I need to have a permanent, tighter relationship with the lens.

"I had to write an essay about the most important person in my life. & I wrote about you, and not Mak or parents like the rest of the class did. At first, I wrote how in my teenage years, I had a lot of options to relate my life to, and I was without any restrictions. But as I aged into the early 20s, everyone around me are the restrictions, and I ( Read more... )

I only have neuron cells for ink. What a waste, what a waste. I need to improve my ways of connecting with the time, the tnsion, the energy used. So far I've been stumped, cut shot and all sentences sound so rigid. So distant from each other, unable to sound coherent, at the very best. Only the sound of clicking keys and the non-existant constant ( Read more... )

The curve of your neck
      dilating like the curse of pleasuring.
So I can study your architecture and your facts
      and defenestrate your stain marks.

Full of 3ams and half-hearted sums. Picking strings and crafted words on dirty yellow papers. Dedications on flustered confessions, and behind the glass for education. Thick cologne, thick divergence.

Physical contact doesn't mean anything.

Riddles that I created are so heartless,
with faux complexion and dangerous hopes,
I am left with punctuations.

A rushing stream,
a hurried scene,
an abrupt ending.

No, your heart won't be able to solve
and invites won't be sent out.
I am keeping it quiet, for, a
sense of breathing.

My forensic ways would have been helpful if it actually opens your door so I can see what's underneath. And if it's not looking healthy, I'll cut the wires and shut you down

(from my teething countings)