gates

are fences

frontiers to separate what

out of notice, focus

on the dangers lurking over there

speculation inflating the shades

at ease, floating far beneath

paranoia dissipates, cracking

a knock betrays hope

just as the rapids carry momentum

at length natural, brutal, just

frozen by the winter, accidental

changed to the fog, not quite meant to be

a road or so the bodies below show

bloated reminders that love alone

cannot cast away the spectres

further steps are missing. 

____________________________________________________________________________

"Something you’re missing made you who you were 

Because I’ve kept my distance, it just made it worse 

But I’ve learned to live with the way that it hurts"

 

to console a tantrum, sporadic like polen spread by devils

swinging arms and head to swat freedom, anxiety and bees

might as well dust the frenzy 'till the pace arrests the powers of

hindsight by tiredness alone and that I mean

it. Enabling acts of atrition to feel something as well.

nothing quite as final and that's a fine enough start

without finer details bitter at the stem

or stinging like booze on wounds.

 

just as the breeze carries your hopes and dreams

levitating, do not fixate on fiction little bird

for should you lean on lended spaces you too shall compromise

body for attriction soon to cushion stone and a new found reality

farther from betrayal is as vast and certain as the shoreline after the flood

for it must be what shall be whenever it comes to be

and that too, will, surely, pass

uncompromissing

of note is where, perhaps

choice

intervenes

a gaze sustains silence, bizarre

swaying your head to the beat,

the violence that discords a stomp from a gentle tap is a discord

demonized by a struggle we had to have in order to exist. 

 

achievement (the worse is yet to come)

I trust

you will do right

for me (be yourself, be free)

grime in the scale

a blockage

envicerating the trem

towards not blance

and therefore

purpose.

I hope (because how can I trust) 

not in the

stepping stone of a mistake

turning failure into a river

that powers the will

feeding both Ego and Mind

poisoning 

accidental, unplanned

a fruit of labour, never of love

lovers have one another

animals can lust too

 

democracy forged by hot mocca

for the love of god open the fucking door

why pray drum the shaman distain

should be it tried 'on'

surprise just be the same

individual highlights that could

if we do meet in hell father

I will kill you myself

 

not, in the miscalculation

of a spider weaving a

web of deceit

a trail of lies

at length cruel and predatory

at odds with incoming trails

clashes and colapses

like a eaving connection bends

roof to overhang and blood debt

lingers uninvited to my very funeral. 

 ____________________________________________________________________________________

I see blues and slipped veiled masks

all it took was a second of my time 

adulthood is realizing some are destined not to make it

and to tear oneself heart apart should you have sympathy:

be a monster after you do. 

what is the meaning in admiring Nature

and breath in the fragility of a sunrise

what good is the sadness swimming inside

empty and small

warm to navigate, heavy just the same.  

stirring the pot cannot dissipate poison

lingering shadows cast a grim scene

evident by the lack of saviours

no appeal for the whereabouts

nor guidance towards open gates

if there is a call it be demons and unspoken wrongs

 

what macabre fatality that one must break

in order to rebuild and heal one must tear thyself apart

to steal the opportunity from further harm in uncontrolled measures

by those that want to take more than they wish to partake

grey matter is no more my legacy than chances felt short

a miscalculation necessary to infuse colour to the Grey.  

growth can be unconfortable, untapped

question, is a mirror necessary to identify oneself?

how can one take stock without losing track

fading from realization to

the Grey stream: even in despair and contentment

a dangerous proposition to have just enough. 

tara

dear diary,

my teeth have not grown back,

nor have I grown taller

I now, firmly, believe not to be

in fact

a vampire:

for all the godness sake

master above,

my faith in the balance has shrank

just as true as retribution does not equalize

nor neutralize lose

so do the years go by-a-bye

never to return past the horizon

just short of the retine above the lapel

we are cursed to wield for eyes

soon to discard due to old age and above all

timely decay and the conseguence of our own darn decisions

praise be caffeine solely because other

stronger drugs reverberate in a seguence

that overwhelms my weak body

and the bones shook me into a frenzy followed by a panic

I found the courage to explore the haunted house

only to realize it was cursed instead,

I now fear very little from my lot

for the burden has diminished returns

and the interest has dried up

the beast has taken flight

leaving scar and carnage in its path

now contained to memory, a poor excuse for legacy

feeling tired, inviting change

lately, 

when I hear my heart

there is a disconnect in

the words I speak

a dangerous concoction inviting effigy that cannot replace 

the potential of the air we breath.

I attempt and fail, miserably, to reimagine the incantations and fantasies of yesteryear

as if the darkness that separates adulthood from childhood has itself been a spell

that now fails to draw from my uncleansed soul, 

at once taunting,

rejecting me.

 ____________________________________________________________________________

radio silence

food, cold

discarded

of wants and needs

we throw away plenty

and forget about

stubborn bruises

that simply

just do not heal

looking fatigated

of being asked

questions that seek

to undermine and dictate

the pace at which

the hand should

handshake happiness

to no alarms

nor my surprise

your mildly tilted head

serves little purpose 

to placate the Dawn

to deny the call

to turn a new page

gentle gazes 

will not quake

my silence

should judgement Day

arrive today

know, understand

the gates will await 

shine true and hold open

for the price

that, 

I have already paid. 

will it

into existance

a narrative better suited for a thriving tale

reflection heavy intend, a clash of stranger and danger

where the uncertaintainy of whether their feelings will swallow them whole

a nail biter bittersweet: unloved=discarded and left behind without regret nor help.

a triller chills the bones, waterboarding for sport

a sexual craving unleashed, vivid and breathtaking

literally.

I am deeply unsatisfied

I crave nurture all the fucking time

I feel compelled to interlace finger to neck

locking desire to waste

to come undone from under the sheepskin

the wolf wears to perform, daily, and bathe on the scent

of delightful pathetic display of plain nice gestures

like a doll in display stumble upon words and tangle with legislation

moral conduct and abdor villainy.

 in the dark the door remains locked

nevertheless the wall figures out the act

I swear it moves and shrinks, turns my stomach upside down

outwards and spills all matter of petty irrelevant secrets

 

I dont dance, I sway

a cunning negotiation with gravity and a pretense stab at self-control

a tangle between arm and leg sharing space

interchanging role whenever the fancy strikes low

ashore the fever lingers

the sea calls anew as the arriving comet trails ahead

the foretold eclipse, not quite a miracle but a spectacle nevertheless

demanding attention and serene pause, now at ease

a hybrid colapse of shoulders slanted

is it due to the burden of alongated days

or the birth of what's to come

have you spent the better of your justice days

learning to know someone pretty darn well?

I wish I could well leave myself alone

perhaps I am late to the party I was not invited to

but snuck in either way

not always the type to bite into ice-cream

but that last time it felt just right. 

they told me be patient, it gets better

on the verse

between a mother tongue and a recurse

of a bow meant to complement and finalize

at the command of a given pattern and key

erupting both crowds and actor

ablaze and nurturing for a given, precious, moment

a gas that can indulge, slowing tempo and blueish ways

settler of track and mood, ease of ache and oozer of pretense

I fear that fraternizing with stone and pretending it answers back

is not the golden era I hardly deserve but have attained nevertheless.

 

a fatal atraction is a thirst that can bury a body past the blow

the smoke inbetween and the multitude of questions that resonate here to there

humans dance in the web they call Life like they want to talk about it

half-awake navigating the streets, seekers of answers: sitting only to eat, fuck and sleep.

 

do we beat ourselves because we tire of this party we were destined to leave?

the apparition soothing my shoulders, whispering at the wind is a scarred brain

connecting the dots, cornering solutions

tripping on the veins underneath chasing higher highs

the volcano that birth my home island is not dead

merely asleep they said, head blown wide open

green all around, life abundant, no reason to leave

above ground the petty wickness of do thy dues

"You only drink the water 

When you think it's holy"

is this mortal shell a loan

finite bliss

might as well not retaliate and sit under the graceful sun

dancing to match my shadow's pace in

a mountain is where I feel less fragile and closer

to a familiar scent

not because I sought to conquer nor distance myself

in a parallel where a fall would leave no one left to tell

the demoness in my shoulder has not won this war of attrition

in a frenzy we are both dangling

in a dream

where everything is better. 

dark days

shell-shocked due to the arms wrapped, tightly, around me

what's there to say that can relinguish the down verse

a counter-spell cast to the nine winds

no longer an invitation to come along

a ratchet little thing, both wild and wrapped, tighly, around me

we are bound to meet again, intertwined akin to the fate of the drunk

and the canines that fell with age

silent like the cowards blessed with space at the funeral

dancing with boredom within

heart still beating not meaning much should you take a false step

no matter what you do, you cannot outrun neither karma or a bullet to the frame

the beaty of the truth is the freeflowing form

flexible enough to tolerate arms, wrapped around her ever so tighly

squish at a panic, scratching till ruby blood dances alive, majestic

magical fumes from underneath can only dumb you down momentarily

so I plea, I beg

hold me tight and keep your arms wrapped, tighly so fucking tight, around me

even if it's a dream

before my mind goes discards possibility

and refusing to see reason

chooses to awake to a new, darker day

where fire is both beacon and destroyer

and humanity is still filthy and unkind.

the frame in the wall

looks odd to me

it exists in tempus perpetum

like a comatose man wrapped in a blanket

hearing static on a broken radio, ocean by the window

a welcome rephree

betrayed by time, lovers and memory

happier in a dream where slowly I went nowhere in particular

under the vigil of an angel with a blurry face and a beatiful chant

the day I told about my imaginary friends was the day I put them to sleep

no substance can fill the void ripped on that forsaken day

echoes still like a vine tangled in the jungle tripping the arrogant explorer

now captive: a self-made victim

called the sirens myself, ready to start a fight

contrary to reason, wishing for pain

not satisfied by air alone, dreading setting the feet off the ground

hammer to stone, sculping a storm in order to kill the vibe

that somewhere along the reins has been swapped off my bleeding hands

under the guise of a lesson the seasons have come and gone

the architect of my own way out

not the strongest swimmer;

as a child I stood proud of my ever growing sheel collection

loving to play pretend, wishing for naught but laughter

as a moody angy teen the dark that terrified me nurtured me in silence and concealed me as it dragged me under the cloak of violence,

it was the knowing that my blood was the sea upon the ear drums that made me shatter my treasure and pride?

or a moment of lunacy, would I do it again?

was I hit the wall, swinging free once again

I meet a familiar pain and smile again confortable

understanding that everything ends but it does not need rushing

or a helping hand akin to the child that tangled on its own legs bruises the knee

firstly an uplift followed by cheering later on

one day that too will end.