AVALANCHE LAUNCH ( Read more... )

Is this a personal challenge
You will reveal over drinks one night?
We laugh as you pull me in close.

Are you fearful, damaged, &
Preferring solitude to
Your vulnerability?

I’m lighting up the room you brought me to.
I’m passing the gauntlet

I think lots about ( Read more... )

It’s The Butterfly Effect
And this is the buttwipe
That will change our destinies.
The bloody shit and paper
Fall into the toilet bowl,
Sealing our fate.
Something something about
The movement of air
And particulate matter
And DNA or actually
I never saw the film,
But I assume that’s
How it works when
I crawl back in bed
With you and my
Schoolgirl crush
And ripped ( Read more... )

Cruel invader, my dream crasher,
Uninvited unconscious thoughts.

Or so I thought.

You received the invitation
At my memories’ jump start,
The old photographs
Flowing across my screen.

I’m asleep and you visit me,
Unwelcome and real.
Silently strolling the perimeter
Of the metaphysical realm
I am manifesting.

Horny confusion, disdain.
You’ve tortured me
Enough ( Read more... )

Looking out at a
Swath of swarthy fucks.
Did I sell myself out
To uncaring desires?
My earnest heart
No match for
Penetrating frivolity,
Bloodied and alone,
Throbbing callus.
There are no answers here,
Only romanticized fear and pain.

Desperate. I'm electrified,
Transcribing my emojions
Into the vacant text field.
Completely fluid and cerebral,
Unlike any other action
I typically take on.
Curled croissant like,
Defying back and tendon aches,
Thoughts transmogrify
Into visual formation.
All day, suffering this mind's
Prison, but when I write, I am
Conductor not passenger.

According to God,
It’s Tuesday.
The prophecy tells
Of a stranger with
A backpack leaf blower
Circling my home.
Spiraling inwards,
The machine’s volume
Grows, unceasingly
Arhythmic, demanding
My rapt attention.
The meditation
Induced prophet sips
Her tea and knows the day.

Am I being honest with myself?
If the mosquito remains
Encased in amber, how could
The dinosaurs be made?
Arguably they should not,
So perhaps it’s poor metaphor.
Authenticity can free
Insanity, but unknown
Mental landscapes await there.
If it ain’t broke, don’t kiss it?

I would like to tell you everything.
What are the limits of language?
I would like to tell you everything.
What I did and saw and thought.
Could I tell you about you?
You’d like that.
I have this stupid tendency
Where I regret and miss things
That haven’t happened. Looking
At a cheerful face, morose they will
Die.