Thursday, April 18, 2013

Rejection Relapse

Pontificating parts of the following make me sick
Strange, stagnate blood pumps into skull
The feeling in nauseating, debilitating, other complicated
intricate, polysyllabic words meaning;
"I hate myself"
Hate the way I ended the communication. 
The reason of which related to emotional procrastination.
My inflated sense of self masking the pain of you and me
Had been the man I am now I would have seen, handled the problem
solved the issue, maybe then I would not miss you.
That's the theory, at least.
Make not mistake, you're a beauty, but I will not label myself the beast.
In the extravagant drama
our relationship consisted of dueling
You struggling, finding yourself, pieces of the past weighting on you.
I tried to clean them up and make you see
If you'd have let me
Given me some time
Not seen yourself as the older, bolder, ship controller
I'd have gotten down on one knee, 
Proposed the ever after, we'd live in laughter
Two kids against the world, I black Lion and his Coco-brow, curly sheen
Fertility Goddess, I'd have treated you like a queen.
In stead I let life make me your whipping boy
For a half year I felt l the toy
You took into your hands and a made less of a man
Carried the anger deep, never let the whole venom seep
and spill out, the cancer grew malignant.
I grew ignorant.
threw us to the dirt and left
Though it was the for the best, 
for me
Disregarding the damage to the woman I would have walked down
the road to marriage, next to on the beach, down the road
with a carriage, baby in the front seat
When the far flung fiction future hit me
I could have hit delete
Taken two dozen pills, gallons of alcohol, a silver bullet and gun
Drive my car into the river, drown in the old Buick, and I'd have been 
But the dead man walking, the sad kid talking to himself in his sleep
He's gone, washed ashore in the back of mind. The man I now will do
But I'll grown and change, something new reborn free from flaws

Electric Infatuation

Long, late, lonely locomotion
Stemming from my eyes
I centers on the thighs of a girl with the prettiest of eyes
Drawn in by her hips, hyperbolic hypothetical histories of us
Formed by fractionally from a sentiment reminiscent of lust 
Bought a mound of clay, sculpted an image of your bust
Size of a sensational sun sends me singing 
Praising, possibly pandering
Ladies like yourself lead me to falling on my knees
I worship at your alter, the center of my computer screen
Wondering who you are, really
what do you like?
Favorite color, movie, book?
How do you feel when you wake up and the moon's inking in the knook
of your room, how do you like pizza? Thin like my knowledge of you or
Thick, like my feelings my heart tells me I have? How do you feel about
cats? If we ever meet, dated, match made in heaven belated,
would you be down with wearing matching hats?
The connection with you is simply visual
But the beats in my chest,
at the thought of my name giving joy
to your mind, your hopes, your dreams, your breasts
Feels so real alternate worlds seem of seem realistically fantastical
The connection with you is simply visual
But affection is sincere,
Framed Digital.

Wednesday, April 17, 2013

Monolog- Waking nightmare

Have you ever had a dream so perplexing in context
Yet never the less so perfect?
Did all the sounds match up?
Did all the word read out perfectly?
Did you believe,with each fleeting second, that the skin you touched, or the words weaved in your ear or the noise perpetuating between your thighs was real?
When you woke, most likely in a state of (mid)afternoon[night] rust(sweat) what did you do? How do you cope? What keeps the hours of you life from free from delusion, sanity coming from closed, rested eyes.


I recall moments where 
Fate pending
I conclude this experience early.
Brief scenes:
Hands on the wheel, early morning
River to the left
Knife in hand, legs and chest already scared
Under water, still
Medication inches from gallons of alcohol.
Pause =
What then do I make of the shakes?
Volatile spasms of mind? 
Bombarding mostly in the time of swampy weakness?
I think of the time extended by willing fate. I think of other selfs less fortunate.
Play ->

New Addiction

If I could afford the pills?
I’d down the whole bottle twice.
Overdose on a midnight summer.
Find the darkest alley, meet a man with stars in his hollow eyes,
And ask for a refill
More powder, please.
I’d go deeper into reaches of myself
Marvel at the projections 
Connect the panels and pages
The Image of this Dark Horse riding out the planes of cities I’d forgotten
Strikes from the report. Expert form file.
I’d drink it all down from a bottle called yesterday, holding off the conning to tomorrow.

Monday, April 8, 2013


The regin of mine
Beginning in the womb of a soul pure
Continuing in the heart of a child confused.
The war started when ideas of castels in the sky
mansions on the moon
and fast cars on water distilled into his head.
How quaint.
How nice.
How nice, his sculptures in the sand.
The years pass by each day, each day an exercise in wrecking balls.
The castels crumble. The cars sink in the waters. Midnight on the moon turns a cold scrappy brown.
Brown like the skin he cuts into pretty pictures. Sleepless. Brown like the eyes filled and swollen red.
He, and I, look in the mirror. Each day, each morning, midnight and afternoon. 
He tries to stare down conquest. Blinkin uncontrollably.

Sunday, March 24, 2013

Wide Eyes

The memory of this is somewhat obscured, the subject is something that faded from perfect memory,
but something that did stand out 
above most all else... 
The smile
 The mouth of which appears to be a mix of
 Smug superiority
 I feel the urge to slap that damn grin onto the floor
 I settel for wrapping my lips around the subject.


The light is eclipsed
The fires of the world bowing before something greater
The light is in service of curves
Accents on a form
Highlights as told by nurturing nature
The curves round to the navel
the point B
A above, abreast of warm skin
C centered downward, the contents of which demand, order, compel me
The word wrapping itself around me
"Fall to you knees"
My decent is enthusiastic
"Raise your lips"
I pucker with vigor
I sing praises, recite contos, wrap my arms around my idol
Devoting my self to repeated climax.

Past Lives

Delusions of lifetimes
Half recalled hallucinations
The machinations of the former
The tyrannical king
Dashing bard
Exiled Prince
Treasured concubine
Intertwined Mingled and bended
In a manner between
The last breaths, I picture them
Romantic dreams of deeds done
Glory lost
Toxic passions flourished
The echoes of the moans
The groans
Eyes rolled back addicted throws
In this contemplation
My curiosity grows
How, I wonder
Will the next life
That pending splendor
Remember this former self?

Wednesday, February 13, 2013

This Month

She's such a nice lady
or perhaps maybe
Just a callous bitch
by which
I mean to say
Hello and hey
Could you or would you please
Not ruin my day
Rain on my parade
For you see, Ms. Lady, I'm on a crusade
A glorious escapade
righteous mission
Now, please
Pick a different position, pise or posture
Something nice and enticing, get flexible
I need you loose, just you know, fair warning
One you roll around, we're gonna fuck till the early morning.

Monday, January 7, 2013

Cyan Prince

My first glimps of him.
Tucked away in a room of strangers.
The hair was a beacon.
Perhapse it glowed
the halo just above
Hidden from my eyes
Reflected in the locks
Pulling my eyes to him.
Perhapse I should introduce myself?
I was introduced to the golden kid, and there
Listening to the shy tones of his voice
I saw something in him.
Hits of personality I'd discover later
Foreshadowing illuminated by his smile.
Or maybe I just liked the way he looked at me
Eyes inquisitive
Quite flattering.
And if indeed time and setting were merely options
If the stage could be changed.
I could see this young man, this bright eyes peach
This darling boy
As royal in room of nobels.
A gathering of merchant lords and honored intellectuals
Gather here today to trade wit and dry humor
The topic being the duldrums of life.
In the middles, flowing between conversations
Would be him, the Cyan Prince.
The gathering and pageantry his playground.
I, a man of purple persuasion
would still be drawn to his glow
And indeed our voices would paint a friendship
On the canvis we casually refer to as life.

Wednesday, January 2, 2013

Everchanging reflection

One morning I wake and see a boy I hate
His sad eyes reflecting back at me in the mirror
A dull, dim witted gaze scanning for direction
Under differ circumstances
If moments were replayable
Each with different chances
Someoutcomes sevens
Others snake eyes
I'd gut this kid in the mirror
For neck to thighs
Bath I his ashes, fresh from the kindling
Grind them
Make a pigment
Symbolic sentament
From this grey I'd color a mask
Wear it night, dance on the boys grave
Wake to find a new man in the mirror
This one handsome and strong
The curves of his chin witty and mysterious
His voice soothing and deep
I'd love his man till the end of my day
Bury myself in his grave, just an inch to the left.
I'd rise from the grave late that night
Walk home, go to bed delirious
Wake up the next morning and see the person I am
My reflection as mystery.