I wish I could drive a fossilized Cadillac
right through an arid desert
in the middle of Arizona
so my desolation can have its own landscape.
I’ll ask the grains of sand
rocketing in swirls around the wind
if it’s seen my talent running by;
I’ve been calling it for months now.
The citizens of Earth are not cold.
It was just my eyes that gave them frostbite,
my mind that morphed their faces
to resemble the hideous change within.
I’m not sure if that’s a truth
that fate has put on layaway since birth,
or perhaps a rumor that’s been force fed
like wart-ridden frogs to the purest of tongues.
All I want at this point
is to be a center of a desert’s mushroom cloud,
leaving with a new look at the sky
and a bit of dry skin.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Psychosomatic Slavery
I stood there like a drop of water
as you savagely tore my very last shred
of ill-fated dignity,
as you so cunningly blared through
my symphony of thoughts
with your out of tune foghorn.
There’s not a thing left to say.
I’ve already let every scathing insult,
every hideously imaged simile
escape from my yellow-tinted lips
just when I could find your eyes and ears
turn their attention towards another victim.
It makes my stomach turn and flare
to even try to find a reason
for the way you so menacingly throw
my existence through the gutter of your misery.
It seems like I was meant to live
for just a moment, in a follicle of time
before I signed my soul away
to the dictators, vermin, and snakes of today.
as you savagely tore my very last shred
of ill-fated dignity,
as you so cunningly blared through
my symphony of thoughts
with your out of tune foghorn.
There’s not a thing left to say.
I’ve already let every scathing insult,
every hideously imaged simile
escape from my yellow-tinted lips
just when I could find your eyes and ears
turn their attention towards another victim.
It makes my stomach turn and flare
to even try to find a reason
for the way you so menacingly throw
my existence through the gutter of your misery.
It seems like I was meant to live
for just a moment, in a follicle of time
before I signed my soul away
to the dictators, vermin, and snakes of today.
Nothing Is Nothing
Without the love of poetry,
were it not for the words ricocheting
from the nests in my soul
to the white paper sky,
nothing happens.
Absolutely nothing.
No planets will crash in the middle of space.
No ocean will swallow a village of saints.
Children will not start falling like dominoes
in a center for terminal illness.
Nothing will happen.
Absolutely nothing.
Earth that once flourished would now turn to stone.
Dust would be born from the stars that once shone.
All homes would be painted the same drab gray,
reeking worthlessly of tension and words unsaid.
All because of nothing.
Absolutely nothing,
which is not death itself,
but might as well be the nickname,
as he who does nothingis nothing,
and I might as well fill the air
I so constantly breathe.
were it not for the words ricocheting
from the nests in my soul
to the white paper sky,
nothing happens.
Absolutely nothing.
No planets will crash in the middle of space.
No ocean will swallow a village of saints.
Children will not start falling like dominoes
in a center for terminal illness.
Nothing will happen.
Absolutely nothing.
Earth that once flourished would now turn to stone.
Dust would be born from the stars that once shone.
All homes would be painted the same drab gray,
reeking worthlessly of tension and words unsaid.
All because of nothing.
Absolutely nothing,
which is not death itself,
but might as well be the nickname,
as he who does nothingis nothing,
and I might as well fill the air
I so constantly breathe.
Cheap Biology
I am utterly convinced
that my spirit is a ten-cent whore,
letting any passing nemesis
fuck it in the mind
with almost no tension.
It must enjoy the sensation
as its host clearly shows
in the streams of tears
that flow through the eyes,
the spirit's ejaculation.
It must become the sadist
at the viewing of torture,
as its host sits in an icy stupor,
with the times of bawling on the floor
and penetration of the flesh
the only times of breathing.
My spirit must have stolen all the charm it takes
to captivate the enemy into arousal,
as the host stumbles awkwardly in public,
pushing all potentials away with vehemence
and convincing itself of its inferior quality
to even the vermin of the sewer.
My spirit has made me the loathing host
to the parasite of my own existence,
with my mind as the main casualty,
ridden with smut from outer villainy
and decay from Casanova-esque traumas.
I hope it's happy.
that my spirit is a ten-cent whore,
letting any passing nemesis
fuck it in the mind
with almost no tension.
It must enjoy the sensation
as its host clearly shows
in the streams of tears
that flow through the eyes,
the spirit's ejaculation.
It must become the sadist
at the viewing of torture,
as its host sits in an icy stupor,
with the times of bawling on the floor
and penetration of the flesh
the only times of breathing.
My spirit must have stolen all the charm it takes
to captivate the enemy into arousal,
as the host stumbles awkwardly in public,
pushing all potentials away with vehemence
and convincing itself of its inferior quality
to even the vermin of the sewer.
My spirit has made me the loathing host
to the parasite of my own existence,
with my mind as the main casualty,
ridden with smut from outer villainy
and decay from Casanova-esque traumas.
I hope it's happy.
Organ Music
As the exhaust spewed its mourning glum
onto the whimpering porcelain snow,
the chauffeur looked up and desperately prayed
for an Academy Award winner.
"Novelty tears shall spout at all times!"
And the thespian will charge through those double doors,
beginning his craft from the moment he hears the bawdy organ
singing the deceased's pleas towards the golden gate of Heaven
and crunching through an audience of bawling admirers
of a man he barely knew.
He was chosen to give the eulogy.
Designated to speak on the behalf
of man he never thought to glance at twice,
besides the intervals of days spent
despising the realization of his existence,
resenting the scars created in surplus quantities,
stomping down the darkest layers still oozing from the coffin.
For a handful of hours, it must all become a waning spark for the
method actor giving the most crowd-pleasing breakdown of his life,
delivering a perfectly tailored recital
cloaked to all the front-pew viewers
as a heartfelt elegy.
"Just a few hours," he thought as the double doors creaked,
and the scene will end with him sliding into his car,
a dead weight off his shoulders,
driving victoriously into the sunset.
A new set of tears rolled with the end credits,
along the face of the son,
liquidating the thespian with their bleak sincerity.
They were drops of remorse
for a bond that was never born,
with an abortion in a wood encasing
for all those people out there in the dark.
onto the whimpering porcelain snow,
the chauffeur looked up and desperately prayed
for an Academy Award winner.
"Novelty tears shall spout at all times!"
And the thespian will charge through those double doors,
beginning his craft from the moment he hears the bawdy organ
singing the deceased's pleas towards the golden gate of Heaven
and crunching through an audience of bawling admirers
of a man he barely knew.
He was chosen to give the eulogy.
Designated to speak on the behalf
of man he never thought to glance at twice,
besides the intervals of days spent
despising the realization of his existence,
resenting the scars created in surplus quantities,
stomping down the darkest layers still oozing from the coffin.
For a handful of hours, it must all become a waning spark for the
method actor giving the most crowd-pleasing breakdown of his life,
delivering a perfectly tailored recital
cloaked to all the front-pew viewers
as a heartfelt elegy.
"Just a few hours," he thought as the double doors creaked,
and the scene will end with him sliding into his car,
a dead weight off his shoulders,
driving victoriously into the sunset.
A new set of tears rolled with the end credits,
along the face of the son,
liquidating the thespian with their bleak sincerity.
They were drops of remorse
for a bond that was never born,
with an abortion in a wood encasing
for all those people out there in the dark.
Royal Blue Abrasions
The elegant madwoman with a golden valor.
Louder than the falling trees
stumbling everywhere around her feet!
The spiritual mother, everyone's empress,
a concrete rose blooming over every obstacle
as if she were a one-woman, 21st century dynasty
with no malfunctions in its empire.
But, there's something writhing its way out
from the cellar reserved for her scathing history.
Past the cobwebs and futile pretensions of valiance
lies this warrior queen's greatest desire:
shrouded in shame, the need for love still haunts.
But it won't some accessory amid the ninth cloud!
Hard work and minimum wage flow much more smoothly.
She's known this since she discovered the world,
since she entered a home full of broken furniture
and reeking of alcoholic breath and stagnant, bitter tensions
that were released when father's fist met daughter's face,
and her bruise-soaked body became the symbol of her innocence.
That must be why she spends so much time
in the darkest Brooklyn alleys, selling her self-respect
to any man feeling particularly kind that night,
and letting any detrimental cycle resurface
for just one rush of vulnerability.
This contemporary queen dons a crown bejeweled with more grit
than the streets of three New York boroughs,
yet all she requires of the world that she holds in her hand
like a ruler deciding the fate of her people
is someone to transform adoration from myth to reality.
Will she ever find light from the alley?
Louder than the falling trees
stumbling everywhere around her feet!
The spiritual mother, everyone's empress,
a concrete rose blooming over every obstacle
as if she were a one-woman, 21st century dynasty
with no malfunctions in its empire.
But, there's something writhing its way out
from the cellar reserved for her scathing history.
Past the cobwebs and futile pretensions of valiance
lies this warrior queen's greatest desire:
shrouded in shame, the need for love still haunts.
But it won't some accessory amid the ninth cloud!
Hard work and minimum wage flow much more smoothly.
She's known this since she discovered the world,
since she entered a home full of broken furniture
and reeking of alcoholic breath and stagnant, bitter tensions
that were released when father's fist met daughter's face,
and her bruise-soaked body became the symbol of her innocence.
That must be why she spends so much time
in the darkest Brooklyn alleys, selling her self-respect
to any man feeling particularly kind that night,
and letting any detrimental cycle resurface
for just one rush of vulnerability.
This contemporary queen dons a crown bejeweled with more grit
than the streets of three New York boroughs,
yet all she requires of the world that she holds in her hand
like a ruler deciding the fate of her people
is someone to transform adoration from myth to reality.
Will she ever find light from the alley?
Fly In My Drink
There
Is
A
Fly in my drink
And I'm starting to think
That my luck's on the brink
Ever since you told me
That one half of the bed
Seemed a bit more cozy
I soon realize
That I'm not drinking anything
And the poor old fly
Is drowning
In my
Pity party
My gloom made it nauseous
I've become so obnoxious
Since you sucked the life right out of me
I
Hope
You
Choke on the words you said
And the shallow waters that you tread
Are infested with piranhas
That's how it goes if you're not gonna
Live in the presence
Of someone
As holy as me...
I sucked your toes
I Folded your clothes
I made you stand on top of the world with the utmost grace
I told myself "Problems jump the ledge just by looking at his face"
I
Tell
The
Leeches hovering around me
That I badmouth you
Just to give Revenge a smile on her face
But here's the simple fact:
Your departure wasn't that bad
It's just that you hurt me
For Christ's sake, you hurt me
I can't believe you hurt me
Can someone stop this hurting?
There
Was
A
Fly in my drink
When I started to wonder
If this entire thing was starting to go under...
Is
A
Fly in my drink
And I'm starting to think
That my luck's on the brink
Ever since you told me
That one half of the bed
Seemed a bit more cozy
I soon realize
That I'm not drinking anything
And the poor old fly
Is drowning
In my
Pity party
My gloom made it nauseous
I've become so obnoxious
Since you sucked the life right out of me
I
Hope
You
Choke on the words you said
And the shallow waters that you tread
Are infested with piranhas
That's how it goes if you're not gonna
Live in the presence
Of someone
As holy as me...
I sucked your toes
I Folded your clothes
I made you stand on top of the world with the utmost grace
I told myself "Problems jump the ledge just by looking at his face"
I
Tell
The
Leeches hovering around me
That I badmouth you
Just to give Revenge a smile on her face
But here's the simple fact:
Your departure wasn't that bad
It's just that you hurt me
For Christ's sake, you hurt me
I can't believe you hurt me
Can someone stop this hurting?
There
Was
A
Fly in my drink
When I started to wonder
If this entire thing was starting to go under...
All Remains Illuminated
Life is a French movie scene
With characters skipping down the street
Passing pastry shop after pastry shop
And whistling to their own beat
There are no caricatures
There are no addictions to artifice
There are no hypocrites lying on the street
Yelling all our sins into the concrete
Even with an explosion on the set nearby
And as the ending credits descend from the sky
As the undertones of horror make all of us cry
All remains illuminated
Life is a vintage record store
That stretches past the horizon
Curious minds introduced to rapture
As the first notes begin rising
Although the wearing of the discs may show
A scratch in each song's strand
The music still plays as clearly
As diamond dust on dry land
Even with the CD skipping now
And you wanna be a star, but you don't know how
Even as Rolling Stone destroys your sound
All remains illuminated
Even with America straddling on all fours
Even as fire ants invade your shoes' holes
Even as life takes a toll on your lightweight soul
All remains illuminated
All remains illuminated
All remains illuminated NOW.
With characters skipping down the street
Passing pastry shop after pastry shop
And whistling to their own beat
There are no caricatures
There are no addictions to artifice
There are no hypocrites lying on the street
Yelling all our sins into the concrete
Even with an explosion on the set nearby
And as the ending credits descend from the sky
As the undertones of horror make all of us cry
All remains illuminated
Life is a vintage record store
That stretches past the horizon
Curious minds introduced to rapture
As the first notes begin rising
Although the wearing of the discs may show
A scratch in each song's strand
The music still plays as clearly
As diamond dust on dry land
Even with the CD skipping now
And you wanna be a star, but you don't know how
Even as Rolling Stone destroys your sound
All remains illuminated
Even with America straddling on all fours
Even as fire ants invade your shoes' holes
Even as life takes a toll on your lightweight soul
All remains illuminated
All remains illuminated
All remains illuminated NOW.
Our Hearts Shift With The Seasons
First days of autumn
Cascading tranquility
Love stands at its peak
You're the whistling wind
My heart flies along smoothly
Like a chipped red leaf
Winter approaches
Daggers in its icy hand
To stint our love's growth
Thankfully, for us
We see no signs of frost bite
Ignorance is bliss.
Cascading tranquility
Love stands at its peak
You're the whistling wind
My heart flies along smoothly
Like a chipped red leaf
Winter approaches
Daggers in its icy hand
To stint our love's growth
Thankfully, for us
We see no signs of frost bite
Ignorance is bliss.
Friday, January 30, 2009
Timeline
I don't know when I became a one man island,
isolated even from the best of me.
All I remember is a need to touch society.
I yearn to hear a voice soothe my mind.
I don't remember when nostalgia charged through the door.
The only reminders are the gray follicles on the floor.
They were never recreation, but now they latch on with a vengeance.
I'm under siege to the dictator of the past.
The future never had the face of a hungry rapist.
Tomorrow's hands never moved at maniacal speeds.
The light at the end of the tunnel is glaring into my eyes.
I start to even pray this isn't my designated freight train.
I keep trying to make a calendar of sedatives.
I keep trying to take it one day at a time.
But with my sparks running for another place to glow,
and a time line of grudges preventing my blood from even tiptoeing,
this mess I must clean up
can no longer fit in a wave past its crashing time.
isolated even from the best of me.
All I remember is a need to touch society.
I yearn to hear a voice soothe my mind.
I don't remember when nostalgia charged through the door.
The only reminders are the gray follicles on the floor.
They were never recreation, but now they latch on with a vengeance.
I'm under siege to the dictator of the past.
The future never had the face of a hungry rapist.
Tomorrow's hands never moved at maniacal speeds.
The light at the end of the tunnel is glaring into my eyes.
I start to even pray this isn't my designated freight train.
I keep trying to make a calendar of sedatives.
I keep trying to take it one day at a time.
But with my sparks running for another place to glow,
and a time line of grudges preventing my blood from even tiptoeing,
this mess I must clean up
can no longer fit in a wave past its crashing time.
Still
Are you listening, God?!
Are you ready for the satisfaction of this moment?
Well, get ready for me to say this...I'm done fighting
I'm more scathed than the chip on an extremist's shoulder
I blame everyone else yet my reflection is made of crystal
I'm not of legal age and I've already lost my youthful spark
I shift with public opinion, even if they advocate murder
My hatred controls me all the way to my fingertips
While my adoration stays locked inside my ribs
I reserve gifts for those who taint me the deepest
I am an exact replica of the dots in my radar
Every kindred spirit has turned to the opposite side once they were informed of me
I still plot the downfall of the girl who pointed at me over two years ago
I feel the need to purge pitch black during times of carefree happiness
The sun must rise right in front of my face for me to feel the power of beauty
It takes one thousand tears each day to sail my dreams
Last night, along with the tears
I found myself with two capsules too many.
But hey...I'm still here.
Can someone make my stomach still again?
Are you ready for the satisfaction of this moment?
Well, get ready for me to say this...I'm done fighting
I'm more scathed than the chip on an extremist's shoulder
I blame everyone else yet my reflection is made of crystal
I'm not of legal age and I've already lost my youthful spark
I shift with public opinion, even if they advocate murder
My hatred controls me all the way to my fingertips
While my adoration stays locked inside my ribs
I reserve gifts for those who taint me the deepest
I am an exact replica of the dots in my radar
Every kindred spirit has turned to the opposite side once they were informed of me
I still plot the downfall of the girl who pointed at me over two years ago
I feel the need to purge pitch black during times of carefree happiness
The sun must rise right in front of my face for me to feel the power of beauty
It takes one thousand tears each day to sail my dreams
Last night, along with the tears
I found myself with two capsules too many.
But hey...I'm still here.
Can someone make my stomach still again?
Riot Call
It's such a tragic statistic
when the last thing on earth
that approaches your face
is a patch of brown grass,
pale and dry from age,
dead from poor nourishment,
just like your need for acceptance.
And it’s even more destructive
when the scarlet blood
hanging onto the tip
was pulled from your bone marrow,
all the way through your thick, coarse skin,
by the dense and moldy wooden plank,
swung in the hands of the town’s valiant savior.
Yes, there are rapists and fascists
living in each corner of the street,
pillaging their families of their dignity,
ejaculating on the very words they glorify,
but the filthy path in which you tread
might as well be a bull’s eye on your forehead.
The tides of holy water did not burn an inch,
did not smother your facet of human nature,
did not blindly agree with our fright-ridden hatred,
so the only and easy way out
is to induct you into our slaughterhouse,
all because you loved.
Can love be executed so poorly
that it awaits a death penalty?
In a Utopian ideal, anything can die.
And they wonder,
with our dying breath,
and the dirt being shoved
against our battered faces,
why we declare a riot call.
when the last thing on earth
that approaches your face
is a patch of brown grass,
pale and dry from age,
dead from poor nourishment,
just like your need for acceptance.
And it’s even more destructive
when the scarlet blood
hanging onto the tip
was pulled from your bone marrow,
all the way through your thick, coarse skin,
by the dense and moldy wooden plank,
swung in the hands of the town’s valiant savior.
Yes, there are rapists and fascists
living in each corner of the street,
pillaging their families of their dignity,
ejaculating on the very words they glorify,
but the filthy path in which you tread
might as well be a bull’s eye on your forehead.
The tides of holy water did not burn an inch,
did not smother your facet of human nature,
did not blindly agree with our fright-ridden hatred,
so the only and easy way out
is to induct you into our slaughterhouse,
all because you loved.
Can love be executed so poorly
that it awaits a death penalty?
In a Utopian ideal, anything can die.
And they wonder,
with our dying breath,
and the dirt being shoved
against our battered faces,
why we declare a riot call.
Welcome All!
This is going to be my new, more efficient way of posting poetry to show everyone instead of having it all over the damn place. I'll usually be posting poetry from the past and that I've just finished, but I'll also occasionally write about music and movies as well, since those are two lovers I can also never quit. I'm trying to work on this list of the 50 most influential women in modern music history, so sometimes features on those lovely ladies will show up, though only sporadically since I'm a megalomaniac and I don't want the features to overshadow my legendary pieces of writing ;)
So, I hope you visit frequently and I hope my words impact your life in a positive manner. =)
So, I hope you visit frequently and I hope my words impact your life in a positive manner. =)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
