Going Down.

Some say man is redeemed by faith,
transcendent abilities through practice, belief.
Forgiven, steadfast.
Forgiven, redeemed.

Blinded manipulation,
set me in a grave.
Heat and warmth,
fire surrounds.
Show me yours— I'll show you mine.
Driving that bus,
we're going down.

Blind man, deaf,
three wise walking.
Recite, preach, recite, believe.
Faith running through your bones, is your existence solely exposed?
Your being, create.
Do you crave redemption, or simply faith?

Drink the water, taste the wine.
Eat the host, swallow divine.
Confess your sins, live by books,
Leviticus, Revelation— damn the crooks,
stone the sinners, love and don't judge.
but damn those wearing materials x2, the gay, the queer, knocked up women, too.

"The Lord, He reigns, He speaks in tongue. Holy Spirit, I've fallen, saved by your love."

Only a facet of answers, followed by a cult, open your eyes. It is you who's above.

Creative manipulation,
set me in a grave.
Heat and fire,
burning, ablaze.
Show me yours— I'll show you mine.
looks like we're going down;
get in, let's ride.

Stars, defeat.

I am the stars, I am defeat.
So that during winter I cannot.. (Repeat)
Rejoice, rejoice, higher power— ONE.
(I have not come undone)
I am the stars, I am defeat.
So that hand in hand, I conquer madness; repeat.

Justified lullabies of fortune in love,
Perfect cursive,
I shall look above.

The distance between the stars and I are a melodic harmony of meditation and compromise.
I see them among the clouds, a haziness much like the infinitesimal light of a bulb on the brink of breaking, fading, dying away.

But I am the stars, I am defeat.
I'm the level where poetic harmony and beginning of new life finally meet.
I am the stars, I am defeat,
A projection of hope that yes, while they fleet,
You are still love,
You are still harmony.

Capable of being a star, less defeat.

As precaution, tend to fleet.
Overcome by paralysis
It makes me defeat.
But the stars remain
(I am one),
The sun, earth, stars
(I am one).

Regression of negativity, unfluential waves,
Regress, my one,
Regress and fade.

Magnificent fortune obtained by color,
Obtained by leaves of evergreen.

In the fall, the soul is changed,
The new life of a season,
(lake of worry and pain)
The new progression of days.

Dew on the grass glittered today—
Did you see it? Or were you defeated like me?

Lives anew— why are they so blind?
Do they not see that new things arise?
New harmony, new thinking, yet they fear to realize.
It's a belief that the world NOW knows all that's due
But in reality, you haven't a clue
Of what's out there (like the stars)
What's granted (higher thinking, above).

More fearful of demise of the thoughts made by those you love.

Redeem, defeat, be the stars, the earth, creativity will meet..
Will meet you in the place of spectrum overlap alike, at the place where the world divides.
That place, that place
Complacent in a world that subsequently subsides,

But I ask, I ask, I ask of you— Are you in the stars, too?
Or are they the enemy, a reflection of fear inside you?

Justified lullaby of perceptions so true,
I am the stars, defeat.
Exonerating you.

Fade.

Fade, fade, fade away. You're my seabrim, my escape. Fade, fade, fade away. Mercy, mercy, mercy jaded.

Like a deck of cards, four way part. Clubs, diamonds, spades, and hearts. Like a game of poker, I must win. But faded, I am. Another hand.

"Deal, deal, dealer— again."

I'm faded between paper and pen. Lost in efforts between seven and twelve, my deck is exposed, nothing but spades within.

I begin to sweat and don't know why. The color jade wells inside, like envy or fear. Fade to an escape (a bottle, a container, a rusty blade— a mirror, a love, disregarded mistakes).

Like the trees, I breathe, intake. Oxygen purifies my soul, faded away. One in four, I'm left on a table exposed. A spade in a sea of love, luck, and nobility. I am left pointing to the skies, irregardless of faith.

Faded, faded, faded away.
No more jaded, I'm my own escape.

On love.

There comes a point when you learn the difference between types of love. Protective parental love, heart-stricken/gut-wrenching love, soul nurturing love, the true friendship "I'll kill them if they ever break your heart" love, and then self love. There comes a point when you need all of these types of love to grow into the last and most important of the list, self love.

Immerse yourself in it.

Immerse yourself in love. Immerse yourself in hate. Immerse yourself in the complacent transitions of spirituality, society, the ever-changing memoirs of what you are and what you create.

Be present.

Be one with nature. Be one with love. Be one with whatever strikes your heart and gives you the swelling feeling that makes you want to cry tears of joy and throw up at the same time because it's something that, in the depths of your soul, in the deepest and darkest crevices of your soul, you know where your purpose lies, you know your worth and can understand that, in the end, you are the only person who can make yourself feel a certain way. You create the intensity of emotions and the vibrancy of your own aura.

Feel every emotion.

When you cry, cry to the point of exhaustion. Heart broken? Cry, curl up, grab her shirt and inhale what's left of her existence. Feel your heart break, and feed into the intensity. Let it create you. Let it pull you down to the point where the world is worthless, the world has nothing left for you. To the point where you didn't know you were capable of experiencing that amount of pain. Let it create you. The deeper you feel hurt, the higher you feel love.

Immerse yourself in the free spirited gypsy version of life. Appreciate beauty in the world, blissfully be one with the waves, land, trees, and seas. Life is about love, each and every type. Feel love in the world, feel love in yourself. Feel love in your passions, create your own life's will.

In the end, we are love. Atoms of descent, spewed across the world, coming together to form ideas of expression depicted by the idea of self worth. Flocking together based on the idea that when created, our immaculate souls were bound together. Our responsibility is finding our bound souls.

Find your bound soul, you will find love. Find love, you become one. Become one, you will feel emotion. Feel emotion, you will experience bliss. Experience bliss, you will find yourself. Find yourself, find love.

On love, go on.

Swinging Trees.

She swings on a tree, committed to fear, listens closely as the rain pours near. So far away, the thunder cracks in her head. Covered by terror and haunted thoughts, she looks down and sees she’s swung too far. Touching her leg, she sees all she’s bled from veins that pour out colors other than red.

Like the Garden of Eden, evil hides here. There is little hope, little love, disguised as beauty (a conniving fiend). She sees her evil lurking above— the sun, constellations, a bull fighting hard. Running wild, swinging from leaves, there is more evil that likes to leer. Preying on victims of common descent, an evil named Lox disguised as “persevere”. But there is no such thing, the swinger screams. He’s cunning and bright, though, a deserving dream.

I watch as he overtakes her mind, the thunder no longer quiet, I begin to die.

The Garden of Eden is inside of you— in your head, in your thoughts, through and through. There is an evil, committed to fear, disguised as a girl swinging in trees. Alive and bleeding, pints of sanity lost, fall for innocence, truth, you’ll bear your own cross.

Unparalled and Uncaged.

Unfaithful to your promises, you’ve paralyzed my soul. A rich halo of gold and white has disguised the demon inside.

My soul is uncaged, protection unbarred, my soul is darkness, incapable of being renewed.

We live with our mind, unparalleled hearts, we live vicariously through the seas. The spirit of unfathomable love, aspiring the creation of majestic love, requiring halos and truth. Our world does not know.

We react, we burn, we are dying today. You alone have uncaged my heart, burned my soul, tore me apart.

Paralyzed bodies, we walk to find majestic love and glory. The glory, the storm, the solitude, the cure. The black spot, the cursed mark, the demented angels.

The demented angels haunt.

We walk with unparalleled hearts, yours unlocked but cursed from the start. That majestic glory and love? I know where it is. You point to yourself. I say you don’t breathe.

Your soul is uncaged, I cursed your heart. Unfaithful to my promises, my mirror shouts to just stop. You are not here. I am gone, too. But your reflection speaks to me.

It’s haunting.
I’m gone.

Desert.

We are an army of soldiers walking the field, watching faces of the enemy become more clear. Open land, no place to hide, we are exposed without time to mitigate fears we have inside.

You lean on me and say, "I've been shot."

And just like that.
You were gone.

"You should have jumped in front," my conscious mind says, "taken the bullet; saved your friend."

I should have jumped, I wouldn't have died-- you're already gone if you're dead inside.

War.

One piece, one look. As addiction seeps into the skin, a parasite has found its host. Again, repressibility sleeps. And a war has begun. Snoozing itself, repressibility sleeps. I am at war, myself and my whore. Beside me it lays— greedy and selfish, unworthy of a name.

I turn to my side, watch my hand glide, feel closely as the world subsides. My whore is a bitch, sleeping with both my body and mind. It is a nuisance, tort of aggravation, capable of controlling the brightest and still all the rest. Raging fire, a disturbing fight, gain is diminished and I am hidden from the light.

We live and love in a cave, hidden from emotional creatures. I tell it to let me go.

Hurt from weakness, the pain never mends. Broken by war, I am one with remorse. Accidental addiction, repressibility sleeps. Scared, scarred, shaken and starved, I have initiated war.

Poison.

There is a hand inside my heart, clenching and pushing, trying to reach out. Disruptive of the blood coursing through 1my veins, more like poison, I’m no longer sane. The hand, it hurts, drowning in pumping blood and the echo of a heartbeat.

My veins are suffocating.

There is a rock inside my heart. A boulder that pulls it down, my heart is laying on the ground. It’s covered in dirt, the rock left to dust. Tainted heart, bruised and beaten, tired mechanical heart, beating until the stars disappear. A rock left to dust, the heart, stardust.

My veins are suffocating.

There is a hand inside my heart. A fluid motion of pulsing and straining, breaking and mending, tearing and scarring, trapped inside the taste of life. I can taste the blood, see it seeping from inside of me. A part of me, broken free.

My veins are suffocating.

I cannot breathe. Mechanical heart, do you beat? There is glass inside my heart. Shattering, cutting endlessly. I am alive. I am alive with the poison that flows through my veins, I am alive with the energy of the world consumed with greed.

“I will help you live,” the heart says.
She whispers, “I will help you die.”

My veins are suffocating. And I am the poison. Seduce and destroy, I am the poison.

Dust.

Standing on a balcony a hundred feet off the ground, wipe the dust and soot from the railing onto the floor. The cold of the breeze and the sting of the metal inch under her skin like goosebumps after a warm bath. What was meant to save acts as a lure to death, standing on the balcony a hundred feet off the ground. Hands barely holding on, her cold feet widen apart by the fate of the wind.

Breathlessly falling,
breathlessly feeling,
breathlessly reaching out for dust.

The soot on the bed is from she and I, dirty minds and dirty bribes. The soot on the pillow, that is mine. The chemistry of love combined with the chemistry of the mind creates soot from the eyes that bleed onto cotton-poly blends that will never wash out. Like a tattoo on the face, it will never wash off.

By the fate of the wind, fall from balcony to grave; fall from balcony to grave and still stay still awake. The sound of strangers awaken me, their feet feeling like a colony of ants having their way with me. That light you see, that light that’s so bright, fluorescent they say? It’s blinding me. The brighter the light the darker the shadow, I see the shadow floating out to sea. I look at the balcony and raise myself up. The stronger the love the deeper the cut.

The cold of the breeze and the distance of the fall would have better ruined her than given her another chance at all. I look at the balcony and raise myself up. A shadow is watching, mimicking every move, the mind unallowing of the fates to corrupt.

Standing on the balcony, a hundred feet off the ground, there is a girl below about to drown. In a puddle of torn love and unconscious mind, I jump off and breathlessly reach out for dust.

Self-Nemesis: An Abecedarian Sonnet.

Let me breathe, let me go, let me travel to the moonbeam.
Nemesis in my head, but there is a sound—falsetto,
piercing through my ears; a cirque
reeling in my head as I run through the gleams,
turning my head to find a psychiatric guru.
Vengeance, maybe, I am caught in a willow,
excruciating pain, my vision goes awry;
zipping my jacket to save myself, a panacea
birthed from a twist of a hand. Still, I am toxic,
demure yet brash, I have no love.
Fugitive to a glamorous life, I am going,
halcyon, I will go; halcyon. I
justify myself, both of me. Let me go, let me sink.

Molten Ruins

Caution tape covers you like you are the enemy during an apocalypse.
Stay away; I will not hold back.
The raging fire of your heart swells into a volcano;
Gripping, grabbing, I am your eruption.
Contagious, your love left me in ruins.
With rugged rock you stabbed me,
liquid seeping from my heart like the molten remains of the natural disaster you are.
As you reign as queen atop your mountain of passion
My lava slips into your soul, your elevated peak,
into the visible cracks of our love—
Are you no longer in control?
I am the eruption of your gold,
The orange-red prize that your insides hold.
I will hurt you like you hurt me;
Give me your rugged rock and let your lava free.

Tale of the Typewriter

There is an old typewriter that sits on a shelf next to dusty books and burnt candles.
Untouched for years, harsh feelings linger of the sticky, temperamental ink tape.
Watching arms bend as each letter transfers from ink to paper
Its keys are like fingerprints matching to mine and I listen—
I hear the click and zip sounds as my words write themselves
Bringing me back to grandmother's house during earlier times
As I sat writing, typing, staying awake for days
Finishing a story: The Fairy in the Flower,
Celebrating a birthday and independence of childhood
Much unlike the agedness of these tacky keys.
Light green and yellowed, the stories it has created,
All the fingers it has felt and the tears that have fallen on the letters.
If the typewriter could speak, the tales it could tell...
Just like the time I sat typing in a chair making up fairy spells.