Rock Visage and Flesh-Colored Antidotes

My head hurts because external stimuli stabs my heart

so I scream into space and punch walls trying to restart my emotional footing

I hate tears because fear is better than pity so I shrug off what appears to be pathetic embrace and yell fuck off because I’m not accepting charitable touch and grace

a rock is and always will be better than a drop of water when you’re trying to break windows, you see…

I have a hard time reading this because nine times out of ten I have to pretend like I have a finished veneer impenetrable to pain inflicted far and near

when all I want deep down inside me is to not be afraid of true expression absolute to me – quite frankly fuck subjectivity and camouflaged ambiguity hiding as the truth

But yet, here is the mask I wear and often flaunt. With flare.

And this mask gets more deceptive with time instead of weathering away like things actually living

I don’t—won’t—take it off because—wait, well I don’t actually know why

Ironic: this knowledge actually makes it all worse because there could be a name to the face on this mask but I still don’t have a face I can share

It’s called the postmodern condition of ambiguous schizophrenic egotism

But fuck that.

The blame games and name/shame shit doesn’t change the fact I’m hiding behind a front

This mask has more facets of existence other than masquerading fury in place of sadness

Like how I bite my tongue when I should scream and scream when all I want is to retreat inside my mind

but then again, sometimes my thoughts burn too hot to hold and too furiously noisy to control

But in my mind I can and will and do confide her face to my thought’s eye

and when our eyes lock the sparks that fly and the reflection of my smile in your iris lets me see what a real fucking smile on my face looks like

Lips that lock tear down any vague sense of self-imposed gates

I get a natural chemical rush that scorches my skin and heart with fiery hot bliss and there’s a unity that’s passionately peaceful when we kiss

and I realize I’ve been looking for this unfiltered reflection of myself for all my life

The coldness that I create due to a life’s worth of fronted fakeness is serenely heated to 98-point-6 when I lie embraced in your arms on a bed wrapped in sheets baptized in an internal attenuator that pacifies thoughts to loud to think about because you’re beside me

This is what a real sober thought feels like.

Genuine.

My thoughts are not clouded by internally inflicted crucifixions when I hold you tight into my arms.

When I’m with you my heart feels warm

not cold

Happiness comes from an external version of something else beautifully internal and almost certainly pained

Unity – that’s figurative or literal or both – creates an escape, flesh-colored in state

She’ll give me strength to confront internal fractures irreparable when they’re left to me

because I don’t think living is an ultimately finite road meant to be travelled alone

Life as a truly solitary path creates a tragically fucking selfish existence in passing

and absolute unity in whatever love-flavored form buffers all the bullshit inherent to truly living alone

I’m waiting for this jigsaw puzzle piece to fall into place and I’m skimming along the surface of my thoughts best I can

avoiding the dangers inherent to murky pseudo-subconscious thoughts

balancing that with my deconstructive eye for vices of the mind

There’s brightness in a dark self-imposed cave because you’ll be there

Prism

There’s a prism that exists between us

defining our existence based on preconceived zeniths

and we mimic its reflection as we peer through it

seeing the dance we preform

Where did the heart-shattering hammer

and glass-proof shoes get off to

to break this distorted confine

and walk into passion rich atmosphere

There are no hammers or shoes

And the only time we really break out is when we look into each others’ eyes

I had a dream where the penumbra was removed

and the smoke was cleared and buffers withdrew

I held you in my arms while the world burned on

the prism melted into sand and the relief felt good

I want the type of time to sit and finally inhale the warmth you give

The sparks that hover in the air when we’re alone is my daily summit

Some fight:

We’re taking flight

So encompassing for so long

Destroy to live

I’ll fragment the world until we can breathe

I’ll fragment the world so we can be

This prism is so constricting we have to dream to see the source of light

This prism is so small we have to dream to see the source of light

Scream With Me

I have a complex where I lust for understanding
until I understand what it means to be existent
and existent means to be empty and empty means to be broken

Fragmenting my thoughts--I can render my consciousness to fractals
and infinitely dull the pain with blunt edges and chemical connection
or maybe instead of chemical ingestion I can find someone else
whose head is filled with distaste at her existence
and we can fuck the hatred out between us until I Am Numb

but with numbness comes coldness and coldness brings distance
distance from one another; God, don't make alone in my existence
I long for the confrontation and transfiguration of the threat of one: loneliness

Loneliness in my head, I want to be understood by someone else
always together, fuck and forget the rest

But the evanescence of ordered-sonics
transcribes my internal cries for connection and
sends it through space, racing for embrace
 from others with beating hearts and bleeding veins
and thoughts of joy and pain until meaning is transported
into another's thought circle and breathes protection from self-inflicted vexes
and now, We Are Not Alone.

I know the world the best when I sing so I sing about everything
with structured winds morphed from breathing and living:
I can be with someone else whose heart beats
and I am not prisoner in a one-by-one cell of bone padded with apathetic hate
for the world I occupy because I can share the hate and so much more

Expression breeds comprehension
Baby, I'm so tired of living inside my head
so this goes out to all the people who get lost in something else
to stave off the emotional compression that reduces everything down to meaninglessness

shout out what you feel
get lost in the scream
scream for connection
scream for human heat

10-77

tied to the fullness of white
bright, with light and turns to orange
orange to black, gray -- end first
working its way up
bleeding mono attached building blocks of life

opaque massless mass
in and down and out and up and out
higher and dispersing up to the clouds
it looks like clouds -- foggy at best
foggy at first, plumed out
and up it rises
again and again

until brown is burnt
on back to white, pace slowed
slowed to a dull glow,
fuel lost as flame meets fluff
and then what's left is tossed
or flicked or maybe stomped

head slightly swimming, floating on a massless cloud
shortly but surely
yearning embraced

mono attached building blocks of life
this whole white to orange to black and gray
bleeding death
decay

Eschaton

I got this friend: when we were kids we would roam around lands pockmarked with the discernable sound of copper wires hung roof bound
We would pretend to run away and look for refuge in the concrete walls
10 ft tall, iron gridded, and covered in color coded vestiges with what I suppose had more meaning before

You see: you and me, we were born into a world geared up for emphasis on important things measured in abstract means and transmitted on some type of realm slightly less than physical

And a part of me apart from me believes in something biblical...
I guess I should have been baptized in waters slightly less unbreakable

And as we got older the world got colder and kept warm by a bunch of meaningless fire resembling
something like language

And the chatter invades my mind with every breath
linking the physically vacant and breaking the presently dead

**

And so we roam around lands pockmarked with the discernible sound of multi-synthesized wires hung
above our heads
And we don't pretend to run away:
We run away in our heads with leafy green and brass that gets too hot to hold when you apply open
open flame forged from plastic and not natural
And I choke back the bile that comes from my throat after I send something burning down it because burn and bile is superior to empty presence especially after so much burn when the only thing I
have to worry about is staying upright on my front feet.

That is simple.

Every night I go to bed with a floating head and a spinning room is a night I'm not resting on isolated
 ones and zeros

Because it is not a good thing to be well-adjusted to a sick society.
No, the mark of your character is not how snugly you mold your words and hands into flexible and
    cold systems running on logic

**

It all lost its footing sometime when eyes focused on pixels and binary instead of breath exhaled and
    physical embrace
But everyone pretends that it's all so profound -- interconnected but physically broken

And but it is said that at least there is meaning; at least there is meaning

I can't breathe with those words on my mouth

There is no meaning to something set up where the concrete is measured with the abstract
That's not meaning

So we'll fuck the meaning out between us and lay lonely together because I'd rather fuck someone ill adjusted to a fucked world than pretend that its smooth water I'm sailing on

Breathing is hard when I'm breathing in more than just air.

December Time and Sycophant

Since you've gone now
now you got rid of me
you dyed your hair brown
does blond remind you of me?
In my heart I got a tatoo
in the place you left it in
I'd love to kiss you now
and put out a cig on your lips

Round December time room begins to spin
I put a burn in my throat because you're a sycophant
find tools to treat you
or fuck you or whatever else

Since you've gone now
you got no one else - pain
you can't drive
but you'll get on alone
Septemeber time you think your
getting older
you can't seem to get it in your head
that you got colder

Green

This is my first legit attempt at writing in a true free-verse/free-style kind of slam-orientated piece.

-----

So did you see everthing of me you wanted to see
when you asked through pixilated screens last spring

because I think I did show you
all that I could

and I asked you if you wouldn't play your games anymore
I didn't want your revolving door kind of shit
I wanted you here in the now not in the back of my mind
and in the front of my heart like before

and you said that you would, you would, you would
you wanted in my mind, inside
so I broke the line I drew just for you
because this time you meant it

and you meant it because we both came out of a winter cold, hard, cynical, and loveless
and you were my thaw and I was your thaw
and we opened up in bloom, flumed with the colors of green and spring

Green at the park, we sat until dark
and I remember guardedly seeing your eyes look through mine
and I felt a spark in my head and in my heart
but I reservedly put it off and looked away
because it wasn't going to happen, wasn't going to happen, wasn't going to happen
not today

and then a few nights passed
and Green was my jacket, my shirt, and my eyes
as I waited for you and we walked
me cautionary and you unreserved
across train tracks and liquor bottles, up hills
and onto a couch where we talked to one another
for what could have been some time, I don't recall

a red couch
it wasn't green
passion
you said something about a stupid picture
and I said something stupid about the picture
and you said with such a glow in your eyes and on your face
"you don't now"
and me looking at you with the same spark as before
and you leaned in

fuck
I think I thought
months and months and months and you just put off for four or five nights back
but here I am
we are
together on a spring evening, outside green, spring, my green jacket
and your brown eyes closed like mine
and hand in your hair, behind your ear; red couch
I think I was trembling

a combination of a warm feeling
parted with shaking joy and trembly voice
we stepped outside into the spring air

it's the kind of smell you forget how good it is until you step outside next year
before you light a cigarette and cloud the air brown
and it smells so fresh and green
full of life like nature is hopeful and happy to be rid of winter

you can almost smell the the new life

and we walked to an empty bus
and went to the back
plexi leather underneath my head
with yours above mine, my neck straining to keep our noses side by side
not thinking about anything
bliss

and there was a moon above the metal canopy over our bodies
full with white light that made the night bright through the foggy windows
and my neck hurt but I didn't care

sweet and bitter taste and I couldn't smell the spring air inside the buswarmth
I was beyond her flowery lotion; I could only feel her there
and with care we stayed for a fair bit of time sharing whatever we could
her hair would stray into my mouth until it would tear away

hot

I fell away from that night lost somewhere between transverse and irreversible
irreversibly together, or something like it
and there was so much I wanted to say and ask before we left
and I laid in bed flipping moonlit thoughts with - for once in a night - a clear head
not spinning and not twisting and not fuzzy
and not a want for it

sometimes when you go to bed you get a poetic idea through your head
or melodic and lyrical and instrumental and transcendental
but they get shaken up with your dreams and you wake up thinking you know
know that you had something important in your head
but that you forgot it somewhere between the lightswitch and the pillow you rest on on your bed

and I'm sure that I had something like that
that I could say the next day when I saw your face and would make you brighten
and I could get close enough to you again to get past the flower lotion
bitter and sweet taste
***
there is an end to all this because there is an end to most things
and it isn't good but not much else is
so I can immortalize you in a good way with words
and I can leave out the rest of the bad
because putting that aside
times spent on grass under trees watching a street cleaner sweep white flowers off the pavement
while I sweep wet tears off your face with ethanol on our lips
and nights passed lying under the same roof on the same couch
with the windows open while a thunderstorm rages outside
with enough force to spray mist through the window-screen over our eyes
but the rest of us covered with blankets and our arms and petrichor 
warm because we're together and nothing else matters
makes all the bad worth the wait...even though lots of bad came after
I call it fate

Hindsight is a rosetinted glass
painting the past in brighter colors because time moved too fast

I don't know if I love you
I don't know if I loved you
I don't even know if love can be in past tense
but I know that I love the way you made me feel
and you might have been the love colored space holder in a place in my mind or chest that needed filling
but whatever it is or was it was real

You make me think of spring
and spring reminds me of green
The problem with it all I guess is that my eyes were green and yours were not
and I was doing a good job not thinking about you too much until the leaves started blooming again, in green flume