

theres this heat you see,
that spreads through my chest
like an infection, see
whenever i feel as if
i've said too much.
like,

getting too heavy on words
on feelings
on thoughts
on anything,
really.

and then there's this thing
you know,
that happens
when you realize you were wrong,
wrong
wrong
all along

and no one said a damn fucking thing
to your face
but behind your back
they're experts on everything

but you know,
it's worth the prize
when you learn to stay and fight
see,
cause I don't lose that often
and when I do
it usually never turned out to be worthy, you see?

I'm good at this.
some say I'm the best.
I've mastered the impression of a thousand personalities
and I bet you can't guess
which one I'm using now!
ha!
you're a fool, a damn bloody fool!

I told you, I was the best!

wait, listen..where you going?

master of nothing

my truth sits inside your arms
curled up on your chest
in the early hours of a cold morning.

my truth hears things loud and clear
when I've given up
on being so deceiving.

alarm clock rings loudly in my ears
a sound I'll never hear again

I opened up this void inside my soul
pretending I am living
pretending I am real

in the early hours of a cold morning
curled up and lost inside what I wish was true.

something for the lovers and leavers

nothing sweeter
than rejection

needles spread across the chest

nothing sweeter
than feeling empty
left on the sidelines

nothing sweeter
than death
than karmic retribution
than arms holding you down,
holding you back

i promise,

nothing is sweeter.

half and half

10am & a $10 breakfast of tasteless scrambled eggs & sausage, $2 black coffee w/ 2 sugars in a fancy cup. Seated at a table in the corner by the window so I can watch people on their way to work or appointments. Eat the breakfast quickly while my mind is somewhere else. Someone could easily have been my stand in, it would've been just the same.

Finish the last of the coffee, finish the toast, leave the eggs & sausage and I don't feel guilty. Make my way to the car, travel down the pothole streets of LA, find a parking space, wait in line.

Lines, always lines to wait in. We're all in line waiting for something, all the time it seems.

You make eye contact with strangers, people you have never seen before and will probably never see again. People with funny smells, people with fucked up faces, people with beautiful smiles and horrible personalities. People who think they know everything and speak the loudest and people who have the most interesting stories to tell and are the most silent.

I'm a stranger here, a ghost even. Maybe I died in my sleep last night and I no longer exist. No more waiting in lines, no more tasteless breakfasts, no more brushing my teeth, doctor visits, dmv appointments, sitting at my desk staring at my computer.

someone calls out my name and snaps me back into this place.

damn, I think to myself. I'm still here.

shift

How can you miss something that never belonged to you in the first place?

Do you have the right to feel anything if it was not yours?
Should you express your opinions about it, if it is not yours?

I don't want to feel anything. I want someone to remove this heart, so I don't feel a damn thing.

He moves throughout his day, she moves throughout her day. Both in different places, emotionally and geographically. But he moves like a ghost in her head and she is just used to this sort of thing. She contemplates wearing a different face, altering her image, choosing her words wisely, sharp & direct.

Someone come and take this heart out, remove memories and make me free again.



my eyes close, my mind stops and for a moment I pretend...

recording movements in the dark

licking the burns, inside and out.
All curled up
like a fetus
not
quite
ready
yet

open wounds and future burials
I was born for this
into this
with this
Desirous of all things bad for me
Creating scars is my thing
it's my hobby

hope cures nothing
and the future is always unfolding
and I am fine with living inside my illusions
Everything filtered through rose-colored glasses
mirror image and all fucked up

scars,burns, bullet holes, scrapes
and everything worthy
of this battle
are all magically
wrapped up
in this warped existence

I choose not to resist this!
I choose this perfect storm!

braving this shit weather
for the opportunity
to exist inside
this corroded space
I share with you
and only you.

facts and complications

listen he said,

you're pretty
you're amazing
you're something not of this world

my brain stopped for a moment and recalled a time when I was very young and people would stop and stare at the curls in my hair: wild and shiny.

They'd say,
"she's so adorable"
"she's so cute"
"what a beautiful little girl"

Listen he said,

you're complicated
you're crazy
why do you make things so difficult?

One can never be too simple
One can never be too complicated

I'm walking this line here that seems to go on forever. This infinite line of who to be, all the while everyone is collapsing on the outside and on the inside and they're all pointing fingers at me and I am failing at being a servant to plastic personalities and I am failing at caring for everyone's rules and thoughts set upon me and I am only walking this line that I've created. I'm going to set it on fire one day...

Listen, I say:

fuck you

thoughts like caged lions.

the misplaced events of your youth
staring into the eyes of truth

last call, lost loves and spinning in circles
imagination lit up and spread like wildfire
sex in the morning: the brightness of imperfect flesh

this does not exist.

mutual admiration, respect and shared secrets.
the uneven flow of things
the lack of and the wherewithal

the corrosion in your smile;your personality
flaws and perfection
impractical and logical
ties that bind, like handcuffs, duct tape and rope.

(I can't breathe)

I am watching this, you, us from a distance and it's all so simple
but complicated, still.

crash and burn, crash and burn

meet you on the otherside.

pome for lovers.

we're going to burn
this city, this place, these emotions
this room, this life
burn ourselves into another dimension
find ourselves
diving deep into the bottle
only to
float back up
and out

breathe deep!

its gonna come close
fast
hard

and all over your face.