Unapologetic

“Don’t ask how, why, when and what”;
Just as we pursue rising above the stereotype
of unknowable irrationality whelming, that
enthusiasm rests within
the boundaries of human endeavors
and individualism is a spite;
Why am I arrogant?
Why do I succumb to shadenfreude?
For as a shame for Nietzsche I am,
why do I electrify the realms of wisdom philanthropy?
But I keep these thoughts unwritten,
unsung at the tunes of necessitated groupthink;
For the only thing that will dissolve
the superficial of my endangered volition,
so they say,
is my arrogance and electricity;
no one knows –
genesis lies going back to nature,
innocent and separate from the bias of the world,
of rejection and acceptance and so much more
than workable elements of stupidity,
of human decision I bear nonsense in the end;
Do I concede how they manipulate
the order of the universe,
the logic demonstrated by mere forms;
deluded at the midst of conformity and indifference
lay an unnoticed recoil of what we often think we know
But tomorrow if it all comes true
I wish nothing but truth rather than convictions
Wistfully thinking
Wishfully thinking
And contrary to what these says I heed the flames
of misunderstood intellect bursting like frustration,
the explicitness of the manuscript by the noir;
off I go to go back again
Brackets of disowned thoughts by others
who deem that an armchair is only an armchair,
for just as I actualize my potentiality,
my greatest potentialities,
just I pursue the derision of others to exemplify my greatness –
I could not be responsible at the futility
starting to knock over their heads
(and I knock harder)
As I decide to be what I am
the freedom lies somewhere between dualisms and pluralisms
of drunk intellect and delusional waste for all it’s worth
As I decide to be what I am
the weight crushes me with happiness, and I
savor its temporal happiness;
for it bears nothing in the end
As I decide to be what I am
I no longer am the slave of the world
but the order of the universe is just a beg in my feet;
the invention of metaphysics is a beggar needing meaning
And I give it because I know it’s a prepositional reality
of what is to come next;
men’s pursuit towards life has taken them away from life itself
and it has eaten them alive with their unnoticed
responsibility of their existence under the conditions set by the world
And it’s time for me to forsake the impediments
the workable elements –
Why am I arrogant?
Why do I succumb to shadenfreude?
For as a shame for Nietzsche I am,
why do I electrify the realms of wisdom philanthropy?
Just this, and nothing more.

Ivybluesummers

Crowd gazes oceans, rowdy
little dandelion mourning over milks,
spilled, unfathomably
And fiction it’s the only filth,
Dusting off truth when all gets sweet

And ivy looks good by its name
for poison mingles its hue
With roses and thorns it’s all the same,
much more disguising blue;
And summer it’s too soon, or was it
just winter that passed by April?

But arrogance plays Mary that
cries like the wind does, calling
and running just to do it again
It only plays with a word, this feeling;
It’s that little stranger on the mirror, who
wallows and makes it beautiful.

Light Shines Heavy

light shines heavy
blinded little question
that I cannot answer;
and I have to be the same,
I would, daffodil,
so darkness spills
and grasses greener, taller;
where are answers
when time already passed
but I tell you daffodil
I wont wish the lot
when you are not;
pity little dandelion,
everything’s the same;
afraid of light, darkness;
and I cant find
what I find
I cant answer
what I answer
I cant ask
what I ask;
no one knows

light shines heavy
and don’t forget
to remember me,
daffodil,
you are,
and I’m not over.

For A

Blue eyes amidst white backdrop
Lingers on the room for wires
Swallows green lush in the end
It’s hardly believable
And it’s barely convincing
That it stopped breathing
It stopped bouncing off the ground
To just stare at me again
And appreciate slavery in the hands of comfort
Of coy and white broken skin
And anonymously I tell it,
I’d miss you.

Icarus

Thursday morning it’s starting unforgettable
Sadness over thoughts
in the place that I am in;
Verses and prose no longer come hand in hand
Can’t wait to wake after sunshine

And wind up slithering voices in the head
Love is not profound but it has to offer
And as it weathers on each storm,
flying and swinging to dream ahead;
So much love and storm after everything else

Circles over fireplace on a daffodil
and it screams revelry sentimental
Gliding zenith and passing up daytime
Or do they cross the pathway salvation?

Stay happy masquerades on lonely fireplaces;
Smiling too much it breaks upon myself
In the chesterfields of discipline,
I say I do not cringe but I reek upon myself;
Love is not perfect but it has to offer
And as it strays conviction
thursday morning it’s unforgettable

Moths and butterflies cry salvation over fire
Burned down flying over breeze
Passing up resolves and losing in the end
Flying like Icarus and falling unforgettable in the end.

Snowflake 5:12

Honey plays over single dances
And I could only guess what’s for me
Chills to the given light
On a lonely camera circular

And I am waiting for myself
On an alluded snowflake yellow
Only to see Mary and Gary locking lips
On a rebellious junkie word

Toxic honey dances over the difference
It’s a little too funny
Down to last poem of the night
Withered on the fields afar

And the woman who wept
Thinks dancing is no wondrous fellow
Touching limbs and touching hips
Like unsung divinity forge

I got milk to dance over honey
Defamiliarized and I’m raising eyebrows
Keeping it all earthly safe, alive;
Would it come to you?

Honey plays irony
Over single dances again somehow
And I love you – so it’s the angry hype;
Would it dance over what you do?

Recoiled Unnoticed

How does it move so fast?
So I’m begging for oceans
and I’m crying sailboats
In the mirror and it gets too clear
It’s clear that it’s all blur
And I should’ve wasted all;
but this time
it moves too fast to make some wonder

And I take what it gives
And I learn from the world
Sway like the time
Now that it ripples too rapidly
I’m laughing rivers
and I’m silent wood and threads
To keep on begging
To keep on crying

And in the open some time,
some other way,
It wrecks upon any weather
Never was a daffodil feeling all good,
Venerable like vodka
In its own way,
Never was a daffodil born from cocoons
heeding for a sailboat on oceans
And doesn’t it move too fast,
doesn’t it mean cigars and brewers,
Venerable like vodka

Mouth it again;
No tingle, no flair like it breaks –
Almost recoiled unnoticed.

Cynical Indulgent

If my brewer can no longer serve the ego,
Dancing in the neon skies up above its daily outskirts,
I shall forfeit what the world can behold,
And it will no longer be the way it used to be,
When all of the darkness falls in my condescending –
And such as these,
When it all falls down,
I will always lurch at the tip of these words,
To savor you once more with every intellectual sonnets,
Or odes, satires and tragedies,
That even if reality is more than of lying and conviction
Rather than reality itself,
No less than, I have embraced you in my heart
I have seized you in my mind
And it will be forever now it came down upon me,
I will always look at it in my own way,
In my reeling head and in my swirling thoughts;
In this retiring place that I am in,
In this post-modern fad of repeated thoughts,
You will always linger at the realms of my wisdom,
Barging down and surging down like blood
In the veins
In the dirty streets of solitude;
And at the end of the day
When my life feels more than as empty as it seems
It will always be that way,
And actually it has always been that way –
And the catch no longer surprises me,
For the end of the story is always the same,
Sad, lonely, desperate,
Desolate and empty;
For the end of each verse is always the same,
Sad, lonely, desperate,
Desolate and empty.

Capricorn Boy

Raw Capricorn boy
Gone with the sleep
Awake by rage
Torn with scorn

Still in its pondering
Windstorm by cigarettes
Restless by caffeine
And over and over again

He dashed off of noir
The manuscript he flipped
Hostilities are waged
Forever forlorn

Too much understanding
Its loss and conquest
In existence for wane
The love is in chain

Notwithstanding
I’m wandering
I’m still wondering...

Yellow Backdrop (I'd be Waiting)

In this place of darkness,
I’d be waiting.
Through the starkness of desolation’s furnace,
whether people would be future or future would be people,
whether rooms can get smaller or bigger,
I’d still be waiting.
I’ll be waiting even if it means imprisonment,
I’ll be waiting even if ivory tusks
bore through the darkness of my enigma.
I’d be waiting even if it means insane solid confinement.
I can go through miles of galaxies or blackholes,
I can walk across the fields of daffodils
and red burns of roses,
I can drink gore and savor torture,
enjoy the everyday violence and even spear myself
of the Pyramid Head’s hell... I’ll still be waiting.
I will never be sure, and I may never ever,
I may see rooms of larks and crescents of drunken twilight,
of the horizons and medieval canopies of snow and autumn,
I may drown myself with nicotine patches and xeric drinks,
I may find myself wandering amidst social possibilities...
But I’d still be waiting.
I’ll be waiting even if mantras become whispers spoken
to haunt people like it never used to.
I’ll be waiting even if rebirth wanders
the mystical wheels of time and space and miracles.
I’ll be waiting even if words collide, even if poems
become shenanigans of people to express political and social mockery.
I’ll be waiting until frantic rhymes with optimism,
until the winds become the waters.
I’ll be waiting even if it means alternate
realities of metal and nature.
I’ll be waiting until I come out with gray tresses and yellow eyes.
I’ll be waiting even if it means knocking on heaven’s door.

In this place of darkness,
I’ll be waiting.
Through the starkness of desolation’s furnace,
whether people would be people
and future would be past,
I’d still be waiting.
I can go on and on with words
and I can start making verses all over again...
You may never come but I’d still be waiting.

Not Me Not

More than its unplugged mysteries,
Hungry of poetic words that seem to never end
How is it supposed to go on and on,
When there is nothing at all?
In its mystery
In the lines that create the world
How oddities come before heaven
Its scent
Its taste –
Clouds seems to rip apart the woes of the world
And there is nothing to hold on to
The mysteries of oddities
The oddities of mysteries –
It shall never be same,
And yet unplugged as it is,
We never seem to wonder
We never seem to notice
That each trance is a step towards suicide
How wonderful and lecherous,
How mysteries unfold like same old stories
How wretchedness wash itself anew
That wolves stray onto the ripples that they make
That wolves moan at the sound of its silence
Mouthing each other’s names
Its frustration,
Its journey
How verses can go freely unnoticed,
That they substitute love with reason,
And reason substitutes nothing
Nothing but fulfillment –
That within each unplugged mysteries,
There shall be no same frustration
No melancholy
No coffee
Not me not.

Coldness Goodbye

Vexed as the sun goes down
Sown to your curse – hexed
Two more to picture you
Who goes beyond what you do
Rising to its familiarity
Cruelty loves your whining
Inching down to its flesh
Fresh waters to dry its feeling

Thriving Nietzsche

Showing Nietzsche in the magazine is okay,
and I want to put up with your vagrant story;
that is if the pragmatics will lead him for the homicide
So yes I have realized that,
that you have some expertise;
so define the laws of necessity in the cliche` kind of words -
it's clear in fact...
Beyond good and evil
dwells somewhere in my mind
And if nihilism is a word to connect me to you
then maybe I'll be Hitler himself

But I saw you on the park the other day,
talking to your friends;
standing awake in the afternoon
And so I thought Nietzsche was already on the radio
I want to be there too...
I want to be someone else to pay my dues
and I'm going to give what I have
to your vagrancy
So where do you go to?
Will you still be here, so I can picture you
and me
against the world?

They say smoking is bad for your health
But still can we be more than just this
or something to that effect
Fanatics tell me to find new prospects
but how can I find one when there's nothing else?

And so I stared at the celing
shrouding gazes and so I was dazed
by the mere solemn fact of vainness
but here I am to make more verses for you
Only you -
Have I ever convinced you?

Jawbreakers

What is this third-world revolution,
this far-away paradise?
These lines that slither all around,
like free rider jawbreakers -
And each words compensate for its own depth,
and we have conceived its depth
When emptiness is a revelry
then it is all that I want -
weepinf off your clothes
crying out your woes
But and still,
if the earth hued black,
would you want to make a stop?
if worlds crumble anew,
would you notice everything you do?
If poems turn to prose,
do I still have your love to lose?
...and I spin around
I spin around crying vastness in the ocean
And I don't feel like asking
But certainly, yet certainly...

Free Rider

In the yellow bus ride your eyes turn into white
In the middle of a taxi ride your story unfold in cries
Disturbed in rhetorical lines you cringe at the sound
One thousand tears and losing what you’ve already found

Here,
You’ll find your light
Here,
Weep,
You’ll find your might

So you’ve seen my bicycle do you want a ride,
Or would you rather walk beside an almighty god?
Here comes Satan now, you better run and hide
In the middle of a taxi ride your voice sounds too sad

Here,
We live to fight
Here,
Gravity’s defied

And I’ll turn to fly –
Break upon yourself
And I will sigh to try –
Reek upon yourself

Hopelessly Hopeful

Frustration voyeurs within
like methane in the dust air;
breathing in and breathing out -
the savor of it tastes everything.
It feels like fire, like water,
And I am eaten alive,
Like the minerals in the depths;
Turn off the lights to see what you are.
Glorified and raw, look at the stars -
the moonbeams have shone against the war.
Hope renders impossibility,
Hopelessness and audacity.
Surely; yet surely...

And, weak lines that strengthen the bond,
touch the sounds in the strand -
why don't you and I?
Masquerade is a lovely revelry,
too vexed in the sweetness of honey.
Love comes hand in hand,
so why don't you and I?
Why don't you and I come hand in hand?

I am hopeful.
I am the one to break the walls.
And I am hopeless,
I said I bury myself in the stalls.
Full of promises,
but I am compromising.
I want to see what it means to be.

Follow Me

Follow me to where we lead to:
sunshine on the leashes,
darkness on the rise.
Follow me to where eyes lead you to,
onto the lark of all moonbeams,
silly as it is,
feeling to the skies above.
Follow me then to where moonbeams lead to,
the solitude of singing men...
Follow me to where dramas make you laugh,
and I'll lead you to the sunshine of the leashes:
darkness on the rise, they're just the same.
Follow me to the wilderness of the heart...
Where do the verses go?

On Dots and Marks

I need you.
To look into my eyes.
And tell me what it says.
Wait, oh wait.
Have I not been lying?
Have I jolted you.
From your mistaken ice?
How I've wondered
Long enough.
For me to tell you that.
I need you.
To feel the beat of the heart.
Can you feel it?
How does it feel.
When you turn off the lights?
How I've wanted to say that.
I need you.
To hear my whispers.
Of sentiments.
Where there are no lies.
Can you hear it?
I've been wanting to tell you that.
I need you.
To smell the gasps.
Of longing and loneliness.
Can you sense it?
The reek of solitude?
I've wanted to tell you that.
I need you.
To taste the food for thought.
That you and I.
Come hand in hand.
How does it savor?
It's been years.
And it will be years.
Or will it be real.
That I'd finally see.
Hear and feel.
Smell and taste.
You.
I've wondered.
And I've wanted to tell you that.
I need you.

Words

If all should leave in time for daylight's mind,
I may have to improvise.
I may have to engender a feeling of something worth my time.
If everything must fall in a space where dreams are air impossible to breathe,
I should vary myself either to the reveries or such -
So soon enough shall I find, that
If things are about the rules and daily orthodox of rules,
I may have to violate them.
I may have to live the life of ogres feeding fears.
Can you hear the calling of the chimes?

If everything is supposed to be what they are supposed to be,
Then it's not fate; that is not destiny.
Call it brittle words: brittleness made into words.
If everything are verses unrepresentative,
I may have to fight a god with my mighty sword.
After all, they're all just words... they're in so far words.

Somber Starkness (Of Everyday Pavements)

I know everything is adrift and lingering pavements,
but I feel like I've been there since everything's prospects.
Without sending off, without everything's beyond...
Are memories ought to lighten you up?
Or do tears have the answers afar disenchantments?
This time I will come around
for it may be myself, far eyed wide and found;
and all these tears will turn to wonders...
I'm out of sight but there's within the child...
Do I breathe in? Do I inhabit everyone;s specters?
Must I see to shoot the moon of consolations,
or should I rather wonder my shenanigans?
Am I of a solitude trance?
Is anyone there beyond everything's pavements?
Pavements are still pavements, and the child wants me to persist;
Pavements are calling me,
I feel all the starkness to subsist.

Morphine

[shakespearean sonnet]

One new morning I woke up with the devil.
With coffee in his hand, we had a talk.
I said I had a dream that made me still.
He asked 'what?' in a voice like he was my folk.
I looked at him and then to the ceiling.
I looked at him and he was grossly gone.
I stood from bed and saw his head hanging
near my window beside the combusting sun.
One morning I woke up with an angel.
With bottled water in hand, she greeted
me with a smile; she's like a precious jewel;
she's a feast that makes my stomach well fed.
I woke up looking at the canopy -
I killed myself beneath the old oak tree.

37 Sighs

I like, silent;
I say the truth
But it's nothing to you.
This as my descent,
Speaking truth as deviance,
My speaking memory,
Yes, vulnerability -
Light against the wind,
Cringed,
Awoke with eyes closed,
Weeping;
You lie, silent inside me,
You say nothing
And it's the world to you;
Volumes of meaning,
With swords against the wind.
And still I lie,
Silent,
Defeated by truth
Yet hearing what you saw.
Leaving you in my pocket,
Heaping,
Stitching what you sow;
That you lie,
Screaming,
It's the catch of your drop,
Falling;
You see darkness in light,
I lie,
But I see light in darkness,
Cringed;
Filling the emptiness
Yet you and I lie;
Damaged;
More to pun now,
Always silent before me -
Yes, vulnerability.