April 28, 2012

Quotes by moi

“Considering me, considering you, considering everything else, isn’t something I want to be considering.”

“You are attractively clever and eloquently beautiful.”

“I don’t mean half the things I say and I don’t say half the things I mean.”

“Humility was a word created by the poor to have the rich feel guilty”

“You are inclined to humility when in the reign of success you fear failure.”

“I don’t want love: I want a life long infatuation that ends tomorrow-when the sun ceases to rise.”

April 17, 2012


Eve bit the apple
Sinking into its white poison
Her white teeth-
Disguised by her luscious lips:
A smile
Whitened corpse
White bones leeched by our sinful flesh
White mocks us
Binds us
White Picket Fence
White Dress
White Panties and White Bras
White paper
Cuts so delicately
Cut it, snort it, embrace it
An honest white
No propaganda
Snowing subtlety on your skin
Angels, Snowmen, Sledding
Frostbite, Chapped Lips, Frigid
Tricks us
Makes us
to this false notion of hope
Ignorance in Innocence

April 17, 2012


The sun teasingly unveils itself from its glistening ocean as it undresses its light
Light that crudely infiltrates my eyes
Eyes bloodied by the anguishing waking reality that you are gone
Gone with the nights cautioning tide of a spiteful heart
Heart engulfing my vessels with bittered-poisoned blood
Blood havocking into my brain in lacerating hate
Hate that was love
Love that was not there
There that I wanted to escape
Escape from sincere trust belittled by mistrust: then and now
Now lips draught of speech sewn all truths in the traitor within
Within, my heart morses every beat for freedom
Freedom is my master who has connived to imprison me
Me who foolishly freed myself from you, my friend
Friend who selfishly-selflessly bound my mouth to your ear
Ear which entertained with love my thoughts, myself
Myself which I threw away
Away from you:
My true best friend

Written May 2010, notice the repetition of words

March 21, 2012


Love me now
Holding to your griping hope
I bead between me
Watering me out.
I am slipping.
Love me now.
Love who I was?
Sea of love when you see me
Not who I was
What I could
Be, not me
Hope in me …
What if I slip?
I don’t love me
You love me, not I
Before I slip,
Before you go,
Hold this rock.
Dry my secrets into nothingness
Bleed my sins onto myself.
So that when I
You won’t be above
If you could love
March 5, 2012


I lie to everyone-all the time.
Turn back the clock.
Close your
Make the world blind.
someone else’s life.
this strangers
Become someone else.
built this stranger.
You molded
your shame into
their strength.
let them envelope your being
while you’re busy dieing inside.

March 5, 2012


Gasp…breathe: scared!
Seconds to break down these beating walls
Time sands
Heart chained
Eyes paint his tragedy:
The last survivor in Pandora dies…
Betrayed by his mere essence
Crippled by trust
Poisoned by reality

March 5, 2012


My feet can splinter
My feet can crack
My feet can bleed
But I will not stop
Continue, for every wince
Of pain that colors my face
I can subdue the constant
Badgering within me
Like an impending catastrophe
My hands can shake
My hands can sweat a fountain of anxiety
My hands can fracture with every fall
But I will not stop
Ragged and lacerated as they may be
They are nostalgic nomads
Retracing their way back to the softness
That they use to dance with
The ground can shake
The ground can burn
The ground can bruise
But I will not stop
I have a dream
I have a wish
I have this love
I will not stop
I will give my home
I will give my life
I will give my heart
I will not stop
Until my feet fail me
Until my hands can no longer break my fall
Until the ground swallows me
You see I am going home
To my heart
*June 7 2010. Probably one of my worst poems

March 1, 2012

Date with the Grim Reaper

*Wrote this sometime during junior year 2006-2007

Deadly, deafening dawn envelopes the ending day in which you say:
-a tad bit too late, our eardrums…closed…to your dulling, discouraging body-
Surprised? Doubt on you dieing?
Ah, but we are all bound to be dialed up, to deal with death.
Heed the call, don’t dacoit or daff your divorce from this world.
Confusion devours and dries your daily dreams, deafening you in a…
Damning, Damnable, damnatory to be damned and damnified

Stop?-What is that?-You need more time?
Away from the dale and dainty defining idolized moments, which you have come to adore.
Devise not a way to daggle yourself out of this dancingly, damson, destructive, dank, daft dimension
for it was determined for the damnedest, diseased, dullest, dyspepsia  embodiment of human existence to reside in this life dampening, dolor domicile.

You DOG! Dare not to dodge or doff by dogging yourself to God!
Don’t durst to defy or dunk away or any of your disgusting dupery.
Don’t blame God! Thou were the one who drummed the distracting tune for this due curfew
You drat dud of life, drunkenly dinning your dearly, dutiful, disgusting, ardent pleasures by drooping by drabbing devilishly.

Dreary dissymmetry levels will obsessively dote upon your deserted dirge.
Curse your dysteleology, degage denotation of your dogmatic doctrine of life.
Dwine your dullard divination of escape, not now, its just too late.
The deadly, dieing Dagger of Death dives into your diastole heart
drilling itself through you’re drubbed, dratted body dilating, by the daffs, through your demonic diagnosed flesh.
Dripping, damson, blood canoes swiftly
You just keep lieing there on the dank, damp, dabble concrete that drugs itself with your life.
I see you are a judas my friend, down you will be dropped.
Now your dacoit stands over you sipping your life with such burning sweetness of a daiquiri.
Desire to live brings desperate, daft, doxy ideals. Sorry you’re pretty deep in the dulling ditch.
Anyhow you got to the deck on the dot.
So don’t daggle through the dabble.
This is your end, you are dead. D’accord.

March 1, 2012

Love you, love me?

*Written July 2007, years before actually being inlove. Written as an experiment.

I see the sun climb across the white cushions and through the blue oceans of the sky.
I hear the mesmerizing melody of the doves stringing and keying.
I smell the aroma of roses and tangerines racing through the air and crashing into my nostrils…ecstasy.
I feel the delicate, delicious, delightful caressing massage of silky roses.
I taste the sweet sugar of life.

It is you.
Do you not see?
No. I was
You leave me with…

Innocence exiled, as a child is stabbed until Breath is livered out of him.
The pulsating bombs of Life against Hope-the genocide of the Eardrums.
The bloody, sweat stench of truth lingers over the vulnerable flowers like a gaseous cloud.
The piercing needle of truth injects into every pore. Reality in. Dreams out.
Faith disintegrates in the acid, cavity stricken world with masticated Hope regurgitated at will.
It is my fault. Did i not see?

March 1, 2012

Novembers Third Thursday

*Wrote this Thanksgiving 2006, it was an experiment on prose, suffice to say I wrote some pretty dark stuff back in high school

In Novembers end…will you remember?
Grim Reaper has paid me a mortal visit.
Let the slashing laceration begin! Help! His bony, glacial hands cringe around my thin, slender neck. The pressure rustles feathers, crushing them.
His axe sails down. Bloods cascades off my body as thick and sour as cranberry.
A crimson river flows away. The strong current steals dreams…hope…life. Thieving each one with every drop of blood.
My life is a kayaking away, gushing rapidly into the cold cascading death!
An ice age begins from the core of my dieing flames of my heart. The heat, that once melted the deadly cold, is being cooled by the escape of my crimson water in search for warmer lands. All my rivers are being dried up and then frozen.
ENJOY! Enjoy me in the late afternoon as the sun is at its weakest and you are at your cruelest. Giving thanks to the Grim Reaper for doing your dirty work for you. All of your species come together, your pack all around me.
Hunger glows from their eyes as they try to escape their sockets so they too can feast on me.
They lunge at me! Clawing and slicing me into bits. Grease slithers down their claws as they get hold of my sizzling meat. And then…they smash their faces with my flesh. Their rabid mouths gnaw furiously as they crunch and gobble me.
“Why? Why must I be sacrificed so they can give thanks?”