April Flowers

Yellow torso party girls in between

beds of cancer and summer

illumination with vitamin C

lubrication for self esteem and

vanity only appearing out after

sunset parading under lights that

strobe and cocktails that melt away

the insecurities of visible blemish

and winter coats of flab that bass

from speaker wobbles and vibrates

powder room drip down their

throats that gags and activates

reflexes that ignites post traumatic

flashback of thin disorder an illness

caught from vogue covers during

prepubescent teenage years of

critical self mutation.


The Damned

Others not as strange, a hopeless

sense of diagnostic inner foreign rage.

Optimistic outlook for another on the same plain.

Vibrating as one.

No alchemy nor voodoo art to transport an opposite light to dark.

For eternity to come, a breathless gasping run.

Loathing thy, forsaken being,

who obviously blinds the weak.

Sever the ties that bind,

lobotomize the mind.

Exorcise solitude, over it all by half past noon.

As the great star sets, gather for sweet rests.

Bones are tired, soul is spent.

Sweat, blood, tears,

our presence in the mirrors.


How my Mind Works

I know no one who does what I do.

I’ve experienced some that have a frame of reference,

heard something, read something,

watched a movie or something

or something or something.

But their eyes do not light up,

they do not get child like joy or become consumed by uncontrollable want

and need to search and question.

They may even have degrees,

know intelligent words,

speak eloquently, impress/ intimidate others with such backgrounds ad pedigree.

But they don;t get it.

This reminds of a Fitzgerald novel.


Sleep alone and then wake, pray, stretch, push-ups, abdominal exercises, play music, drink coffee, shit, shower, dress for the elements, commute, watch people while listening to music, judge people, draw conclusions, study, commute to another destination, loathe the phone, draw conclusions, eat light things because, well, how embarrassing, maybe eat nothing, examine my sporting interests, read, maybe write, sleep, dream, no dream, wake,



I wonder what other think.

How they see a certain situation in which the involved parties may be biased.

Whose truth is truth?

Ignoring factors such as timing, location, who, how, why, to what extent.

Fate may not be the most appropriate word, but it comes to mind.

It is right or wring?

Whose vantage is superb?

Whose feelings justified, authentic?

Whose opinions have been earned and not just regurgitated on to others for ego’s sage.

My mind can play around with scenarios, I comprehend.

But it’s been made up.


It’s quite amazing how perception and attachment can blind or manipulate the current state of things.

There’s an endless amount of strength in two people feeling the exact same thing.

Having an identical experience, an identical emotion.

It’s theirs, titled, registered.

With complete and utter control in regards to who can change radio stations, speak endlessly about nothing, back seat drive.

Tamper, alter, sabotage.


Similarly Unique Individuals

We all are similar and that’s quite simple,

We all need the similar resources

We all share same emotions.

We all stress on our tensions.

We all tolerate similar yet unique problems

We all dwell in the same world


We all are unique and that’s quite simple,

No one but you know the world like you do

No one but you can love your parents like you do, No one but you may live the same life like you do,

No one but you have breathe the air that you did,

No one but you can think of your fantasies like you do

No one but you can go deep within you

Where your uniqueness hides and thrives

Where you are the most purest of you

A you with no pride

A you who is just a tide

A you who is here for a ride.

World of Black

It’s hard to be happy, when it seems that everything important to me, in my life, slips away.

I know it’s not an accident. For every action an equal and opposite reaction occurs. Which I take as, if there is another me out there in the world, he must be the luckiest S.O.B. alive! The other side of the scales, since I am Capricorn. The light to my dark. The essence to my self. The one who eats my dreams and fantasy’s with pleasure, as I dine on apathy. The lucky one who knows how it feels to come away with the prize, while I verbalize my despair through an electronic device, and print it out to cheer myself up.

This is how it is. I began as a multi-faceted shape, lets say a hexagon. Each side of this hexagon was alive, buzzing with knowledge on subjects as diverse as one can imagine. I was a magnet for anything that came within reach of my senses. This information was triple filtered, until only the choicest information remained. Only the knowledge I needed to survive became important, I took it and used it. I survived.

The sides of the hexagon were not enough to contain what I had grasped. Some of the content was damaged, some of it wiped out, entire sections of my ego were irreparable. My eyes took on a see through gaze, I could feel the empire which was life crumbling. The hexagon was no more. My shape had changed.

As a square I had four sides, all equal. They were functional planes of my existence. Emotions were one of those sides. It began to get dented, after only slight use. I patched it up and held it together. The emotive soon became controlled by another side of the square, thus caving in the side which was patched and dented, why protect it when it was now empty?

Which left me a triangle. I spread my feet to shoulder width, and held my arms up and out to my sides and became as one with the triangle. It became braced by my external strength, and my internal knowledge that this shape was next to last. I could not let this crumble. I must defy the world from taking that away. I held tight to the knowledge that the world had taken everything else, this was all I had left. I was adamant that I would keep it.

Which seemed feasible at the time. The triangle was surrounded by blackness, (negative space) which had flooded where the hexagons walls once stood. It pressed the walls from all sides, this black negative destroyer, trying to smother by triangle. I held it in check for the longest of time. Then I got pushed over the edge by the power of loneliness, and soon was reduced once more, to my current state. The which will have to suffice until I can rebuild.

I will not allow this circle to be broken. This circle that holds me. I feel it’s wall pulsate and ripple as the world tries to figure out a way to pop this bubble. Through love and loss, through the many forms of sorrow it can bury my little circle with, I am that’s left. Inside a circle, inside a man, inside a body that craves it’s own fantasy’s and dream’s, inside a world of black.