Ride back

I look at myself, staring naked into mine eyes. Reflection off subway window. It collapses my being for inner demons appear and surface the conscious self. Man, I recognize. Monster, I relinquish.

Sleep is for my old frivilous self.

Can't sleep. Too awake from dizzy consciousness when I faced reality. Now, out of hiding, I shall be deeply contemplative about my desires and errors of the past. Forever, carrying this deep regret, I shall, with fiery effort, become anew and more grand for you, but more importantly, for myself.

My actions as they are

Why do I keep breaking the trust others have of me?

I am a fool; a wretched one-- with too many chances. I admit and face the facts that I am wrong. I will take the responsibility being conscious of barriers. Partaking in a journey of relearning how to be right, once again.

Knowing myself, I will make many mistakes, but will never stop trying to become a greater person each time. Forever, I shall carry the burden of my mistakes and the shame. Forgiveness will never arrive, but also my vigilance shall never be vanquished.

I won't stop-- no I won't. It is being deeply reflected upon, but I will still feel hurt, regretful, and deeply apologetic in how I made you feel.

The second error
Once uttered
Guilt spews forth
Constricted beats of chest
Disturbed in repentant trance

The change not here yet
Soon- an inevitable arrival
Soon- a better presence
But for now shaken up
About my negative

With her, I want to be with. Into her eyes I awaken seeing with clarity a reflection-- that is my true self. Into a trance, but conscious, I desire. Indeed, it is a great meaning that awaits. But patience should be my forte.

In Dreams, Bound by Affection

For Denise.

---------------------------------

The world for the reduction of the peace of mind
inflation desires waking in midst of phlegm
arbitrary clock cycles move a piece to entomb
when faced with the consequences of farming, shit, dust, and digestion
one walks with a gait denoting behavior
then judged by their opal-eyed mugshots staring into flash
in corridors she revels and reveals herself to the hands
from where it came dark wishes flow into cavern solicitations
where archetypes approach the upended, undermined, uprooted with gaudy lustful eyes
watch as speaking patterns cause angry retorts because they want to keep their prize

when thought metathesizes into arbitrary conclaves
when life springs forth from your ink to form essence
when conscious hours turn into days or hours panning in image for an image
when words spew from in between nightless hours awaken by the anxiety of dizzy consciousness
when listening to the songs that spark ideas, enlighten neurons, and speaks to facticity

You dream of dreary light-posts throwing oneself into the world
For utter digestion of self, being species being to outside boxes
In late night chatter speeches of alcohol, odd dreams of accumulation
The will rises above, howling at the crescent to stark, stoic, seriousness

hands like a spinning loom, object formation of webbed designs
hands that hold the world between brush and cutting bringing truths
hands move to chest gasping from delight of my words
hands at the utter disruption caresses the body with permanent markings
hands that comfort the soul, holding the body, giving pleasure
hands that consume, create, catechizes the coordinates of flow

you think in ways glorifying bloom of harvests and perseverance
you drink from the glass, to ephemeral delight in chatter, talk, dance, living to celebratory desires
you dance in dreams, frightened, but you still awaken to endless dreams
you live in consciousness to strut and flail at the eyes of beasts
you fight to stave off the demons and egos in days next door
you carry a weight so heavy; a weight I desire to take from you and carry

I know it's extremely hot in this blanket, but all I feel is cold. Shivering, alone, dark.

The sense of looming blanketing,
Reflective of the mood greatly
To penetrate deep within
Hurt and loathing
Stagnant searching for relief
In moments brief,
happiness and calm
but in the eye
lies the sword held in between lids

Approaching darkness
wishful envelopments
wishful for death
in it will achieve
consolation in suffering

Under another torrential storm— symbolic of my miseries, bane of my existence, demons and angels of my disarray. Obelisks and monoliths crumble upon my self. From the stage I stand, juxtaposed in life, appearingly divorced and internally absurd. Here, I wait for the day to come when my body shall succumb to the earth; to lay rest my agonies— returning to the end.

I think about your statements that conjure up various negative emotions, except for two figures in your life. Those two figures are the only ones that possibly can never cause mistrust.

God and dog, funny how those words spelled backwards spell each other-- like a reflection of one another.

The god you used to believe in to the dog you love very much-- as a transcended linear path. The god you said you could tell you love can never betray that, the ultimate trust. The dog you love and get moved by can never break something in you that man has often done before.

This connection with man and yourself is certainly one that is difficult to mend, fix, remedy. Perhaps, it is after all, just the characteristics of men that is the real problem, that is, masculinity, machismo, misogyny, chauvinism-- no, but it is all men. So many men, the mistrust, the imagery, the constant reminders of the only ones who can not disappoint, for you, is god and dog.

The god that creates, breaks, and loves. The dog that eats, plays, and loves.

The only two objects considerably a man you can direct declarations of love with. But the god that is spoken about is beyond the concept of biological factors-- encompassing all and nothing at the same time. But the dog is not human, but is a male of the natural world-- one that is known as "man's companion." You've accepted them in your lives, devoid of men in this position. 

It may not be enough, but I give my utterances with great care-- encouraging, nurturing, warm, safe. I do not expect you to be grateful or accepting of my offers, but here I am, wishfully, beyond god and dog... No, just a portion equal to those two.

I reach within
out comes rot
thoughts express
for showcasing
enabling desires
trembling fears
the wait
for approachness
of trains grinding
upon bodies
willfully desiring
forceful will
but to earn
a fitting conclusion

Deathly desires of wanton urges

As I sit here, I let it creep upon me, dragging me into a descend-- this earthly desire for death. Lustful watchful eyes searching and scouting for ways, in imagination, in thought, in writing. Adorning myself with the motives to capture my essence. The weight carried is sharp and stabbing. The eyes conduct themselves in far distances. The will has liquidated into primal motions in wallowed, dark, cavernous interiors.

My mind searches for stagnant feelings. Enjoying the suffering, the pain in myself, the pain of others. The display of bodies and the disrespect upon when they cease function. Some day, I will, I will, I want, to return to where I came from. Dust and ashes.

Blood-thirsty monster or forlorned despairing existentialist?

For a long time, enveloping my mind is a living rotting animal, but how can I ever get rid of such things when I have an attachment to a living corpse? Rather, the pondering of questions often bring me great disorder, but consciously I realize the gravity of the situation. To stay to only become a monster thirsting for all of its blood to drench my mind, but live in prison now and later free or do I cast aside and admit the other path of my past as erroneous and, perhaps, unjustifiable for myself and others surrounding me?

Let me be clear, I wish to live like a human, monster no more-- to be banished, for I've thirst too long for blood to be shed and its life snuffed out. No more. It is time for me to be thrown into the world (again).

Thoughts while waiting; seeing subway rats.

I find it relieving to see that in the darkest parts of the underground there can be beauty and serenity like no other. People tend to only look at sterile examples of goodness. The latter bores me and leaves me unsettled with the world.

The feelings of time ending

Often times I sit with a stare, a gaze, to look beyond some place else. I generally feel nothing, especially when my eyes pierce with extreme scrutiny. All that comes into mind is color, texture, size, relational meanings, etc. But the feelings, the emotion, the judgements, all comes later. At times, when alone, I get sudden feelings of uneasiness and nervousness as if it were a delayed response to what was seen hours, days, months ago. Am I cursed to live with sediment at the bottom of my glass, only to be shaken up when in a relaxed mood, while in the act of quenching my thirst?

Awake

Up and juxtaposed to feeling
Alive, awake, aligned
Desiring death, rest, finitude
Awaiting for initial moves

Perhaps, maybe it is for worth
Searching for finality
At end, hard truth will seep
Into corpses to speak

Dread

Upon the ears hearing
frozen alabaster body still
pumping lifeblood paused
for a moment

Contained within,
thoughts dreary mile-stares
an inappropriate retort;
desire to retract spoken words

Apologetic existence
mine eyes like ocean
waves beyond beaches
in heart, in mind, for you

Aura of the night
blissfully chills
encapsulating
shrill agony
ego disgust
dark winter