The Moment

The one you thought you loved

Is someone that doesn't exist;

You thought you could do anything 

But in all actually, it's impossible;

The toughness that was a defense against others

Is merely an emotional response,

not strength;

That even though your dream is wanting to run away from everything and everyone,

That every word escaping from your mouth is a blatant and pathetic lie;

You have nothing and this nothing began when you experienced death.

This is the moment when you realize

The sadness you think you feel

Is real just like the rest of the realities running through your mind because you are tired of living

and so is someone else but they just have the courage and confidence to end their life to make your feelings of disbelief and lack of self confidence overpowering. 

seven 2 one

I used to believe in many things,

but now all I can do is look straight ahead

without glancing at the scenery passing by.

I'm not saying that everyday is not

composed of good times,

but I think most of the time I occupy

those days waiting for some sort answer.

All those acts in a play

act as markers in your life

but the in-between acts,

the ones you can't remember, 

expresses the fact that you've

grown out of your old clothes

concludes that you have grown up and over me.

There is never an answer to an equation

that can produce the

answers one is always striving

for, yearning for

We are not all robots on a grid,

this is not a science equation,

but you still believe you are the boss.

You can add, subtract or multiple,

but we will never be robots on a grid

For if we were we would only be seven 2 one. 

Porcelain Raft - Permanent Signal

Porcelain Raft - Permanent Signal

1. Think Of The Ocean
2. Cluster
3. Minor Pleasure
4. Open Letter
5. Night Birds
6. It Ain't Over
7. I Lost Connection
8. Warehouse
9.The Way Out
10. Five Minutes From Now
11. Echo

Yep.

A Delusion of Life

Among the delirious delusions that 

are taking advantage of a defenseless mind,

the insoluble burning began after stumbling

upon an island of uneasiness.

Though a dream,

a breathing spell in the midst of an

empty room would be proven insignificant,

especially within the melody that is heard

composed of confusion and offensive descants.

A lean and arrogant man,

with poisonous words leaking from dry lips,

becomes the master of communication;

a pride won by a mere misrepresentation and

irresistible, meaningless conversation.

It was during this time that a familiar

melancholy swept over me like a harsh wind

from a hurricane above the sea.

Yet, still, I still wonder what emotions mean to me.

Supposedly, it is nature’s snapshot of

cheap features trying to generate a luxurious image.

On the contrary,

perhaps that is Mother Nature`s intensions.

Still, disappearing and reappearing

within the margins of my mind

creates the scraps of conversation

and dim satisfaction.

The lies,

The passion,

The intolerable bitterness,

The futility,

The small, trivial aspects of this life

creates a halo of smog from a

chain of cigarettes and pollution.

I've always been irritated by the complacent

remorse that a ripple of a stream of consciousness,

a few healthy accusations,

and a dash of naivetés will chemically and automatically

produce a human being.

The xx - Coexist

The xx - Coexist

1. Angels
2. Chained
3. Fiction
4. Try
5. Reunion
6. Sunset
7. Missing
8. Tides
9. Unfold
10. Swept Away
11. Out Song

Yeah.

Reflections On a Window

The opaque glass keeping the air trapped
not letting any unidentifiable things enter,
has finally cracked leaving a thin line of
reconsideration and resentment.

I am now distorted,
A misrepresentation that has been
Twisted into a crooked image.
Making sense of this situation seems more
Natural than supernatural but
I never enjoyed mixing lights and darks
When washing away the dirt left from the day before.

This silhouette, however, makes me wonder
What exactly is confined within this window.

It's not me.
I definitely don't have that physical appearance
Of green eyes, brown hair
And uncontrollable debates of
Escaping or staying.

I know I cannot be restrained within this opening,
Being in limbo within this dream,
Lingering in this mental constipation.
This puts a single thought in my mind that
Maybe enough light did not come through.

Then, a reunion has commenced.
It is here that I realize there are moments when I miss you.
On the contrary, I reconsider the person in the window,
Stuck inside, but in all sincerely has no interest in
Wanting to come out.

Where Am I Going?

                 

The narrow streets

that create this country,

is what really gave the intriguing desire

that was needed to live 

within this unique environment.

It's beauty, even the "taken for granted"

roads that are used after a

long working day, is still beautiful.

Whether or not you can see it,

Whether or not you want to see it,

Whether or not you just want to forget life itself,

I have no advice for you.

Just open your eyes, see the beauty of it.

I ask for this simple task only

because I cannot see everything you do.

I can only see things I wish I couldn't.

These things can only be narrowed down:

Humans, narrow streets, and death

Keeping it Together

The idea of it seemed easy
but I soon acknowledge 
that the complexity was
what intrigued me. 
I studied it,
thought I could grasp it
but I never did.
No, not really...
Only a sip of it;
the smudginess of it;
the wanting to open presents before 
christmas eagerness of it.
In actuality,
I never understood how
it could be more than whole,
but the wholeness itself was
the luxury of the idea,
the idea that the halves
are the ones that hold you 
in half.
I didn't know,
don't know about the 
in between bits and pieces;
the savage bits of you,
the violent bits of me. 

Savor of Bitterness

The savor of bitterness

Seasoned my feelings for him,

But cooking was never my forte.

On the contrary,

I wanted to impress the individual,

Thinking that maybe, for once, 

His breath could be stolen

Instead of mine.

A tart filled with

The smell of broken promises

Was given to the man

Who could never even keep one.

Resentment of what

Never happened

Was also mixed into the

Ingredients.

With it's spiteful taste

And jealous color,

The feeling of being

Content with someone left

My soul and my mind.

I remember the face you made,

The grimacing, unsatisfied

Face that I will never see again.

What a waste of food.

Starvation

As the bed was beneath me

And the infinite blackness was above me,

The thought penetrated my mind

Like an epiphany entering an author's mind with 

Writer's block. 

I was thinking,

There is always this struggle,

This strong desire,

this constant hunger for love.

Just once,

I want to know what it like

to get my fill of it.

It doesn't matter what 

flavor or smell it possesses,

I just want to be fed so much

love that I cant

physically, mentally, or emotionally

take anymore from anyone.

Just once.

I want the hunger pain 

Deep within the pit of my stomach

To disappear because of so much

Affection that has been given to me.

Just once,

I want to be fed a love

That could survive anything,

Even a famine.

Just once,

I want to feel the security

Of knowing that I am

Going to be fine,

That this devotion will survive.

That this insanity I feel

Is just a phase of life,

And in midst of it all,

The void that has been

Filled will cease to exist.

Just once.

Simple Madness

The most disturbing part of it being that it could be true, you know?

The Untitled Person

Lost in the admiration

Of a human being

Possessing the intelligence

That can only come

Into view within the delayed

Development of sensibility and

Dexterous talent

Called survival.

To support oneself

Through these treacherous

Endeavors is the task that

Keeps oneself functioning

Within this mechanical

World of suits and tiny phones

Along with the occasional

Cigarette pack, some beer, and a coffee.

This vital skill that soon

Defines an incompetent character

Expands into what is called a

Human being,

A man,

Even a woman.

The Fertility of this origin

Is merely an irritation that

Delivers inconveniences

Which then is fabricated

Into a remarkable, original problem.

This problem stems from the

Fruit of development that

Seduces the seducible,

Creating an admiration

Towards the word

Survival and how

It is completely impossible

Yet the struggle is what

Appeals to us all. 

Survival

Laying awake on the stained bed
of charcoal and blood
seems to be the ideal night
within this dream of lighting strikes and rain fall.

With each puncture into the ground, 
my brain crashes and has to begin again,
rebooting the system from the beginning.
No wonder why retaliation is lacking
within these thoughts.

Memories are lost with instant foreshadowing,
bones are broken because of the lack of calcium
and then the long, dark tunnel appears
with cars moving in and out 
as if it was an anthill filled
with busy ants trying to survive. 

I never understood the art of survival.
The survival of the fittest never appealed
because who defines "fit" or not. 
Suppose it was The Man,
The Men of all men 
that has the pen and paper
to write down the regulations
of what is proper and corrupt.

Then, the cage that you are in
begins to melt because of the 
radioactive mobs
that are just trying to find a way out.

Joining them seems pleasing,
but I think I'd rather
just kill The Man
myself.

Love

"You know you're in love when you can't fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams."

-DR. SEUSS

The doctor says it all,

With his words of wisdom

Between the thin line of

Dreaming and reality. 

I find love divine and

It's power can always

Fill the void and anxiety

That is left when awoken.

However,

Since this line that

Separates dreaming about love

And having love within your reality

Is Very fragile, it can

Be cut with a simple

Pair of scissors.

therefore, it is

Better not to run

Towards a better reality

With scissors in

Your hands.

Nothing is Easy

As one tells everyone how it is,

the head begins to swell

Because of all the pride

That has sunk into the skin.

The hopes of separating

What is true from

What is Accurate

Will be an advantage until

it cannot continue.

Questions are empty jars

Filled with the realities of

Frequent loneliness and

Yearning for the touch of another.

At some point,

The realization becomes too real

And when challenged by reality,

When one stands and stares

Into the eyes of the secrets 

that are buried beneath the soil

Death awaits,

And it is very, very

Painful.

There is no easy way out.

I suppose.

An Outlet

To this day, 

I still remember the first time I felt like this. 

This feeling of where the momentume of life 

was slowly diminishing; 

This feeling of how hopelessly in love I was with someone 

who seemed to be out or reach; 

This feeling of how I ran away from my home country 

because I couldn't handle my previous life; 

This feeling of how much I strive to hide myself 

so that I can be adored by others; 

This feeling of no matter how much I try to be what everyone wants me to be, 

I simply cannot. 

The effortless yet complicated feeling of how 

I wish I didn’t have to think anymore,

I hope that my brain would slow down, 

and I desire some sort of clarity within it all.

Then, perhaps my body will stop completely. 

Suddenly, the conclusion appeared.

This feeling of pure chaotic, perplexing desolation

that is dragging me towards the darkness like a 

broom sweeping up unwasted dust and dirt;

This feeling of constant and straining perturbation of uncontrolled blindless

like a fog covering the land after a storm

so that no one will be able to see the destruction it has done

is simply just me.

It is sad that this is the conclusion that I have stumbled upon.

This is because, since it is solely me that is the issue,

getting rid of the problem as soon as possible is the goal.

Music is not soothing to my ears,

Writing is stress on my hands,

Thinking are safes that cannot be opened,

Death is the outlet to infinite existence.

To Polish: A Poetic Synopsis

To shine in the sun;

To make silver gleam again;

To wax a car;

To paint finger nails.

Polishing oneself 

Is to make anew,

To fold the old clothes 

And buy new ones;

To break bad habits

Or create coping scenarios

For chaotic moments. 

To polish oneself   

Is the goal of all

Humans with a 

Strive towards perfection,

An eagerness to merge ahead,

A yearning for control. 

To polish oneself,

One must let go of the

Old self 

As hard and improbable

As that is currently,

The possibilities it could open

Are endless.

Making oneself better than before

Is what everyone does

In many different ways.

There are many things one can do

To "become better" than before;

But really,

Was before that bad?

No.

Of course not.

It's just that there is

One thing that is inevitable:

Change.

Though no one wants

To believe that one has changed,

This is unstoppable.

It happens in nature constantly

And it so happens that

We are a part of nature.

Though being God does sound divine, 

That is quite impossible.

I don't even believe in God.

Not anymore.

I'm through with

Hoping and praying 

And trying to change 

my feelings,

My thoughts,

For it will naturally occur

Without force.

For now,

I step aside 

And put my thumb out 

To see my life from the outside.

I'll hitchhike my way 

Through each passing moment;

Contemplating and studying  

Each moment,

Soaking in each tear,

And evaluating each emotion.

This sadness is

Inevitable.

This loneliness is 

Natural. 

Everyone feels lonely;

Everyone wants security:

Everyone wants to polish themselves.

Everyone is the same. 

I hate this boring life. 

No wonder why I have 

Nothing to say anymore. 

Imposing

Soap suds stain the tile floor

as the unknown female exits the shower room

carrying nothing but her towel

and identity.

The lose hair that decays

when the water drips from the hose,

clogs the drain that once was an outlet

for cleanliness. 

The smell of a woman is in the air

even though one has already 

passed through.

No one can take the place of a sibling of

misfortune. 

No one can take the place of a sibling related

To the grim reaper.

I, for one, don't want to.

Please.

Stop telling me everything is okay.

I can't handle the lies beneath.

Better hurry and get out

Before its too late;

Before damage is done. 

Oh no, it has already begun.

Unexpected Faces

The face of intimacy appeared
on the screen of abandonment.

I have missed the instances of us.

I thought the world
would show me everything,
but no, i realized
that it was me just lacking you.

The moments together;
piles of cigarettes,
porno photographs,
illegal potions,
and lost kisses
with endless touches;
i don't know what
to do when the
need of you
is so severe.

I found the answer.
I know the answer
and i had to figured it out
alone, on my own time,
here in this strange area
of tan skin, black fur and symbols.

I'm sorry for leaving you,
for altering
my state of consciousness.

However, I am here.
I am everything for you.
Lets continue this.
For if we don't,
I might end the delusion
and the romance will be concluded.






With conclusion an ending follow.
With a conclusion, the end will soon come.
Then, I will die next to the willow tree.
It is then,
I will be free.

Robotics of Lonliness

I cannot tolerate being alone

for it scares the shit out of me

with its' anxiety filling cavities

and nonchalant kisses of trickery.

I cannot tolerate isolation

for it makes me feel like 

I am already departed

with it's paralyzing soul

and infertile uterus.

I cannot tolerate personages

for they believe themselves

to be above all else,

especially loneliness and isolation.

I, for one, will always be like this:

Weak and depressed for the

love of something other than 

a beating heart and a rational mind.

Now, I can find peace with the robotics of life.

Masochist

I enjoy the pain you give me.

I enjoy the pain I receive from you.

I enjoy your pain that you receive.

I enjoy your pain that you produce.

Let me help you.

No.

Never mind.

I am exhausted.

I changed my mind.

This is a quick occurrence.

Actually,

Let me help you.

I know I can.

The strength that can be

emitted could be the

answer.

Oh...

No, not really.

Leave me alone now.

Lullaby

I am completely lost.

All I want to do is sleep.

Sleep for years

and years

with my mind being bare.

I want to jailbreak

from this prison I am in.

It's not what I deserve

but I give up.

I am surrendering now.

I'm exhausted.

I can't stand to see you

next time and this 

is the worst feeling i can feel

even though I can't feel anymore.

So what is this feeling?

My body, mind and soul

is burnt out.

numbness is overcoming

as cold as winter.

Tears are streaming

like a gentle waterfall.

Let me sleep.

Say goodnight.

I wont awake again.

Goodnight, everything;

Goodnight, me;

Goodnight, you.

Goodnight.

Spider Webs

As I see the chair,

empty with mistakes,

i try to keep my attention

on the pension i wont
regret.

Keeping myself occupied,
it's a hard task I have to do
because all i think about is suicide
and that's all i ask of you.

Keeping myself in control,
the neat and tidiness of myself,
i try to learn new ideas
but it doesn't change anything.

i hate it.
I caught myself.
I caught myself thinking
of the time that was spent
sulking in the moment
of calamity and anxiety.

I hate it.
I am caught.
I am caught in your web.
Please let me go
or hurry up and eat me alive.

Medical Poison In My System

Move slowly,
an inch at a time.
Rhyming is just cliche,
but then wouldn't
repeating the first line
be unconvincingly easier?

My mind is not well;
I feel like this is temporary
But I don't talk want to about it.
All I can do is compile drafts.

I wont ask for help.
I cant even rely on myself.
I wish I was somebody else.
Constantly.

I know I wont feel a thing,
these accomplishments
are translucent and are pulling
me in relentlessly.
Maybe repetition will save me.

But still,
all I can do is write it down.
Hopefully, this is temporary
since not feeling a thing
appears so much manageable.

And since I know I wont feel a thing
These accomplishments become brief,
they become so short-lived.

Help me find the origin
to what happens when we
reach each other.
Will it become an accomplishment?

House Love

Yep. I like house music. Benassi was the beginning of it all.

How Do You Feel?

The moments shared
between drinks and conversations,
how time passing,
what nothing but a mere
conjunction of body
movements and cigarette packs.

The thoughts on the floor,
the thoughts in my head,
the connection that 
is an ordinary thread,
can extend to the door
that will never shut.

Where you are,
where you will be,
the endless opportunities
of chance happening
and countless encounters
of mindless speech
and hugs never reached.

The unsavory distance
and the unpronounced feelings
of what is or was,
is as real as a prick
to the finger,
and how the technology 
of the brain with it's 
spaces and faces in between,
the moments cannot be disrupted,
and i hope that everything
that is up until now
will be persevered
and maintained
only so that one day
a convention will form.

Tonight

Eating together

Seemed normal

But I only noticed the food

That I had order was

Being played with instead 

Of eating as if it were enjoyable.

I see you on the other side,

no smile, not emotion.

I feel like this is

impossible, 

incomprehensible

Because the way you are

And the way you 

Move around each subject

Or never say anything except a no

Is a definition of virile.

However,

I am in love with you.

You love me too.

I will do anything for you.

But I think I am at my peak,

soon,

I will die.

That is,

Unless everything you have said is true.

Should I trust you?

Can I trust you?

I have trusted before,

and the grim reaper came

and took the life of the one

who cared the most.

Does that mean,

you reap what you sow?

this confusion,

will it pass?

I will wait for you.

I will try my best.