Help me
I have fallen into apathy.
The waves crash against the syllables of my repetition
Spoken like a clear crystal-
Reflected and yet translucent.
There is no sympathy,
Just shock-
Vibrating underneath my deflated tires.
It’s a game
To see how far you can jump
Without hurting yourself.
To waste time away from “reality”
By creating your own.
Sometimes I wonder if I close my eyes,
I will feel the meaning of it all.
But only darkness remains.

I’m sipping strength from a straw-
Welcome to the real world.

"When we die, these are the stories still on our lips. The stories we'll only tell strangers, someplace private in the padded cell of midnight. These important stories, we rehearse them for years in our head but never tell. These stories are ghosts, who bring people back from the dead. Just for a moment. For a visit. Every story is a ghost."

"Telling a story is how we digest what happens to us. It's how we digest our lives. Our experience.....You digest and absorb your life by turning it into stories,the same way this theater seems to digest people....Other events-the ones you can't digest-they poison you. Those worst parts of your life, those moments you can't talk about, they rot you from the inside out....But the stories that you can digest, that you can tell-you can take control of those past moments. You can shape them, craft them. Master them. And use them to your own good.
These are stories as important as food.
These are stories you can use to make people laugh or cry or sick. Or scared. To make people feel the way you felt. To help exhaust that past moments for them and for you. Until that moment is dead. Consumed. Digested. Absorbed.
It's how we can eat all the shit that happens"
-Chuck Palahuniuk "Haunted"

I’m standing in line

Waiting to sell my soul.

The signs says

Anything you want,

Cash or credit,

But lost souls not need apply.

As I turn my head

Conversation moves like

The whistles of a train stop.

Mouths and tongues

Smooth talk passers by,

Softly licking off

Candy buttons

Hidden between

The stripes of my shirt.

It’s a game

She says,

Opening the door.

Convince yourself

That a soul

Is worth much more.

There is something inside you.

Like a key hole of

Endless mystery

Spontaneously drifting through time

Waiting for me.

What takes me into this,

Dream.

This,

Fairytale.

Where will I be 20 years from now?

Still stuck between

The darkness and

The space?

The moments,

and the love.

Which I will never

Understand,

And never

Let go.

sometimes you will find yourself in a maze of opportunities
and nowhere to turn.
stuck like a weed
in a patch of beautiful red flowers
i am the thorn,
stuck betweeen the clashing
pom poms
yelling voices
and blues.

la la la la la
la la

an angel sings,
swooping over me
like a vulture.
shes smiling because like most,
she knows something i don't.
white feathers fall from the wings
slowly fading
reaching the ground
turning black.

my hands are tied
and once again i lay back in the maze.
eating dandilions
as the music stops.

im thinking of an angel
but all i hear is a million of people
whispering
which way to go.

"Change my future

Create my past"

Watch as

a needle is stitching memories

an embroidered path

between my thighs.

a doll's pain

is seen beneath me.

there is no blood

only chains of black beads

sprouting like veins.

My eyes close

trying not to feel

the heat raise up my body.

Like an earthquake

flushing flames,

i try and cradle the pain

pushing the branches towards the ground.

But i blossom inside.

like an arrow to the heart

bleeding butterflies.

The colors fade

into a hypnotizing glow.

Opening my eyes

i read the mark

left behind:

Change my future,

create my past.

"I thought I'd begin by reading a poem by Shakespeare, but then I thought, why should I? He never reads any of mine.."-mike milligan

"great minds think alike, and some great minds dont think at all"
-me

To my love:

i miss the way you turn me on,
how you always hug me when i come through the door,
when we cuddle to watch movies,
and how you love to hold my hand.

i miss the way you look at me,
how you always tell me how beautiful i am,
and the petty things we do that makes us feel silly.

i miss the late night phone calls,
the spontaneous things we do together,
and how you hold me when i cry.

i miss everything about you.

but, what i really miss
is him.
even if he didn't do anything for me
i would still love him
the way i do now.

I decided to resurrect this blog for poetry.
It's been edited, and now I will be posting more recent poetry.

i am nothing to you.

like a swollen lip

you will bite down upon.

gashing wounds

feel no pain

since the senses fail

within this pin cousin.

once more i am

stuck between the veins

pulsating muscle spasm

that twists your legs at night.

what drowns it out?

the screaming music

played inside the mind.

nothing hurts more than your silence

a bitter tasting symphony

with black violins

breaking strings upon

the drums of my ear.

have mercy on me

if i cant save myself

maybe i can at least

try and save you.

The dew drops

across a harmonious land.

freckles,

bounce against my skin

while lights flash

decoding signals

between the spaces

as my black eyes

eclipse the sun.

Why do we dream in black and white?

When the colors are so vivid.

my wasted imagination

view points are for people who don't care

about reality.

The smallest amount of time-

you can never have it all.

So like the rain

I too will fall,

into the moment.

no rhyme or rhythm

can explain

watching life.

Like I do.

Attack

the cadavar.

put together like a jigsaw puzzle.

Bitter Broken Bones

tied ever so neatly

brought together

like a bloody package of love

unprotected.

For the moment

damaged-

yet beautiful.

The eyes scream

like an opera,

A pale wedding dress

left to rot

in the back of the closet.

Velvet

softly stitched across the arms,

a mummified princess

who reins the living.

She fades

under the heat lamps

magnifying every mistake.

Always under inspection

there is nothing left to pick apart.

Maybe now that shes gone

we can see

how we are suppose to look.

Not to dream but awake

A smile so forgotten like the pages of the

dictionary that once you read them

each comes back to life as

animated teardrops-

it's always the same color

black as night falling

down, down, down,

like pearls from the ocean, a stream of

consciousness, where fish bob their heads for

imaginary apples in a

carnival of colors,

a twirling rainbow of confusion until,

you remember why you closed your eyes

not to dream but

awake from the nightmare.

Personality flaw

artificial love, like a “coin operated boy”

which knows exactly when you are going to cry.

A song, manufactured by the sighing of teenage girls,

repeat on the radio broadcast from his mouth.

The arms cling against your heart, as if trying to remove your soul.

The bold words on his chest read, “broken hearts can be mended”

which really means everything can be replaced,

When even love is bought and sold.

melt away the wax surface

arms like rings

wrap around the flame

which taunts them.

Pain

but not from the fire.

A circus tent of memories

charges like an elephant,

swallowing shapes-

pink fluffy clouds-

as dots

upon the sideshow's face.

Arms become weak

as shadows fall.

Dripping wax

dancing in the glare

of a crystal ball.

Pearls of wisdom

Drop like pages of the bible.

You cant refuse these words,

Likely advise for the weak hearted.

Lullabies swoon your face

As a child sings softly.

Altered stories,

Twisted fate,

Colliding effortlessly

Between ears

And eyes.

let confusion set in and get lost in the rain.

It's only a song

The swan

A gentle swan breaches her head

above the waters as we glide along

like a streaming wave,

A Fountain of hands

Spreading against the wind.

Who are we when our dreams fabricate?

Breaking away from the freedom of mind

To the chains-

Like stones paving the way

To the reality of brick.

Cold drops fall,

I feel frozen.

Pounding against the wall

Who is the swan?

An illusion

Or

A caged animal

a part of you

i can feel my heart stop
its a huge drop
down the stairs
hair flying
in a roller-coaster
maybe im dying.

a twitter,
tongue slips
and you cant remember why
my hands are shaking.
maybe it's a memory
that makes everything slow down.

it possessed me
this frustration
when im around you
the energy stops,
and i am lost
waiting for the snow to clear
the antenna to rise
and life-
to be normal again


time

we pass like the second hand
making marks into days
existence willing to make a mockery of us

time,
an idol we create
through persistence and perfection.

do you remember a moment with out time?
frustration gone
release...eternal?
or are we machines
syncronized to project
these ticks
and tocks.

like a car
we pass it all
not noticing each breath
thought or action.
were watching-
the clock..

wondering,
is it all wasted time?