quinta-feira, 18 de abril de 2024

slow on the figuring it out phase

a phrase to inspire, a dead given riot

alarming motivating a whipping is

a bloody mess that soups up by the spoon

a bowl to covet the driving seat

the throne of kings and queens,

a mercy those beneath despair for

down below underground screams

go unheard and forgotten

lost souls to the pyre

dark clouds absorb my guiding light

hard to tell off trees from walls

in this modern existance of spectrums

the countdown to the end of despair is nay or so

the carrot strings me along, in promise and hope

a betrayal of sorts this existance of possibilities

as if owed anything discountent seeps on me skin

my bones, my mind, my soul.

in shambles and hurt

acting out of bounds, for duty binds us to the path

forcefully, do the right thing

expecting others to follow suit in lament

gift us all that we need despite it colapsing the house

we built slowly, manually, in past times of hipnotizing glares

the lent is twisted, feels like the jade has grown dull

to the experienced eye.

to rebuild anew takes a sense of wonder

astray my stars aline in wander instead. 

sexta-feira, 5 de abril de 2024

a wicked thing this

there, a last resort

an exchange of glares, held poorly

hand over the other, mismatch

in tone, shape, colour

as sweat invades the soleem dryness

of skin and awkwardness second to that one

within

ribbons and empty nests

the mating call has seized the essence

of being out of time.

 

I recall being made by fever, a glaring siren

and being full of shit.

needle in the bum, kicked a nurse in the chin and swore to do it again

my childhood is full of spurts of blurs and sirens

a dragged fairytale gone astray, cigarette and whole before anyone relevant took notice

from the sea of stars we step atop the cars the future heads at speed

no stops, no trades, no firsts only last calls and bottoms up your turn.

 

you know you are boring when every song tastes like the last

because they are the only and same

constant nagging voice in the mirror

only you have no mirror the room is dark and you jumped off the window

an encased, lodged really, glass atop the nose caters to the window like a pendulum

blood drifts, filling the space

if I am born but am not told where to go

where should I dive towards in this imperfection ocean of souls. 


the duality of knowing how unwell ecstasy may crumble

remnants of perception interjected inference that the Moon lays not still

but distance irregardless of the evil eye cast away without need for a sacrifice

may the virgins live another day.

quinta-feira, 14 de março de 2024

a bonfire is a entanglement cut loose

loath consumed experience partakes of a dislocated jaw

pull my finger, sliced it off the bone

remove my eyes glued tight,

chanced acid interactions with the holy book

my word is no good.

but the way I tremble, giggle and stare

got gotten by a hook, open veins

overdosed on ether

all gone in empty seconds, all good.

a flood cannot be contained by the sand, alone

nor mere taunts from an umbrella a true tried test

the rage of the rising tide a chokehold.

putrid, beyond reparations

no console in broken walls

mold steals health, token purpose, put it to sleep

predictable sadness is just as dense

as the certainty of dust to settle

from compression do precious diamonds originate

but so do bread crumbs and bruises.

in a friend we rebuild a better memory as

a shoulder steadfast holds the tide,

allow the flood to run its due course

far more travelled roads have caused more experienced better men

to go amiss 

little use is what I learn, give, distribute and facilitate

at wonderfall, wonderlust, no wonder eh.  

play therapy friend

is a wonderful thing indeed

(if we are born able to swim

how can I drown

least I forget and pretend to be

indifferent and make a mess(y)

adults hate it (in truth it isn't worthy to recall atributes that may find no use)

ignite the phosphorus to ignite the torch, the symbol of finding the answer.

solely the earthlinked gods are violence (nor)* do they grow less greedy, gressy and petty in man bled Eden. 

terça-feira, 27 de fevereiro de 2024

the wax crumbling off my ear is not remedy but ash off my soul.

It came to me in a dream

to me, it came (in a dream)

a Dream came To me Translucent in A carps Scale

in fairness not a lively bunch

the dream cloudy and blurry, now and then (perhaps) to the dreamer

a call(going), a summoning, a lovers serenate, a sight of the divine to turn us On

a blasphemy in need of statement before I burn in the cross an innocent man (in yearning earning rev)

the bones a product of burden in need of dusting (off)

co-product of a missionary that lost his faith

if I dream often I do not indeed recall, much.

if at all but, and, iF, If, IF........................................................................................................................

Compile indecision like the indecency of a pile of cadavers up the road traveller

in an open grave outside the gates on Judgement Day we too shall castaway, adrift, 

still hopeful for a taste, weeping, a trail damp in the face of

a starving man is desperate

peckish men are petty and calculative

in what devious ways to get away with just a bite for a snack

trivialized taste, peaceful easier times adrift

where prey moves slowly and means little

leaving narrow chances to swallow whole those that escape the fire

a class act endeavor

now endearing, then at terms grim, backs turned.

if I give it all up and take nothing

what will the fire purify?

in the bonfire I fell, victim of a prank

immerging unscathed, spared, triumphant:

megalomania is a state of mental illness

and I am thefore very fucking sick.

terça-feira, 20 de fevereiro de 2024

Panic (all aboard)

roguish smile, mercenary employee on the take

of both sides, equally distrusting of dreams and

narrow escapes in alleyways and turncoats

prime reason why he turned round the bend

(at)least the explosion and the process took him first.

 

a bad omen sour milk, memories of pain and going too far

I once told my mother if the Moon was made of cheese I would surely take a bite

but give her an equal part and with the rest of my bounty replace

the poor hunger with renewed energy to try to discover splendor

the silliness and boldness of youth puts a smile on my face

taking me away from darker places,

in innocence and raw curiosity unsuppressed  we put the Lord good work

even those that come from nothing can pursue the finer lines

in the business of wealth controversy makes for a great alibi

the disguise balancing the books opens no room for concessions

if to hell I must go my eyelids I must burn so as to testify

in what I see, entirely, in absolute distain to the sensibilities that attempt to cut above

the rest as if the bottom line does not sustain the weight of the imperative rule

and that shit is just one step too far past the limit. 


they make friendship navigate the counted seas, aknowleging a shared ownership of what we barely understood 

can relay loneliness by means of struggle ("a shoulder is better than a knot")

whoever can relate? or not

in time of need a friend is precious indeed,

just as salt conserves the flesh and amplifies the pain in the wound

so do fleeting words escaping from the chasm of unfortunate unplanned events

such as words we put no weight upon nor give much thought

for truth be told it matters not what, who, why, whenever it may come to be

we do be wrestling with being misundersood at best of times

irregardless of creed, want or action

proactive or otherwise walled by choice.

spoiled by desire I suppose.

do all plans meow as feral as the neighborhood cats in season?

spring is the blossoming season and for need of change

we pit brother against mother and hope they both fall deeper than the point of salvation

for confronting the result dissolves both resolve and unsolved guilt trips hipnotized otherwise,

just as well the pitfalls are plenty and the wine has run dry after bitter and stale; That is not a metaphor.

terça-feira, 13 de fevereiro de 2024

M.A.D

being purposely unconfortable is a game (to me)

it provides reasoning (artificial) but the rain and danger

are very much real and these tribulations

may they rain firm on me, confort me dearly.

chancing it hook by crook, each lie a seed to sow disaster and seal my fate:

may a wolf carve my skin and crow reject my flesh afterwards

in the rules the outcome is unimportant and the winner an afterthought

glasses a forbidden item for vision and clarity

take away from the meaning and ideals

in this too rain is the superior element

a pleasure to meet you, that much is certain

weathered by circunstance, some call it fate

denying actions that drove them to darker shores

where good men have gone lost and yet

I was not good to start with. 

I was born by accident, late and broken

imperfect and unurtured, unable to breath

man was not made to be sustained by machine

civilization has denied me natural selection

evolution without reason is not paradise

I believe I was saved by a guardian angel

and I have the impression I saw her before,

and the empthiness of having seen her leave

only extends my angish and desire

only in the ocean I feel safe

in the weightlessness of a receiving wave

do my arms feel content and under no duress

water does not bite nor burn

in the scent of salt I feel reset and free

content, I feel returned to Eden.

Today I had a dream, no, a Vision

a callback, a memory reborn, found, returned

I saw, met, by chance, waiting for me

a friend, once lost, do my eyes decieve me or did my faith grown back?

have I gone mad? why do I sing to the rain, the droplets echoes of a childhood summer fever in grief

in the wrong month, wrong time, mismanaged accidental foggy spaces

no one told me where to go so I suppose I stumbled

upon a deep dive in the bottom of an ocean

that does not push forward, whose receding waves and low tide

confirm a link that familiar can only, truly, be a projection, a blur, a clock gone full circle.

never mind, the pyre spare no fools and smoke travels higher than my desires. 

polishing my nails (what remains spared by teeth)

what is love but a social construct

a divine mandate

and oblivion incarnate

 

a painkiller numbing the hip caved in,

the nag in my shoulder and soul

the snake coiled around my throat and tongue

above all, the mistress on my brow raising waves and doubt

itchy irritating tick on my eye lids, stoic stature of held nerve

or blurry visions of words exchanged,

hipnotic rain and touch dissolving (acid or acidic cup of coffee that haunts the moon,

a danger reflected in sound of promises certain to gut you like a dog, smarter than humans

they can smell the wrong in you and me, of that I am certain darling.


a war whose soldiers surrender

is a given,

music the evolution and feeling

a mutual agreement meant to grow

and go blunt by wear and chapter

living history, family binded and made alike


to give, willingly time is the ultimate currency

a fable that Does sound too good not to abdicate of Grace


does a candle now used, now extinct

severed by lack of head, no teeth nor sleep

for things cannot breath and that irritates me (deeply)

as stone trembles but holds, firm

my life does not in fact come tumpling down that mountain nor cliff (what a shame really)

the rope steady, my friend hands trusthworthy and we

yes, We perservere.

despite setbacks and minor hearty felt burns.

 

 these memories are all I got left

they brought me here to this moment

through raw faith they conceded me passions so I might burn brighter in those instances

so as to immolate through an uncaring frail state. 

 

I developed a coping superpower years ago when the hurt got too heavy to carry

and fearful my void calling to dive right in would stragle me into my grave

I managed to alleviate the outbursts by navigating the page, looking the other way

"But that's okay, I guess today I'll care a little less."

and I truly do, 

for as long as we do not interlock eyes you do not exist, stored away for a rainy stormy day

I do not look pensative friends, you have been fooled

I am meditating on the void:

all nothingness, always empty.

 

if they remember me, I won't be spared 

what a disaster, the hand that made it broke

in need of mediating investing in myself,

I wish you would be

happy,

everlasting after.