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.

the joys of being unemployable.

I recently was "released" from my job not too long ago (friday) and I feel great.
Not that I didn't like my job, but there's a certain joy to be felt when something ends. Mostly the joy (for me) comes from knowing that something new is on the horizon. Also, I like to think about where I'll be 3 months from now. I get excited thinking about how I may or may not make my rent, How I'm going to put gas in my car to get to the interviews and what kind of crappy job interviews I'll have to endure until I'm found "suitable" to be hired. I can't even wait to see what kind of neurotic boss and backstabbing employees I'll be working with months from now! Indeed, I can't wait to leave the comforts of my home to re-join the 9-5 world. The half hour lunches and the 15 minute breaks, the stale smell of the lunch room, the glazed eyes of the work force holding their cup of coffee and going over the "how was your weekend" conversations.
Yes, being unemployed is quite interesting indeed. Since I've become unemployed (3 days now and counting) I've found out new things.
1. Daytime T.V. is still just as horrible as when I was a kid staying at grandmas during summer vacation.
2. Is becoming a nurse or medical assistant really that fast and easy?
3. The day seems to go on turbo and end much faster when you have no job.
4. Lastly, I'd like to switch places with my cat, Mingus, because that fucker gets to lie around, eat and sleep all for free.

dammit.

Anyway. Yes, being unemployed...It's great. and if you should find yourself unemployed too, well come on over and lets have a drink!

Of course, you'd have to pay, cause you know...I'm broke.



over and out.