darling, it's 'bout time to break free of...

my fingertips ached from pressing insecurities
back into the pores they seethed from.
blanketed in self-loathing
my bed of despair
flared with the heat
of degradation.
indulgence in formidable actions
was a thing of the past
collecting dust in corners,
much like the self-portrait from a moment before
when i was encased in the frame of a better time.

glass, splinters and regrets
sat deeply embedded into the soles of my feet
so that this soul of defeat
grew weary in her march alongside gravity.
my face,
scathed from reality's surface,
bled of cowardice
and of the excuses i used to leave.
clotted long enough to let me witness
all of the things i would've seen
if only i had acknowledged
the indiscretions in honesty.

without a queen the locust swarm.

i could not call her beautiful
for she surpassed that
some months ago.
i think it was in the moment
her head pressed my chest,
how she embodied
the moon's glow.

we became shape shifters of covers
underneath them, on them and beyond
and
our skin colliding echoed promises,
mouths intermittently projecting
songs in tongue.

to whom do i owe this pleasure
of this endeavor
that we venture on?
when lips press to neck
within the concave
we can taste salt
eroding the wrong.

it was just a manner of speaking
but amidst moving limbs
no words were exchanged
as we tried to make the intangible
something we could gift to one another,
something to tame.

beautiful was saved for
those nights we fought
to create logic,
to physically implore.
as we continually tried
to surpass it;
discover the warmth of romance,
and of other bliss laden worlds.

how they fall apart.

exclusiveness is not permitted
when hearts are bestowed upon others.
in. she wants. in.
craves to know the thoughts.
what resides in the negative space
between the teeth
of the gears
churning inside of her.

felt the first sting of insecurity:
'but you beckoned me here
placed me between lovers
past, future, and present
it was beautiful then,
but my inadequacies are aching now.'

arbitrary actions
flirted intensely
with abstract words
and i watched the line
between anger and ignorance blur.
studied the way the fingers
on the hands of
conformity and
co-dependency
interlocked.
how thumbs hid
close between palms
clammy with
embarrassment
and doubt.

in the desecration of the wall
that guarded and supported
mending tissue,
i felt the twitching
between ribs
cast thick blood
that languished over
opportunities
yet to pass.

my eyes, they are small in size, but they see enormous things.

though such beauty should be
treasured,
you are not a trophy,
not some kind of ornament
to be adorned with.

you are a figure
with love and truth
embedded in the still dust
of her craters.
yr glowing image
stays present throughout the night -
pure and simple and dangerous.

i see now,
yr on fire.

the golden year.

i had written this
on the back of an envelope
that i had been meaning to send
and i must have been writing
with a brokenhearted pen
because each word i wrote bled heavy
into the papers within.

encompassed by the feeling of solitude
brought about by silent receivers,
microphones held cold
while they listened
from lack of breath
from human speakers.

felt the shifting of plates
in my head
as it formulated
and twirled
the day that i knew
i was no longer yr world.

and i suppose all of the miles
combine and multiply
as moments becomes whiles
and even threads of adoration wear thin
when happiness is prolonged solely by denial.

reality hits hard
when she throws
amicable forms yr way.
and its in the twinges that run through you
to her quivering thighs
where temptations aid sweetly
to morality's decay -
so that when she asks me to stay
i'll know of no other way.

and in exploration
of uncharted territories
i'll be saddened
more than ever before
as it'll be the day that i'll know
you are no longer my world.

"where waves caress unstable egos

where melody is completely swallowed."


rest is not found
in the threshold of sleep
in the stories of dreams
nor in the counting of sheep.

strength is not found
in the voices of the meek
in the spine of the decrepit
nor in calloused hands and feet.

trust is not found
in feigned courage of the weak
in the birth of a daughter
nor in the heartaches i bleed.
and bleed.
and bleed.

beauty is not found
in wet imprints of kisses on cheeks
in the sanctity of promises
nor in the love languages we speak.

sacrifice, i found, resides
in the bruises my ego keeps
in my lover's judging gaze
and the reciprocity of the moon and sea.

godspeed she said
for the moments you still breathe
godspeed i said
for these moments where i still breathe.

the alchemist.

last night i dreamt of you
and of the way we sat.
the way the crook in yr collarbone
delicately cradled shadows cast
by the lamp's dim light.

yr fingers rode the beat
of the melody
lingering in the background
and my heart held the rhythm
of this musical affair.
yr head swayed with ease
and yr eyes held closed.
yr mouth opened
as a smile
spread across yr face.

it was in this state
where the unconscious bestows
reality
with pleasure-laden discrepancies
that i wondered
what is it that we search for
in space and other realms
when all encounters, otherworldly,
can be found
on our mother's surface.

lonely isn't a strong enough adjective.

the red of my blood holds thick,
runs with passions of our encounters
and desires for future ones.
the ache emanating between ribs
spoke of unwarranted good byes
and tears seethed with longing
as fingers dug deep
for the sake of holding onto something tangible.

in the moment
that she passed by me
recollections of our glorious times flashed
and i watched the last hold tight
to the small of her back
as she merged into the distance.

"the mind is its own place

and, in itself, can make heaven of hell, a hell of heaven."


i fell in love
with her more
for the spit that
we traded during arguments
than the spit swapped
between ill-equipped lips.

affection of this nature
is nurtured by
my inadequacies
and her frustration.
a manipulation of silence
pushes incriminating truths
past harboring eyelids
and i was left cradled
in the arms
of the night.

i love her more today
though she drifts
far from my shores.
swallowed by the horizon
in the same fashion
i swallowed her.
if the warden were to deliver
a pardon today
and on our island
she would remain
then i would love her deeper
than the abyss
that is found within
romantic decay.

gore's my harbinger, pardon the art of war.

she doesn't beckon
and i don't come
cause pursuit
is a loaded gun
and desire...
she is known
for being trigger happy.

"i hear in my mind all of these voices

and it breaks my heart."


the morning air
slides through
small openings in windows
bearing stories
caught loosely
between the strands
of her unkempt hair.

how else does one wear such honesty?

her perfection lies
in awakening
dream-intoxicated bodies
and reminding their
ill-maintained minds
which images
were a result of
random neurons firing,
and which were from
the recollections
of verbal irreverence
of times before.

"and i'll live without you, love, but...

what good is one glove without the other?"



etched in the memory
of promises,
i promise this,
forever i am to remain
a captive of yr heart.

across waters
words, beats,
and broken blood vessels,
i discovered you,
in that instant
knew
eyes as dismal as those
could only burn true.

immersing myself in yr skin
i'm just looking for a way,
any way,
to be allowed in.

so i place a kiss here
whisper appreciation in yr ear
mouth between there
pull down at the back of yr hair
search for answers
in the depth of yr stare.

you have me
can destroy me
make me another one
of yr romantic war casualties
and this purple heart,
this black, blue, purple heart
i'll bear
in yr name.
i understand that the
consequences of pleasure
are marred
by those of pain.

i need you
will bleed of you
for you
until you decide you are through
a feeling not so familiar
but the story isn't new
just a romantic dance,
it plays beautiful and true
but as the music comes to an end
witness lovers turn friends
and admire as the sacred notion of love
remains
through and through.

soon i'll be left
with just these memories
to watch me
as i sleep
these captivating apparitions
haunting
my nondescript thoughts.

"before i die, didn't we say one day?

maybe not, did we say one day?"


this poet
finds inspiration
at the bottom of glasses,
burning on ends of unfiltered truths
through desecration
self-deprecation
silence
whimpers

pent up tears
hit the barricade
overflow
they run so thick
that the salt weighs heavy
at ends of eyelashes
holds eyes shut
they taste of the ocean
more specifically
of its debris

alcohol infused concoctions
remove roadblocks
to scarred gray matter
and she's left
to stumble through tribulations
and trip past the gore
of previous encounters

encore?

adoration best enjoyed in moderation
but how does one find pleasure
in being mediocre?

burdens bear heavy
she was not born with that
slouch
in her shoulders
but the guilt of situations
are to be paid in large denominations
even if they are not her own

the wilderness in her gaze
leaves her heart uninhabited
it's not worthy
of exploration
of discovery

i know not of what i speak. i am me, i am meek.

pushing on her.
pushing from her.
they struggle,
but the movement is not of fight.
it's of passion
of devotion
of the right
for permission
to explore
delicate crevices, to mesh
flesh upon flesh.

leaving saliva-heavy trails
tongues move across
stomachs like snails
and traverse through
skin covered
valleys and hills
as they form with each inhale
and exhale.

and the sounds reign ominous
like thunder and her clouds
shadowing and looming
in the midst
hear every boom and hiss
with the bass of each kiss.
and it's to this
rhythm is formed;
watch the movement of hips.

the scent hangs heavy.
molecules combine
creating a fragrance of two
though it bears a single mind.
under microscopes you'll find
the flurry of atoms
that love forces to intertwine
creating the spark that sends shivers
up unsuspecting spines.

the decrescendo of this symphonic interaction
of two hearts
beating in a carnal fashion
is simply fact
that
the coaxing of a simple glare
yields infinite power
and can entice a lifelong affair.
and it is there
where
you'll find slender fingers dancing through
tangled hair.
and everywhere.
and everywhere.
and everywhere.

dreamers always chase, but never get it.

afraid of what happens next

my gut wrenches in anticipation.
i feel embarrassed at the thought of you
thinking of me.
if there was anything i was ever good for
it's been intelligible humor.
pristine opportunities
jaded by lessons of respect.
we're not allowed to commit these inaccuracies
as we're engaged in others.
misguided contact
i read too deep in the shallowest of prose.
inquiring for a symphony for which i could orchestrate
my mundane thoughts and feelings.
my confidence is as unappealing and as infrequent
as compliments received.
i apologize for being invasive.

"one day you'll happen upon my name in the obits...

and you'll remember this moment when we were so close."


her lips droop and eyes hide.
her body lies there,
but its fraility exudes truth.
look at her, out of breath,
all around me.

a little closer.
hearts dance to a corresponding beat.
a calculated kiss,
to balance the spontaneity
of wandering hands.

our extremeties tangle.
her legs around me,
unable to breathe.
there's no reason to;
now's not the time for that.

my mind's made up.

an encompassing attraction.
i feel your presence
inundating my thoughts and ideas.
my mind embarks...
meandering between lines of beauty and illusion
to find out who you are.
your desires.
your faults.
your humility.
to know if i can bring resolution to the things which ail you.

while gazing at your portrait
i swam in the murky waters of your lukewarm brown eyes,
found safety on the island of onyx in its core
and questioned the art of formulating emotions.

is it your scent that i wish to send my senses into rapture,
for your fingers to raise trails of goosebumps along my arms,
or to be reassured after ill thinking by the sound of your voice?

in any situation
which lays compromised by uncertainty
and circumscribed by unknown motives,
i ask for nothing less than to befriend you
and catch shooting stars
on the off chance
that one will grant our wish
so that you won't have to wonder
and i won't have to plead.

equilibrium inebriated.

"i've got a sickness, it feels like love
it's not contagious, take off the gloves.
drop your defenses, apply a coat of perfect,
i'll form the sentences, you try to interpret."



my devotion to her lined the tips of my fingers,
and formed small welts of involuntary commitment
as i dug them into the small of her back.
the alarm clock's iridescent glow of bloodshot red
caught reflection in a small bead of sweat
that grazed the corner of her right eye.
crying blood; romanticizing of tears.

her beautiful.
a kind of beautiful that completely masters the mind.
captivates it in such an essence
that there lies a void for the most profound words.
an absence so rich and incriminating,
that the mouthing of 'fuck' causes hairs on the back of my neck to rise
in the formulation of a standing ovation
that only symphony no. 9 in d minor once held priority to.

sounds of approval hang in the air.
the treble clefs of passion tangle around the bars
of the bedsheet music.
there is a rhythm in our movement
and i orchestrate her chrous,
with gentle, affirmative,
precision based hands.

ever wanted to know what its like
to be out of body?
its that moment of transcending past physicality
and feeling your heartbeat
pushing your blood
through her veins.
hearing your sighs and labored breathing
rush past her lips.
sharing the same moment of release
in the arching of her back.

now i could simplify this all for you,
but anything more simple than this
would be far too complex.

grief and praise.

this is my new poetry blog. enjoy!


be sure to check out my film blog (http://aboutherfilms.blogspot.com) as well!


"the aim of the dreamer,
after all,
is merely to go on dreaming
and not to be molested
by the world.
her dreams are her protection
against the world.
but the aims of life are antithetical
to those of the dreamer,
and the teeth of the world are sharp."

-Another Country