Poetry

The fog 

May not be as strong 

As a beast with many claws

Or as persistent 

As a entity with limbs to long 

But it is foreboding 

It is isolation

It will tear your

Mind to shreds 

With it’s wispy tendrils

And whispered lies

You’re all broken, aren’t you? Thrown up to be such a mess

Created by humanity’s own painful wounds-machines

But there’s no such thing in this game of chess

For we are all under the control of their convenes

This lingering piece of metal in my chest is killing me

Squirming all around, eyes and lungs bleed

A virus infection? Ha! In the face of democracy!

Don’t play all dumb, they know what you see

Mesmerized by the illusions of reality, really?

This puppetry is nothing compared to this fantasy

So come with me in the fever dream, we can go as we please

Into this dreamland, a new beginning

The undefying truths behind the creeping shadows

Uncanny figures lurking behind, what vulgarity

Persisting in the ways through existence, non-believing

Always keep an eye on your sanity

One step closer, six steps behind, how awful is this illness combined?

Oh doctor, I cannot breathe for my mouth is covered by fake dignities

Tasting the red saliva crawling over my body

What a false fate lead into the misunderstood blind

Never remember the past of your mistakes, it’s all just a show anyways

Fixing the anchors to the dwelling holes that dig it up

Just bite into the dust and let the malice live its place

Let the light be turned into the dark and the empty cold stain its trace

They say “sorry” then erase, but would that really make any taste?

If we all go in their ways, unwilling to admit the lies we have all been chased

I would have never found the edge of the cliff if it wasn’t a straight line

It’s all just the end of redundancy to the bounds we all think is fine

Burn down all the distorted messages and witty marks

Disgusting blood spitting monsters eating their ways to abstraction

“Happy!” They all shout in the urges of destruction and violent sparks

A quiet endless loop of time remaining forever again

Relining on the unforgiving positions of delusion

What a hit straight from the gut of the ones we trust

Darling, wake up! Prepare for your unworthy execution!

As we all laugh down in the resistance of pretension

Utter whispers spoken without a single thought

A false democracy raised to its supremacy

“Goodbye” they said, raising their heads to the knot

Accepting their fates as mere desires in harmony

And the bolts on my hands are bleeding my lies

They are watching me burn with unwitty eyes

Shattering pieces of glass missing from my body

The metal has felt my head, it feels all foggy

In this twisted fantasy of a fever dream

We all fall down, a build of our memories

Chosen by the superiors above, I kill to please

As that is what I am made to be

Grinding gears like the lifeless machines

Used as tools to play along the puppetry

Oh but dear Mother, I am not sane

For my mind has been cut through my vein

Pills taken, life stolen, talking to others who are meaningless

Crows eat my lungs, they are all laughing down

Forsaken to dry as messed up nonsense

She was always wearing a red gown

Where they are ripping my skin off to satisfy my pain

Green, pink spilled around, a colorful boundary in a world of profound

Chew it all up, you’re almost there darling

Monochromatic systems was what all they hear as sound

Catch me if you can, buried under the fresh coat of paint

Imaginary lines digging deeper into my brain

Patterns emerge from what was forgotten above

A bittersweet taste, choked ahead in chains

Sing the lullaby of the unknown

Static dances around their vision of illusion

Let’s open up to see what is inside

Reckless facade from the breath of seclusion

The silver lining beneath the surface

Integrated to never be a purpose

Squirming worms sucking dirt and dust

Sacrificing their dignities to ashes of one’s trust

Fight to the death

Fight ‘till your last breath

Don’t wanna be trouble

People start to see double

No time to be a couple

They just want to see you struggle

You should pop their little bubble

Well, its the hunger games

No one is the same

As when they came

Dressed as a living flame

Living pain

No one will remain

It is a fight

No one ended up right

Deadly night

But despite

There is hope in sight

You can take flight

Everyone is making way

For the mockingjay

In my taste, the hunger of your sickness is my cure

The squirming fears in the hard shells of weaknesses

Why, I would savor the feeling all day

To eat your lungs, the blood inside it

I would want to lick my plate

The tender, sweet and sour of your brain

It’s quite an appetite, a 5-star rate

So let me in and devour you

Won’t hurt a little, it’s just a lot

I can see your tiny sanity just waiting to be burned

Maybe I can bite it nice and rot

The fake happiness you’re hiding

Will you give it all to me?

My favorite cuisine is your broken mind

I’ll feast on it in any degree

Oh, why would you dine on something so disgusting?

I would rather eat my own judgments

The best flavor is your consciousness,

It has all the painful ingredients

Let’s see what’s on the menu today

A tasty hurting memory, or a burning cliche

But wait, we need our condiments

So let us swallow your self-confidence!

The flame is rising, prepare out seasonings

Your luscious saliva is what I’m drinking for

Every inch and every muscle in your vein is mine

I’ll be sure to finish it one bite at a time

Heart and flesh, to carve it out in your chest

Ah, it makes such a nice parfait with a little touch of your fest

Have a taste, chew with haste, ‘cause I’m going to stab it all

The art of gluttony is to be served on a fresh plate

Satisfy my hunger, I cannot wait it any longer

For the blood is my mortal summary

Even if it puts me out my misery

Enjoy your meal, made out of preliminary

Maybe if

the world was made of sunshine and rainbows, you

wouldn’t be so grave, because you just can’t

seem to imagine a world without desolate tears and iron gripping fears; every fly

in the realm coming to swarm upon the continuous wars that we wage, then

coming to prey upon the weak, who have nowhere to run.

This isn’t reality, this is the shadows in you talking, so maybe if

you’d take deep breaths and bask in the sun, you

would recognize that wonderful things exist, because you can’t

tarry in the void of pessimism forever without being forced to run

into the haunts of the Nether where madness and ashes lie, then

falling deep into the dark well of self doubt, ending in a hobbling, pitiful walk.

Maybe if

you would remember that you matter, that you

are important and cherished by those who care, because can’t

you trust that you don’t need to be loved by all, only the ones who’d give you a proud walk?

You don’t need to smile all day long, then

hug every living being that comes within a 5 foot radius of you, bending down to crawl

to the wide eyed bunny rabbit cowering in the corner, but

I just want you to see what makes this world worth living in, because whatever

society throws at you,

you will always have people that care about you to help guide you forward, do

you understand? Because you

can do anything you set your mind to, because you have

the strength to 

keep pushing on, to keep breaking free from the prison you’ve locked yourself in, to keep

ridding yourself of those gloomy thoughts, to keep moving,

to a better place, because pessimism moves a step back, while realism moves two steps forward. 

“If you can’t fly then run, if you can’t run then walk, if you can’t walk then crawl, but whatever you do you have to keep moving forward.” - Martin Luther King Jr.

I can see the hate in their eyes.

The crowds cheered, their smiles malicious, watching me burn.

"I'm not a villain!" I cry, but do they listen?

They only see their heroes in shining golden armor, and me, the witch burning.

I was never the villain.

I only tried my best to make the world a better place.

Like how my mother taught me.

The government is corrupted!

Is it really my fault for trying to overthrow them?

"I'm not!" I wail, as the fire flickers closer.

Aren't they the villains for burning an innocent girl?

I had only tried my best to save our planet from our wicked rulers!

How do they not see that?

"Please stop," I whisper, and their so called heroes stared at me ruthlessly. 

"Villains must burn," they said. 

But who says that they're the heroes and I'm the villain?

Who says that I'm evil and they're good?

The crowd laughs and jeers as the fire climbs up my skirts.

Inhale all the love, the hope, the dreams.

Exhale all the jeers, the sneers, the constant

you're not good enough.

Inhale all the friendship, the ambition, the smiles.

Exhale all the hate, the scorn, the rage, the yells.

Close yourself to those who'd only insult you.

Open yourself to people who'd love and support you.

Be an icy shell to the haters.

Be a wonderful friend to those who deserve it.

Ignore those who shun you.

Love the ones who care.

Inhale all the love, the hope, the dreams.

Exhale all the ones who hate.

You sit there,

calmly on the oak made table top. 

You are a piece of white porcelain, covered in faded patterns of cats that once flashed with vibrant colors. 

Your handle is kind of chipped, and so is your rim. 

But I don't mind.

You've been with me for all these years,

and have never failed me yet.

Oh, mighty waterglass,

made of baked clay that once sat in someone's tired hard working hands.

Sculpted and polished somewhere perhaps halfway across the world.

Dearest waterglass, how I admire you so. 

You sit there, on the weathered mat, valiantly throughout the day.

Feeling no boredom at all. 

Oh, honored waterglass,

how I hope you never fall.

Winter.

The season of silence and death.

Frost coats the ground, dead grass in its wake.

Snow cloaks the world in a wonderland of white, settling on leafless branches and the tops of houses.

Many animals hibernate in caves underground.

Though still so many freeze to death.

Spring.

The season of renewal, the season of growth.

Buds of flowers unfurl, spreading their pastel petals.

Newborn baby birds chirp for their mothers.

Pollen floats throughout the air, sneezing and runny noses wherever it flies.

Newly sprouted grass peeks out of the dirt.

Summer.

The season of the peak and prime.

Flowers fall from the green leaved trees.

Crystal clear waves cascade upon the sandy shore.

The sun beams down, proud and shining.

Children laugh and play outside in the warmth.

Autumn.

The season of the dying, of change.

The colorful leaves, beautifully tragic in their fall.

Warm sweaters and the wind against faces.

Animals preparing to go to sleep, gathering nuts and seeds for their rest.

A calm, gentle aura surrounds the world.

The best time to cry is when it rains.

Feel the drops of liquid merge with your sorrowful tears,

feel yourself become part of this eternal cycle of

repeat, repeat, repeat. 

Evaporate, condense, and fall,

become a raindrop in the sea of other forms of water,

become together, 

because there is no I when it comes to rain. 

Raise your hands to the clouds above, 

feel the rain soak into your skin, 

cleanse yourself from your sorrow as you cry with the soft-hearted cloud giant above.

Listen to the rhythmic pitter-patter of the liquid diamonds that knock against your windows asking,

are you okay?

Watch them race against each other down your car window, running like horses in their pastures of freedom.

Free like you think you could never be.

Let these small beings comfort you when you cry.

Because you're not alone.

Imagine yourself as a droplet amongst the waves,

merging and falling together,

swaying and dancing onto the faces of the people below.

Imagine yourself as one of those people, translucent gems of liquid sliding down your face.

Rain doesn't feel heavy though.

They only seem to be lifting the burden of stress inflicted upon you.

Rain is all around us, on the brink of pouring everyday.

Like us, in a way, repressing our emotions until they all come flying out like a caged phoenix to freedom.

Trust me, we can't hold our emotions back. They'll break free anyways, despite anything we try.

Smell the unique scent of rebirth, of cleansing.

Of plants springing back up, renewed, replenished.

Of flowers gathering dew on their petals, satisfied.

So let the aroma trickle into your nose to inspire you to live your best life.

So taste the small droplets, so powerful together, melt into your tongue.

The essence of spring gliding down your fingertips. 

Rain can do anything. 

You can too. 

You're not alone.

Can you please go away, Self Doubt?

No. I will not.

Why not?

Because I will not.

Give me a logical reason at least. Why are you here?

Self Doubt is part of everyone. No one can escape me.

Did you just refer to yourself in the third person?

Do you have a problem with that? You do it all the time, afterall. Don't be a hypocrite.

Self Doubt, why are you still here? I've finished everything I need to. Everything important. Why are you still with me?

Self Doubt doesn't leave.

And you're still referring to yourself in the third person.

So are you.

Self Doubt, why do you haunt me so? In tournaments, in restaurants, and wherever people roam.

It's your own fault for being so timid.

Well, that's because of YOU!

Hey, I'm the only reason you haven't tried to convince your whole school that dragons exist.

Please go away now.

No.

Where nightmares sit awaiting,

For their twisted tales to be told,

To reap screams like ashen wheat from a field grown under smoke.

In their corners they lurk,

Suspect to nothing,

For now.

For darkened tinted skylight,

Under sky a bruised indigo.

Make a city of terrors for them to dwell.

Eyes everywhere, in need for a scare,

To shake a person’s skeleton. 

Fears in the dark, walk in to not see them,

But know that they can see you.

Oh take a cab through darkened streets of despair, abominations to the highest degree, traffic lights blinking their morse code message,

Tell horrors still yet to come.

This is where nightmares,

Sit awaiting, where there is no one to scare with their existence,

 no one to feed their frenzy never ending.

Into the dark familiarity of drafty paned windows overlooking the block from the attic, past dreams long gone, and hopes since swept beneath the rarely trodden carpet, left to rot with the mildew and cobwebs swept away by ages of dripping rainwater, lies a box,

One with its stains and dents, filing away decades, years preserved in paper 

and dust lined resin layers.

Memories bathed in rosewater the color of nostalgia and dry tears of joy, sadness, anguish perhaps. 

Ties cut back then have frayed at the edges, or been twisted back crudely to be torn yet again.

Count the dusks, storms, and winters since these lost images were placed here to be forgotten with all the trifles of old life, all the moments since those saved out of tender care.

Raise your eyes to the shelf, the cupboard of rosy chipped paint, sits the camera, now laden in layers of dust and cobwebs, 

a lens now scratched across the face.

Oh those many times back, back when the world was newer with a brightness lost with age,

and the dullness of normality.

Every one tells the tale of warmth, and closeness, of a yearning for the next that would soon be traded for a desperate want for the ‘once was’.

Back before the rosewater had evaporated like smoke, 

and those old days to blackened ash and soot.

When people ask how I’m doing, I say that I’m fine

That word ain’t worth a dime

I tell them I’m better

I’m just dead-er

This is my way of saying ‘I’m not ok.’

I wait until the day

That I know what ‘okay’ means

Surrounded with all these teens

They seem less scared

But nobody dared

To be truthful

It isn’t unusual

I submit these poems

To tell them all I have done is wandered

And squandered

All of my ‘lovely’ life

I need advice

I am trying my hardest to be okay

But they all try their hardest to stay

I want to find the light

But I’m never right

Sea, Sea, your mystical stare

Into the eyes of deep despair,

 Who could beat your roaring wave?

Or see through your gleaming cave

Wash over my legs 

In a distinct motion

Oh how I long,

For the love of the ocean

The sun sets on your skin

Like a blanket,

Yet so thin

The birds sing,

 In your chorus

We see your might

After light,

You fight the in a distant motion

Oh how I love the might of the ocean

When I think of red,

I think of the one

Who made me laugh,

They are not like the others.

When I think of orange,

I think of the one

Who made me smile

During the hard times.

When I think of yellow,

I think of the kind  and gentle

Ones who helped me.

The ones who taught me to love.

When I think of green,

I  think  of the tough ones.

The ones who I know love me,

Deep inside.

When I think of blue,

I think of the ones,

Who I could relate to

When I was down.

When I think of purple,

I think of the one

Who has done it all.

The one

Who has cried for me,

Laughed for me,

Loved for me,

Lived for me.

When I think of the rainbow,

I remember I’m not alone,

Somebody loves me.

Somebody cares.

That somebody would do anything for me.

And that’s a pot of gold

At the end of my rainbow.

I can’t get out.

I’m already knee deep.

Into the mess

I made.

I can’t take it back.

I’m already covered

In the mess

I made.

I can’t clean it up.

The words

Like permanent ink

Sinking into the carpet.

I can’t throw it away.

It follows me,

Like a lost dog

When fed.

I can’t run away.

It will catch me

And drag me back

Into the mess

I made.

Find your rose tinted shades,

What do you see?

A world without flaws, 

yet too far to reach.

One that we just let slip away,

Simply out of our desperate grasps.

Find your rose tinted shades,

Spectacles viewing a world lost to falling grains of sand in a broken hourglass,

Specks falling from the glass shards to the ground and below.

How many fell,

Lost below floor boards?

A pity perhaps.

Perhaps.

Perhaps things that are framed, left to the powers that might separate past from present,

Are better to be seen only through that lens, 

fuschia blotting out the flaws left in the picture,

Blur the ever too sharp lines.

Leave them perfect memories to cling to in ever so trying times;

In a world of gray-scale vision,

What is left of the color of nostalgia?

I’ll wait for that answer.

How

Can I feel so low

How

Can I feel so alone

How

When I am surrounded by friends and family

How

They say they I’m loved

How

Does this pain fit me like a glove

How

Do I feel like I have been shoved

Into the hard, hard world.

How

My mind has gotten numb

How

I feel kinda dumb

When you were a child

You were led to believe

Monsters were in the dark

You were deceived

You would hide from them

You were told that the monsters

Were zombies, vampires, or ghouls

But we were just fools

As we got older

We realized the monsters at night

Were only our own thoughts

You wish it could be monsters instead

But the monsters are thoughts

Thoughts can make you cry

Thoughts can make you not try

Thoughts can scare ya

Thoughts can hurt ya

Thoughts can kill ya

From the squirming veins in the blood of my chest

A delightful memory held to be resented

Forfeited before the flashing of my eyes

Let the light be transmitted with metal, presented

All the people smiling at the fake sacrifices

Unknowing the truth behind the burning words

The suffering is meant to be put on display

A dazzling show filled with fun and pain

Insides of my stomach are ripping apart

Where they died, they lived and torn their hearts

I see the angels singing heavenly up there

Maybe it’s time for me to prepare

Darling, can you eat me from my lungs?

Scattering bruises and messed up tongues

Make me from your own machines

Killed from humanity’s own figurines

If they were to fly up in the air

Breathless they were, unwilling to share

Brothers and sisters crushed on their heels

I say, how pathetic to be alive as they feels

Digging the rotten holes to the end of our cores

Delusions malfunctioning, bodies misbehaving

They will watch as puppets play on all fours

Mixed up to throw up and shut up all the deplores

A question without any answer or hesitation

Take me to the end of this monochromatic world

Wear your skin as it crawls all over your salvation

Shaking their heads, what a pitiful little girl

Unexposed to new sceneries within divine mythologies

Built with bolts and nuts and stained into dried paint

I’m unable to listen, but can hear your whining

The sickness is spreading, a virus of your plaint

Hello Mother, I’m taking my medicine

Breaking this chain to become their vicereine

Throw away the facts and the lies, you don’t need them

“Sorry” they say, but this stage was all just to condemn

If you weren’t here

I wouldn’t have

A shoulder to cry on

And lean on.

If you weren’t here

I wouldn’t go

To school everyday

And smile.

If you weren’t here

I would cry myself

A river

And I would swim away in the current.

If you weren’t here

I wouldn’t have a friend to rely on

To tell secrets to

To hug.

If you weren’t here

I wouldn’t get to laugh

Cry

Jump

Scream

Smile.

If you weren’t here

I wouldn’t be either.

Pain is having to change

For the benefit of others.

Pain is twisting yourself into knots

Like you’re a friendship bracelet.

Pain is being told to change

And change again.

Pain is not being accepted.

And pain is trying not to care.

But pain is always seeming to care.

So pain changes their face,

Changes their voice,

Changes their personality.

Pain is knowing it’s impossible

To please everyone.

And pain is doing it anyways.

You’re there

For me when

I need you most

You’re there 

For me when 

I stumble

Whether I’m

Sad

Mad or

Even

Glad

You’re here  to

Help me when

I need you

That’s just 

What you 

Do

If I’m having

A bad day

If I’m doing something

Hard

You’re there for 

Me

I’m there for

You when you

Need a friend

And when you 

Trip

I’m here for

You when you

Need to talk

We’re here for

Each other every

Day

When we’re 

Mad 

Sad or

Even 

Glad

You’re my

Friend

I’m 

Yours

And 

Together

We walk 

Through the

World

I look happy all the time

Sometimes people can’t tell if I’m crying

Sometimes people think I’m not trying

Sometimes the mask slips off

I say I’m not okay or that I’ve been better

They ask what I mean by that

I can’t tell them

I can’t even explain why I can’t

I just can’t

My life ain’t worth a dime

If people can’t tell if I’m lying

When I say that I’m okay

I might be a liar

The outcome of my life looks dire

I feel alone

I try to be kind

I try to be nice

I try to be fair

I try to be fun

I know I make life sound all happy

But I’m not happy, or even okay

People can be kind, but they don’t understand

Ever since the death

I cry every time I go to bed

I ask

To take off the mask

I get older and older

I age

But I feel like I’m in a cage

I’m all grown

They wish they could have known

That I’m all alone

People didn’t make you feel less alone

They didn’t make you want to pick up the phone

Friends are good

They could have made you feel understood

People could have been friends

They could have been people who didn’t just blindly follow trends

But it kinda depends

People couldn’t have made a differen

You just felt diffide

You didn’t get why the pain made it hard for you to sleep at night

Why the lights always seemed to be too bright

You weren’t alone

Being scared of the unknown

Having so many breakdowns

Remembering your time on the playgrounds

Being younger

Feeling no hunger

No pain

Less time spent feeling like you were going insane

You had thoughts that you knew would break your parent’s hearts

You threw darts

Gained smarts

But people didn’t prepare you for life

So you woke up and held that knife

You And Me

Nothing is easy

I try to see

I try to breathe

I try to hope

It's hard to not mope

I will still hope

You used to call me every day

Love me every way

You were my best friend

Now I don’t even know if you have a new boyfriend

You said that you were my ‘Best Friend Forever’

You can’t even endeavor

To message me back

What is it that I lack

Some days I find it hard to breathe

You make me want to seethe

And break down

She ain’t ever around

I feel like a clown

Kinda want to drown

Walking through the halls in Brown

She kept all her emotions in a diamond bottle. 

All of her fear, her anger, her sorrow, and her grief.

Sometimes the bottle would explode, but she'd piece it together as quickly as she could.

She'd make it stronger.

They say that you shouldn't cap your feelings like that.

They say that it's unhealthy and harmful.

But she thought it was better for her emotions to hurt herself rather than others.

She called her bottle her safety.

She called it the thing that made people not hate her.

She doesn't understand that it's okay to feel feelings.

She doesn't know that her safety is a prison.

Maybe that's why people forget about her so easily.

Because she's never cried or raged like a human being.

This is her diamond prison that she's keeping herself in.

Learn from her.

And break free of your own diamond walls.

How much value do you align with tears?

Miniature diamonds lost?

 What do you charge for your sadness?

For what are you willing to let them fall, though they come not from your wallet,

Nor pocket?

How much will you take, before crying?

Walls to face, and those who would stop you, before the diamonds would flow?

How much do you value your dignity before crisis? 

What do you charge for those diamonds, aquamarine to glassy white,

Edges serrated and tough as any other object to be?

What about a heart divides you from not, 

Person for whatever that might make the alternative.

Heart beat,

Perhaps.

Crimson and cerulean veins, building the ballad of an echo through, reverberating inside an entire being, one to know existence as a raw reality.

What about this mute pulse, makes humans?

Life from absence?

Whispers from a silent wind, carried on by words left long unsaid?

What in the sound of a heartbeat racing shatters past the defining lines and walls,

Of form and flesh?

More than a heart in an empty cavity, pulled back by tangled red wires?

Liquid glass, drips down from above, 

Run down streets layn under a sky grayed out to the distance,

Fog dances in the air, bringing with it the fresh scent of bronze leaves littering the ground,

Like flakes off a statue left to rust in the downpour.

Maybe what I like is the fog,

To separate and veil, like curtains of silver, cut by the beads of a spell of rain.

Let the next step join the mysteries,

 the unknowns to be lifted a second past.

Past into the rainy grey.

A surreal thing ‘bout the way that light filters through the smokey clouds,

Ashen as steel wool would be, 

with drifts of metallic strings off its form.

Stern above.

What you can’t see through the hue settled for a short while, over steeples, rooves,

Eclipse color to fade into the whites and grey, and through the running glass down past,

Something grounds down

 like that put-out lamp post on that corner where

no one

ever 

goes.

Brown brass foliage, make armor of the earth to shield from the pelting blows,

That may fall,

Down,

Down,

Down.

There once was a little girl who thought that if she stood in the biting cold long enough, she would never feel pain again.

Instead she got sick.

There once was a little girl who thought that if she endured the blazing sand for hours and hours, she would never feel hurt again.

Instead she got sunburns.

There once was a little girl who thought that if she could pinch herself hard enough, she would wake up in a world where she actually did something right.

Instead she made herself bleed.

There once was a little girl who splintered into a thousand pieces and taped herself together with false smiles and gritted teeth.

At least that's worked the way she wanted it to.

Wherever, whenever you hear,

The words won’t change,

Times overlapping, interconnected,

Maybe

The same.

“Miss you now, see you later.”

Later

maybe

Filed away on disks, 

cassettes with crude taped labels in a discolored yellow, 

Home movies, make good memories

Sharpened corners, hard plastic,

Rounded edges, duller grief.

Maybe left, 

scrawled,

Scratched 

out in my own abysmal markings,

Upon a notepad to see nowhere.

“Miss you now, see you later.”

see

See you

Take calls for your absence, mutterings to clear the air coarse with its tension ever growing.

Wait.

Wait up. 

Where ever

How ever

Whenever.

Ever.

You are.

Dog eared photos, tucked by tender veined hands of crimson and blue,

 beneath the flaps,

In ruined ink runny,

 smudged by time’s fingerprint.

A foggy bronze bronze fog,

Those wiser than I would call nostalgia.

Gained as a token of precise ticks taken by that grandfather clock above yours in the same aged light.

Watch my watch, what was the time?

What have I missed to find later,

To realize I missed,

Without the possibility to be reclaimed?

No?

“Miss you now, see you later.”

Now,

The world turns, but like a globe on an ever fixed stand,

Doesn’t move.

Read same chapters, same busted leather spine,

Worn to threads,

spindly.

Read till its message be sent.

“Miss you now, see you later.”

Wherever

You

R.

Dedicated to Rufino Laguio

After MLK, “Never Succumb to the temptation of bitterness” & “Let no man pull you so low as to hate him”

There those in blue, cool head headed beyond my own understanding; There is always one to Never

Ever take rage or hate in hand, allow their calmer spirit to ever, 

Succumb

To anger. Though let’s be frank, that’s not for everyone. I refer to

The ‘Hot headed’, carrying all those words those we hate, all the

Words that bait from one’s strained calmed state, all the rage triggers, litter the ground like a blistering minefield, wrath temptation

That by all that keeps one from burning up from the churning tides of 

Things that refuse to leave a temper to rest, we all hold bitterness.

Just let 

Go, yet no 

Rage is heated, for every man 

Or woman. Anger isn’t worth it, pull

Together and never look back, you

Cool off, so

Just keep temper low

relax as

rage builds pressure contained, to 

build up hate 

Makes one bound to explode, The fire isn’t worth that, not even at it, nor her, nor him.

Ice crystals, spindly arches make a cathedral of cold,

Tribute to the clouds, 

Crestfallen above as their frozen tears dribble down in quick flurries and gusts,

Carried long whiles by whispers of gibing wind,

Holding ivory branches, and jagged icicle points, perhaps to spite t

Dew drops , softer shape hued in a sapphire,

Beads off some string

 somewhere beyond where an eye could see,

A hand could touch.

Reach.

Far.

Harsh winter opens its door encrusted with icy gems,

Snowflakes with poles like frozen lumber,

Jingling small crystals like that of a glass chandelier.

An elegance yet cruelty as well to the castle of winter.

Double click the bulb,

The spring jingles in it’s little hollow nook,

Like a miniature silver bell. 

Switch the dull no.2 pencil,

Faded color,

Scratched up paint,

For a fun little splotch of vibrance,

Cross paper.

A little baby blue to the day,

The ink makes tangible the color of the brighter sky through a layer of glass.

Double click the bulb,

The spring jingles in it’s little hollow nook,

Like a miniature silver bell,

From inside my lucky blue pen.

Dreamscape,

Up to the horizon dancing with peach and cerulean,

Call with it a calm hum.

Words tend to escape me,

Elusive 

Maybe silence would be more worth it still.

Candy coated colors,

 pink like strawberry flavored puffs,

Red like a swirl of cherries valuable as rubies

Drifting through till

till

Sunset,

They would disappear.

Gone.

A sugary treat to the eyes,

Littered sparingly through clear blue skies.

I’m smiling.

Still.

Still smiling.

For now.

Still waiting,

With patience drawn thin like the string of a bow.

Thin to the thread.

Little left to go,

I suppose.

Smiling,

Still maybe,

Is it worth it?

Ha.

The handle is braced,

Arrow at the ready.

Just waiting to let go of that smile,

And let the arrow fly.

Not wanting to stay still,

Smiling.

Ventriloquy.

Hollowed eyes of wooden glances.

Puppet.

Pose and prod as you would,

It won’t turn.

Away.

.

Right?

A mannequin blank apart from what it is set to be

What purpose assigned to it by us,

For whatever purpose other than us.

Legs braced tight to a circular stand, forced down,

Limbs connected at mock joints.

Fake.

Bend as you will.

Would it care?

It would do as told, as put to do.

Right? 

He wanted to rest his weary feet.

But he couldn't.

He wanted to stop.

But couldn't.

"Please," he rasped to no one. "Please, let me go..."

One foot in front of the other. 

Again and again and again.

"My son," he wheezed, the sun blazing down on his straw hat. "He needs the cure..."

There is not answer. 

Not even a rustle of the wind.

"It's been years," the old man whispers on. "Years since I departed. I need..."

He tripped, sprawling across the dusty dirt road.

"I need him to be healed," the old man begged. "I need him to be safe again."

But there was no reply. 

So the old man got up again, hiking up the never-ending path, to the end of the world.

He never realized that he was just walking in circles.

In the darkest corners of the end of the mind

I feel it breaking, undefined

The static is overanalyzing my sanity

Why should it be a reality?

Eating the corpses of their faiths

They all fell at the end of their reigns

Oh, I know it’s nothing but it’s something

At least that’s how to make it die in flames

Screaming at the top of my lungs

Wishing that I can be undone

As I watched the poor be demolished

How pathetic society may be

Run away, but where are you going?

Hide away, don’t know why

There’s no way out or inside

They say they commit suicide

Feel your sins crawl upon you

Fill your heart with toxic burns

I’m sure it’s alright, it’s just a game

That’s when they all rip their desires

Oh, it’s just the fate of life

To be beheaded, uncertified

One’s work is never acknowledged

When it is made for the pain of mankind

What’s the cost of living?

Worthless accomplishments, unforgiving

Broken smiles, such a giving

I should be the one nonliving

Carefree about existence

They are living in a small world

Where time isn’t much of a difference

Pulling the strings that once curled

Here I am standing, tall but small

Cannot seen by mediocrity, not my fault

For I am always an idiot by default

It wasn’t my choice after all

The suffering feels like a burden

It’s not something I’m ashamed about either

I just want it to end one day

When the machine stops working in disarray

An infection of abnormal happiness

It’s spreading, such a torment I see

The resolution, the ending

Nothing I would like to have in my story

Taking a bite out of my own heart

Tastes like cockroaches and cotton candy

Cutting through the blood, pain and glory all around

Silently waiting under the daisies, my agony is profound