I wish for a shallow heart

Songs should make no sense
If they do then pain is the price.
Choice shouldn’t be an option when you’re on the fence
Falling either way according to Fate’s pretence.

Depth is the price your pay for height
Darkness is the price you pay for the light

Ridges on your fingers are the price you pay for grip.
Nakedness is the price you pay when you strip.

Feeling is the price for knowing
Ignorance is the price you pay for existing.

Loving is the price you pay for possessing a heart
Memories are the price you pay when love departs.

A consciousness is the price you pay for your actions.
Choice is the price you pay for your decisions.

Falling is the price you pay for picking yourself up.
Your childhood is the price you pay for growing up.

Forgetting is the price you pay for peace.
Captivity is the price you pay for release.

Rhyme is the price you pay for your poetry.
Pretence is the price you pay for your flattery.

Sin is the price you pay for enjoying
Breathing is the price you pay for living.

Excess is the price you pay for less.
Your birth is just a price you pay for Death.

illusion

The curl of his hair
Distracts me so.

The curl of his hair
Not my friend, but my foe.

The curl of his hair
Like the dent of my hips.

The curl of his hair
Like the smile of my lips.

The curl of his hair
Caused the tear in my eye.

The curl of his hair
Like the breath in my sigh.

The curl of his hair
Haunts my waking hours.

The curl of his hair
Lights the garden of my Thought Flowers.

The curl of his hair
Arrests my stare.

The curl of his hair
Was never really there.

I am...

I am Invictus...
I am the one who crawled through five miles of filth and came out clean the other end.
I am the one who's venerated and despised.
I am the one who is child and mother.
I am the one you hate, yet choose to love.
I am the cruel mistress and the doting wife.
I am your Shame, I am your Pride.
I treat you like you were a mote of dust, I hold you in my arms as though my life depended on you.
I am the one who abandons you, and in doing so abandons herself.
I am the one who seeks for you in her dreams, and shuns you by day.

I am the one who can trace every rise and fall of you body.
I am the one that flogs you.
I am the one that makes love to you and hurts you.
I am the blood in your wound.
I am the opium that heals you.
I am the one who gives you life.
I am the one who breaths death into you.
I am Isis and Osiris.
I am Ra...
I am just a Blink in an Eternal Eye.
I am...................

exhale...

The sound of the paper burning is like poetry...
And the exhale of that gray smoke...lightens your burdens a bit
And the familiar warmth of the flame that burns up all the wounds
The color of the ash looks up at you like a friendly face...
Both of you share the same shade.
Tinted by the same black....
But then undeserving of its intensity...
And then on deep breadth...
One long silence...
The rustic...dry...gray....in your system...
Like old friends meeting...
And then...
Exhale...
In one sublime moment after another, you breadth out your pain..
And then...it’s over...
But then...
True friends will meet again.
The End

words that fell at 2 a.m

Pensive and deep thoughts run through my tormented head.
I relish these moments of insanity that they give me
So kindly I take it like gifts.
The smell of a strange man I have in me.
I breadth him, I pretend to know him,
And he pretends to know me.
We both play pretend.
Slow thoughts fall like sad tears down the cheek of a child
Is there anything sadder then the quite collected tears of a child?
A child crying adult tears.
An adult crying a child’s tears.
At the end.
Just tears fall constantly.
My heart and mind will be broken constantly.
The only truth is the pain I don’t feel.
The only lie is the happiness I feel.
What a fleeting second to encompass a lifetime with you.
Salty sweet and sour. A flavor unheard of.
Comes from deep inside of you.
A message that is reminiscent of some old lover that you think you have forgotten.
But yet he haunts you like your childhood and seeks reckoning.
The love has dried. There is nothing left fertile.
It is all artificial.
Yes, even your smile and your tears.
They are not really you.
You are not really you.
Why are you still here then?
What validation are you seeking?
Some one to tell you that you are worthy?
Don’t you know that your UN worthy?
Why do you need someone to painfully lie to you and then feel guilt about lying to you?
Why do you want them to say that you are special?
And does them saying that make any difference?
You are still made of the same dung and heart and mind that I am.
That he the beggar is.
That she the whore is.
So you are a beggar and a whore at the same time.
You are a virgin.
You are a temptress.
You are not you.
You are one of them they are many of you.
There is no true self. Don’t be proud of something that is not entirely yours.
Thank the devil for his cunning that the angles will never have given you.
Praise the angles for the patience that the devil hides from you.
Savor the pain that humanity gives you.
And detest this bliss that joy gives you.
Why choose heaven when you can be alive in hell?
Why choose death over life?
Why choose numbness over pain?
Is there even a choice?
What does it mean when you have no choice but to feel?
Then you are not the one in control
You just seek to rationalize chances games.
You choose….
To live
Not because it is easy. But because it is harder to die.

loto perdido

Like a fish swollen with unaccustomed air you leap out to me from the sky.
And with unwavering authority you clench my soul like a new born to its father’s hand,
Like a hungry child to its mother’s breast.
To kill me slowly unlike all the rest
Of the sorrows the like quicksand suck
The life from my spirit, but you,
You who came from no where and bit a piece of my soul
Devoured it with ravenous desire, whole.

Sometimes a sage seeking salvation
Wandering, lest you become a slave to obligation.
Sometimes a rebel, uncalled for you wage war with me
You seek to loose and in doing so win, and take the trophy from me.
A man, when you speak, a hidden arrogance
That I find easy to forgive, that arrogance colored with your innocence.

A teacher sometimes, a criminal at others
Feather touched words and harsh crude syllables.
You become a child at my breast,
A lover seeking all the rest.
A nomad who wanders all over my body
A child you are. The devil’s parody.

In you I found my freedom scream
A thousand unspoken choices, a savage stream
Of thoughts and sounds that you longed for to hear both dark and fair
Rush out from my lips my arms my stomach my hair.
And then u hush me as though I were your child
With a balm of hands, voice, touch, smile.

Like a sudden piercing throb of pain in my body
You enter like warrior and then like a student study
The rise and fall of my mind, my soul.
The incongruous whispers untold
You stretch from my mind and pull out to the air
And with a craftsman’s eye you scrutinizingly stare
A look filled with warm honey freshly suckled from the flowers
A glint of humor, a secret joke shared by secret lovers.

Then the world comes calling its wandering mistral back
You loosen your grip that held and stretched me like a rack
A deep breath you took, inhaling every part of me
A thought in the deep orange womb of your mind is where I will forever be.

this is what it means....

Familiar rush of pain.
Sweet as it pricks you…
Blood sugar crystals.

Rustic ancient smoke of the earth.
All the lies now wear masks of truth.
Uneverving silence.
The quite like a dead child.
Like an unborn child.

Familiar like the loneliness you share with yourself.
Like the peace only the aftermath can bring.
Silently you relish the state.
Amorphous thoughts.
Fleeting glimpses of your life sprawled out on the street.
Questions that you ask yourself and pretend not to know the answers.
Answers that you questioned seeking for more validation.
The EXIT signs that constantly tease you and tempt you.
What do you do?

Familiar like the smell of the earth in your mouth.
Before you were flesh.
After you were flesh.
You were the earth.
Like a monozygotic idea that branched into two.
Which one is you?
And if you’re not…
Do you really care?

Familiar like lover’s bodies.
Like the indent and curve of his ankle to his calf,
To the pit a joint creates.
Like the smells of lies that you’re willing to forgive.
Like the taste of another man in your mouth.

Familiar like the masks you wear to hide from yourself
Like the delectable lands that you run to and pretend to rule.
Like a willing slave want to be abused. Dignity does not exist for him.
Would you still want to teach him?
And share some of your dignity.
And then revel in the fact that you had dignity enough to spare?
Does that make you great?
Do you want greatness?

Familiar like an old song that you used to know.
Like a memory from a past life that doesn’t place here.
That doesn’t belong here.
Like a familiar voice of someone you knew within you in the deepest part of you.
But silenced now forever.
You refuse to give your voice to that lost person inside you.
Are you afraid of what she might say?
Are you really afraid of something that you can’t do anything about?

Familiar like the madness inside your mind.
Your skull the hallowed synagogue that harbors your insanely beautiful thoughts.
And your morbid humor that you selfishly laugh at by yourself.
You refuse to share your insanities.
Are you afraid that someone will make sense of it all?
Like the reassuring slap that reality gives you to tell you everything is fine? That slap that shatters your illusions.
Like a mirror cracked into a million different realities.
Like a million different “you”s that you have to choose from and face the consequence of those choices.
Wouldn’t you rather “God” choose for you?
To blame God is more glamorous than to blame oneself.


Familiar like the wounds in your mind.
Each pain a stinging symphony that you composed.
The quick shot of agony that jolts your tranquil body.
the reassurance that pain gives you to show that you’re alive.
Like the warmth that the bottled brown blood gives you.
Cascades down your throat to the pits of you where you bury your
Wounded soul.
Where you yourself crouch like a wounded animal.
It spreads its numbing warmth and you welcome it.
Both you and your body like the weight and warmth of it like the weight of your lover’s body that crushes you.

Familiar like secret feelings of dejection.
Like a secret friend who fills you with worthless poison.

Tells you of your value and rationalizes your worthlessness.
You question your friends authenticity, like a child questions its father.
Your friend silences you.
Questions are useless. They serve no purpose apart from making you seek answers that you don’t really need.
“So what” you ask, annoyed.
“I am absolute” your friend says…
And your friend is right.