Sky

There are certain platitudes unfamiliar to the raging optimists,

With emotion, they dislocate their arms stretching their palms to dry sky,

Dripping eyes black spots, sun front, blue backdrops,

Go blind, go blind,

Won’t stop, can’t stop,

Staring,

Strict, a very strict bearing.

 

The sky forgets,

Believe the destination to which you would like your praises to reach is fixed,

Raving optimists,

The good still exists,

Good still persists,

What ever I am convinced-

Has taken ahold,

Raise my hands, burn my skin bold,

Burn my skin gold,

The story my sin told,

To me,

For me, to recognize my actions are free,

From me.

 

My fucking arms hurt,

My elbows pop,

My tilted neck’s sore,

Up, up and away,

One day, not too far from now,

My dedications will drift away until the sky cries back.

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Liquid Salt

There’s only people here,

7 perfumes, or caloans, I can’t tell,

Well “colognes”, I can’t spell,

Tear…tear gas,

Smells like armpits and fresh ass.

 

What are they covering up,

I think it runs a little deeper than body odor,

Maybe self-disappointment…the type facilitated by manipulative people,

The type we think simply goes away as we get older,

And then it doesn’t…so we invest in stay-away spray and cook in it in a social oven,

They’re spraying their lower spirit trying to convince the crowd that they’re approachable.

 

No air current, frozen as fear does us,

The metro railing providing a cool beat that takes us,

Just for a second,

Away from these metal cages,

The brakes hit, the metal rages,

Screeches, teaches us that we can trust our sense to judge our surroundings,

Paranoia binding our palms to the bars,

Around the cars the railroads wrap,

8 steel tunnels the rail cars trap,

Us within ourselves waving like meaty blades of grass,

Tear…tear gas,

Salty armpits and fresh ass consume my early morning.

 

 

 

 

Thaw

It would hurt me to see that sun I’ve run from for so long,

…cold heart, a burning back,

A burning lack of visibility of what dreams would occur if I bound myself to my happiness,

I used to fear being happy.,

Searching corridors and springing around corners for the next disappointment,

That time more personal, that time harsher,

I would tremble with my inability to accept the rapid upheaval of emotion unearthed from my tormented past,

I would keep myself attached to my twisted upbringing and spin out of control for months on end,

I would often fantasize about the glory in the end-

To the swinging pendulums beating at my ribs.

 

I used to scream when I needed to be heard,

Poisoning my statements instead of polishing my words,

Unwanted attention struck my tender back like loose lashes of slave whips,

With each crack, I would weep in mind,

Crying tears of thoughts my actions would rebuke.

 

I…had a golden sun holding an unloaded handgun to the back of my head,

It wasn’t the truth in death but the fear of dying dead,

That made me turn around.

 

Single One

Fickle the intrigues of single men leeching to she bodies for that sugary life support,

Draining the effects of those glass touches to which shatter on contact,

Four snipes of ungodly accurate dialogue from his unwanted guests would snatch his bloated ego from its hallowed throne,

The wandering species allergic to the purported arrests of undeniable commitment-

Flock among themselves to combat the uninvited hopeful,

Damn any woman willing to build an empire with only the sighs of my aspirations under the mumbles of my tongue; be damned myself.

Vibe

Amazing orchestrations,

The mixture of dimness and warm sound massage my chest in ways I will not be able to explain,

Sheet music and swinging strings give tangibility to my pain,

And defines the existence of my soul prancing around between my bones,

Power in quick silence and that luxury in sustained tone-

Are depictions already known but displayed in states never better shown to me,

I am imperfect in the presence of something great,

I am worthless, I am presence without weight,

Clinging to the perfect reflections of what these human hands make,

Those vibes, those vibrations to cause the soul to stop and mediate on what this reality can offer.

Afterlife

What I look for in my afterlife,

Does not involve immortality,

Does not involve resurrection,

Does not involve obvious impracticalities.

 

But involves different floors, different sections,

Dedicated to a specific time of my life,

I am a time traveler removing thorns from my side,

Giving sickness and sorrow to those who eventually would decide to be betray the generous nature of my character.

 

I would take a straw broom and sweep the path before my steps,

Brushing my ground while I  knowingly watch my body proceeded safely without harm.

I would watch me become…

What the world wouldn’t allow,

And spring from the unyielding darkness I wish I could now.

 

What I look for in my afterlife,

Does not involve immortality,

Does not involve resurrection,

Does not involve impossibilities,

But only a clear direction, reflection, and inspection of a past life I couldn’t live.

 

I wonder if I’m dead right now looking down on my past self but not really doing a good job at the sweeping, but that’s okay…I’ll eventually get it right.

Infection

I do not think I am prepared for an easy resolution,

I connect problems with complication,

I’ve come to learn that my overactive imagination creates numerous faulty half-assed solutions.

It’s simply misunderstood situations disguised as gut-wrenching plights having me staring at the jet black ceiling in the middle of the night-

Instead of sleeping,

Sometimes I can feel my irrational thoughts creeping up the side of my leg,

And digging holes in my not so whole bed,

I’ll lay on cottage cheese and wake up incomplete,

With the dumbass feeling of unfounded contrition for made up expectations I couldn’t meet.

 

I will wake and stare in the mirror counting the loose strands of my beard to get my mind off the issue,

I would then start picking at the hair, it would bleed a little but somehow get blood everywhere and then I’ll clean it up with toilet tissue,

If you’ve ever cleaned blood from white it does this smear thing that turns the sink pink,

but I left it and carried my virus to work in hopes of infecting my peers with this undefined thinking disease,

The “I can’t stop rapidly blinking disease”,

Like photo copying textbook pages of anxiety with every blink,

I will lasso my peers front heir high horses and they will crumble on the ground,

As I explain my dilemma and watch their smiles contort into frowns,

I am granting them fog and gifting them with confusion about hypothetical problems that technically don’t exist,

I give them a little kiss on their cheeks and send them on their way,

With life-siphoning information that’ll suck the joy right outta their day.

 

I am not required to ask for forgiveness for my actions,

Or their reactions to the stimulus,

I have a criminal’s mind plagued with paranoia and expectations of forever failure…when in fact, failure only takes up around 27 percent of my daily tasks,

If people would just…stop being complicated…I could respect simplicity, but people aren’t simple and I think endless disrespect humanity is disrespectful.