The Point

What if I had the luxury in the complacency of mind?

What if I could simply step away from my point-of-view and stomp in the shoes of the less-active?

What if I could make decisions that will harm order?

What if I could dull my senses and shirk the responsibility of a seer?

What if I could remain calm and collective when I see people making wrong decisions?

What if I wasn’t taxed with knowing what is best for other people?

What gives me the fucking right to have the knowledge of knowing what’s best for other people?

What did I do to be cursed with such vigilance and then constantly involved with the unseeing?

Why does my spirit split when the one I love is being stripped from my tired hands by the stupidity of a million people?

Why do I have to deal with a million people…packed inside the little body that makes up my whole world?

Why am I fed eventual problems wrapped in chocolate and artificial sweetener?

Why do I do everything within my power to bolster the nature of special people, yet watch them devour me?

Why do I hold myself accountable for mistakes made by the women dragging me down with their wrongdoings?

Why do I stay..

Why do I continue to rationalize the irrational, of women, in an attempt to silence my screaming spirit? That spirit, soul, and mind warning me to warn them of what I can see before them.

Why doesn’t anyone listen?

Why doesn’t anyone listen?

Why can’t people see?

Why don’t people use common sense?

Why do people see the proof in my warnings, yet refuse to acknowledge the correctness when it deals with them personally?

Why do people need things to be ruined?

Why do people need pain?

Why do people fail people?

Why do people fail me?

Why are people selfish to the selfless and selfless to the selfish?

Why do people break people?

Why did God choose me to have this knowledge yet present me with blind people that refuse to learn?

What in the fuck is the point?

I fight…

Tiny Hum

I wonder if they can feel me…

Like really feel me crawling inside her chest when they hug her,

I wonder if they can feel the cold of the lingering ghost floating above her head,

I wonder if they’re afraid of shadows…

No, like REALLY afraid of shadows…running into until their hearts stop registering the motion,

I wonder if they can hear the tiny humming in her ear of me trying to keep it together,

Of me trying to keep us together,

Of me trying to keep her together.

I am here; there,

I am both with and without you,

I am both your kindest pain and your unexplained happiness,

I am both your strength in your muscles and the shortness in your breath,

I am always here; there,

I am always the solid ground beneath your feet and the unstable shelter above your brow,

You/I   are/am your biggest priority.

I wonder if they can feel my sweat when they kiss her on her cheek

That big screaming of me trying to keep me together

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.






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.


4 Days

Your suspension of belief,

Bring it,

I need no interference,

I can’t think,

With the gods staring down my back-

As I chisel a simple motif,

Into the dim lit-

Corridor who’s face shall shrink,

Once the entire setting goes black.

We need to walk again

Without ridicule,

Into the chest of your devil,

To subdue the pending threat-

You speak highly of.

I promise we are safe,

He cannot hear you here for he cannot reflect within himself,

We are his conscious now,

Let us steer the beast.


His demise, is your demise,

And your demise, is my demise,

So be light with your touch and pray we do not become the monster you hate.

Day 1.

I can hear his victim’s cries,

I can see the smirk, in the mirror, to which he sports,

Like a new do of sorts,

Staring his crush in her eyes,

He is not clean.

Day 2.

We fear to feed,

On his innards,

For we will truly be one,

We cannot munch on something he needs,

For all of true progress would be for none,

We must starve.

Day 3.

He hears us,

His breath hath changed,

She prays to gods,

I forget their names,

He is heartbreak,

And he is untamed,

He is unclean,

He is unashamed,

He is always new,

And never the same,

He is heartbreak,

I believe I’ve found his name.

Final Day.

His halls are black,

I cannot see, we cannot see,

The soul light lacks,

I cannot recognize myself you see, not at all in fact,

We are weak and broken, he is all intact,

She became him,

I became me,

…We cannot go back,

He stands tall and spits me out,

They become one,

He begins to sprout-

A new head from her scorn,

A new monster newborn,


I guess I’ve seemed to escape…

From what we all can relate.



Our Sanctuary

As the houses burn around us, we try to save our own. We build defenses of formidable measure to withstand the most perilous of onslaughts. We fortify our roofs with unbreakable ethics and stay true to our shelter. We stay away from our windows because they show us what we must do without; the pain and misery outside those doors deal great damage to our exposed exteriors. We craft our success to persevere through the fact of eventual failure.

We’ve pointed out spades of errors in the integrity of our fellowmen’s houses…we pledge not to make those same mistakes. I have one other, one other person in this bout of foul play, I stare my darling in her eyes as she set flames to our drapes boding slow death to our sanctuary, she was freezing and needed a heat my body could not provide. The chandeliers fall to the ground and burst into glass cutting chunks of fresh meet from my sensitive legs. I stare my darling in her eyes, I stare my darling in her eyes, I stare my darling…in her eyes as she promises forever…confounding reason with flames. I beg my beloved, who which has the power to remove, these flames from our haven, to not mimic the shortcomings of her friends, I beg my beloved to make eternal peace with her heart and not temporary splendors with her actions. I beg my beloved to think about her honor and truth, for these virtues can rebuild our home. I fear the weight of a vexing plight and allure of a false tomorrow may fill her lungs with that cinnamon smoke, and that is when…I will lose her.

If I Could

…grant her access to my mind with a roadmap of what rooms not to open-

I would pick her up by her perfect waist and place her at my doorway,

I would swear to my god that her experience would end in accord after her exclaiming me a prophet,

There would no longer need a reason to speak,

I would no longer have to give her a sneak peak through the window in the foyer,

Her body would bow, we would grow, and her heart would finally genuinely know,

What I mean by unconditional.


She would find her solution hanging from the fixtures,

She would see the potential of her future in the pictures,

She would be able to recognize the scent in the home,

And never ever have to question the reason why I fear being alone.

She would probably laugh at the clutter of yesterday’s expectations-

While running through the hallway in a fit of desperation to find my final declaration…the reason.


I feel she would search for weeks,

Body broken and heels weak,

Starring at her surroundings until she reaches a mirror and falls to her knees,

She, the reason, controls the pictures on the walls,

Controls the smell of the home,

Controls the complex fear of being alone,

With three simple words.


We would exit in peace fingers braided,

With forever a possibility again.

With Decision

I don’t want to be the reason she dies,
I would not be able to live with myself,
Two innocent souls, one transgression,
No, not again.

Vibrantly violent what I beheld,
What pain struck my chest,
What pain struck her chest,
It struck her worse,
It struck me best,
Relentlessly forced me to express-
My guilt for my actions impure…
While still unsure my complete intentions,
These actions, extensions-
Of what my subconscious would not release peacefully,
And as the mountain of disdain increased speedily,
I collapsed beneath its weight,
I broke her, and that is when I knew I could break,
Cold and still beyond the night,
Bursting into day,
My worries would come to stay,
Drag me to reality, and demand me to display-
My worst.

I would rue the next night’s coming,
Heart pounding outside my ribs,
To know I wouldn’t sleep,
Openly burdened by tribulations I couldn’t speak,
Dedicated self-hatred slander and slurs I couldn’t peep,
I would be the epitome of self-defeat,
Which means once I rose,
From the heaps of her I tried to dispose,
At a new nexus now with a decision only God knows.


I am afraid,

There is fear,

This told finally,

Outside of me,

Thoughts more gently,

There is fear,

There is shaking,

Me, nigh, near,

Brinks of concession,

I wield bodes of my collapse,

Some from heaven,

Some from hell,

None of now.

I fear empty rooms,

One mile into fading road,

Silver trees with block woods,

Black leaves,

Black would…engulf the waning light,

In eyes of me,

I fear axes held by powered me,

Beating grounds below,

With concrete cracks,

There is much much fear.

Mornings…within long days,

After merging nights,

That seem to bleed into mornings,

I fear the presence of no one,

When ends the ways of happiness,

Then goes compulsion into prosperity,

I am inert in active days,

I am work-shy within potential affluence,

I am the weight to my sailing ship, holes,

Isolation, the flooding waters,

Solitude killing healthy solidarity,

Quiet killing the noise of laughs,

Whole, broken halfs-

Forced…forced to make me,

Dragging my weakened body-

Through jagged split sticks,

Oozing veins, swollen arms,

I am afraid to be…

Outside of intimacy.