Escape from my mindless false existence
Finding a life beyond subsistence.
There never was much point anyway,
Staying silent when there's so much left to say.

Do you find it hard to see that I'm alive
Setting here beside you, listening,
As wind ravages the trees at night
Divining hope from these mindless whispers.

Soaring over foreign lands unknown

Last night I
climbed to the seventh
storey,
being a noteworthy
number I figured I
may find something
motivating.
little else than a
flier and a
used condom,
hanging from the
handrail
waving in the wind
like the American
flag.
Ah…
the stimulus of it.

if only...

if only...

if only i dreamt in black and white...

if only i saw his pretty smile and mussed hair...

if only his laugh made me smile....

if only i fit perfectly in his arms...

if only i felt a shot of warmth when he holds my hand....

if only his eyes made me melt...

if only...

if only...

if only i thought pretty pink thoughts...

This is about the first man I ever had a crush on (that I realized for what it was), the choreographer for the school play last year.

Pedagogue

The lines of your hands are clear
Elegant and definite
You gesture to the people listening attentively,
Your hands carve the substance of your words
Shaping pictures in the air in front of you,

Such a simple thing
seems so
attractive.
It takes a sort of
deliberation;
a contemplation
of the fixation.
It eats at you,
effectively,
working into your
mind.
There is nothing else
while all else
continues.
It does not fear
this thing called
loss,
nor does it
embrace it.
It isn’t hard to
glorify the
act.
Rather easy to
abridge the
act;
to make it
mindless.

I tried writing a meaningful poem and came up with this instead

I hate you
Red squiggly line.
You make me realize
I’m wrong,
Even when
I’m not.
I stand firm to the idea
That ‘Strategery’
Is a word.

I especially hate you
Green squiggly line.
You are always wrong
And yet,
You try to correct me.
Fragmented thoughts are
Intriguing.

I want to perforate you,

Baron of Light,
King of Slay,
Forever to guide.
Your face,
hidden
under mask,
Such a rare and secret jewel.
As all are trained before
we know,
The light will always settle.
Just call upon,
if class is right,
Unless you’re lead astray.
A silhouette is seen
in radiance.
Forget the crowd,
for they’ll not care,
And gawk at true life’s troubles.
None remain,

*this entry has been deleted*

I'm not sure where this came from, but it's how I'm feeling tonight. It's not about anyone specific, just written to an impulse, a thought, I suppose.

The Masochist's Love Song

Use me, take what you want from me, then cast me away
Hurt me, tear me into pieces so I can finally let myself cry

I'll be whatever you want me to be
Any depraved creature of your twisted fancy

Masks of you
Are finding their way into my
character.
I can’t
break
away from the way I feel about you.
I tried.
There’s just something
in that smile,
In your useless information,
In the way you
view the world.
It’s more…
It’s this feeling that I can’t
break.
It’s in your blatant
honesty,
The way you make me feel
When you’re around.
With you I feel better,

Vagueness is key.
That is, of course
if you dream to be comprehensible.
Organic in fashion
Wrought of old
and new.
Customs binding,
lacking subtlety.
Fearless,
if nothing else.
Maddeningly simple.
Tastefully erotic.
The undulating agitation,
Taboo, such as all pleasures seem.
Sinister inequality.
Undeniably barbarian.
It creates a facet
of society –
a “Bohemian”
Society.

Salvation, my comrade
Is but form in the function of a word,
Which may be,
Or may not be,
Vague and unperceivable.
Raving, it’s explicable.
If you have reason to be unhappy,
It’s understandable.
If you have no reason to be unhappy,
It’s curable.
How we perceive happiness
Greatly affects our own,
Whether medicated or otherwise.
And yet it’s obligatory.

Lying, crying, dying.
I'm so sick of pretending
that I'm alright.
I'M NOT OKAY.
I'm not...
anything you wanted me to be.
Not pretty or worthy or happy,
in one piece, surviving.
Not even alive.
This body sports the battle scars
of every day in your house.
I'm so fucking dead inside
I don't even know how to feel.
I thought it would be hard
to find somebody I hated
more than myself.

Inspired by this video:

Don't Follow

I want to let you in close to me

one more murder
and i can't feel the pain
stab and stab
such pretty bloodstains

one more murder
and i count stars
blow after blow
victim of wars

one more murder
and i close my eyes
swinging, swinging
smile for my cries

one more murder
and i finally die
is this my bliss,
this truth that i lie?

one more murder
and you walk away
kill me again...
just promise to stay

c'était le réconciliation
je t'aimerai quand je viens, quand je vais, quand je pense que
il n'y a pas de réconciliation
je t'ai eu, et j'ai apprendu
puis; toujours; et pour quoi?
Je n'avais pas raison,
Tu n'avais pas tort.
J'espère que tu vois que tu as tort un jour. je sais que je suis masochiste
et maintenant, rien pour moi comme toujours........

1. To nothing and back

Nothing breathes here, where ice slides off
and disappears. The navy sky does not sing; it is full
of unfocused nothing—the air, weak from only carrying the sound
of ice losing itself while Erosion our mother
hurries everything to its future self.
Nothing is so heavy; ice only knows to shatter itself
and float in pieces under the sag of the blue sky,