Feel Alive


Sometimes death beckons,  and I am tempted,

not the permanent peace or scary spectre

but rather the dearth of the feeling inside.

Sometimes I  want to drown, an eternal baptism,

absolution solution for the lack within me

that is filled with smoke but has no flame.

Maybe if I were to reach the sun and burn,

feel the flames flickering through my heart

I would be able to bear the darkness within.

But I am dying to breath meaning into this,

so much so that I forget to hate the suffocation,

and inhale frustration to refill my smoke chamber.

Maybe I am a masochist looking for a match,

or an arsonist trying to drown desire in flames.

Perhaps I am deep sea diver searching in silence

or just a mime mimicking the motions mindlessly.

Who Knows?

I am a machine tin man searching for a heart,

a killer consumed,craving the courage to go crazy.


Maybe, I am suicidal.

Or maybe, I just want to feel



Picture Perfect


To you I am just a picture, not even perfect

a static caricature, a representation of a reality.

Do you not realized that I have grown…up?

My roots pushing past, putting the past behind

I have tasted the sky with my fingers and smiled,

greeted the sun with with a kiss on the nose

and laughed at the impossibility of it all.

I have grown beyond , now I cast the shadow

except it’s not a shadow to outlive but shade,

a place of refuge when the storm slams doors

and wrecks havoc upon your heart you can rest,

stop resisting awhile and just breathe with me.

But you don’t remember the present, my presence

is mired in the past when I admired you passively

and you can’t see anything but an imperfect picture.

A moment cut from the time stream and pasted

into your memory bank…I am only a picture.

Why can’t you see the changes I have wrought

within with these words I have written, I, smitten

drowned in sin but too belligerently blessed I died

and before my casket cocoon was buried you snapped,

a picture is all you have of me, my walls closed

and my heart trapped within, that’s all you can see.

But I am sorry, I broke the gilded frame of guilt

and shattered the glass that suffocated my expression

and even as I floated to the grounded, smile

illuminated briefly by an errant ray of sun kissing me

goodbye, I laughed knowing to you I am just a picture.

I climbed the ray of sunlight using laughter for steps,

so don’t be surprised when you only find a blank frame.

If you want to see me again, look up and you’ll see me

all grown up, a perfect place to find shelter in the storm.

Joy is in Simplicity


There is joy in the simple things, a penultimate pleasure juxtaposed with pain

when the words come to life, colors and sounds birthed from lifeless womb.

The way eyes glaze across the pages, hungrily drinking in the sacred symbols

hearkens to days gone by when charlatans chanted obeisance for forgotten Gods.

Life fades away into the grey background as the letters seize the soul for a spell,

silently shattering secret desires and exposing the innermost affliction of avarice,

the intimate act of sharing another being’s mind so taboo and refreshingly shocking

in its casualness that the spirit is seized in a fervor of emotion that can’t be contained.

Love so much sweeter than the mixing of chemicals and so much more tragic the loss,

each poignant moment of pain the perfect training for heartbreak in future foretold.


This poem will be continued when something else makes me extremely ecstatic. I hope to add many more stanzas!

Wrong Side of the Bed


You are like a superhero, created in childlike fancy

with power to do anything that your mind imagines,

but you have no imagination so you simply fester.

You are Green Lantern without his Ring of power,

Superman wearing a cape made from Krypotonite,

and Batman without any money or motivation.

You are the essence of wasted potential, the stench

of failure wafts from your every orifice like a plague.

A timid plague, not the Black plague of destruction

you are so utterly hopeless that you fail at failing.

You are Ash Ketchum without his Pikachu, blue

in the face from yelling pathetic pleas to the winds.

You are Naruto without Karuma, Sasuke sans Sharigan

Lee without Guy and Sakura…well just as she is.

You are the epitome of relentless forsaken dreams,

you are the stumbling block in every traveler’s path,

the messiah to the demons of sloth and greed and avarice.

You are the personified presence of pitiful paradigms

needing shifting but you are Megatron with no spark,

just a bad toy in need of a new home in the junk yard.

You are the embodiment of Aergia, the killer of muses

but even in your failure you can’t hit rock bottom

because that would mean you have accomplished something.

You are limbo, empty like Natsu without his flames

or Luffy without his Devil Fruit, only dreaming you can reach.

You are Ciel without Sebastian and Light with no notebook.

You are purposeless and irrelevant, your existence only

potent as an example for parents to point to as warning.

Boredom doesn’t even convey the width of your lack

and inadequacy only cracks open the door to your folly.

crybaby Tsuna is picked sooner than you to be on a team,

you’re about as free as the Doctor with no Tardis,

your tardies never counted because you’re invisible.

You are beneath the slime trail left by a slug

and your entire existence begs to be aborted but

even your mother couldn’t bare to let you win an easy death.

 You are Goku with no dragon balls, dead to the world

and you are like Dexter with no conscience, a serial killer

but you botched the killings like Harry and Marv

you are the blatant disregard of common courtesy

and the troll sitting behind a computer desk forever alone.

You are the embodiment of every failure,

the fulfillment of every night time terror,

the perfect example of potential wasted.

You are a monster.

You are…me.


Exorcising Demons


Music thrums through the body, exorcising demons

ripping out hidden skeletons and exposing the flesh

flayed from the bones by the relentless heart shattering.

Music beat by the drummer dancing the feet to failure,

body dancing into the night hoping to learn how to fly.

Only silence and a sick feeling follows the lack of leap,

slowly silence is summoned by the celibate lips, it reigns

on the parade, shuts down the party, not party to love, lust?

Pain follows the silence, steady shuttering captures shattering

in plain amateur film, gorily glorifying the ghastly expose.

Chest ripped open, irregular heart ripped from gaping hole

and presented like a present, wrapped in chains, locked

treasure in a chest, meant to be shared but rather hoarded.

Forgetting to beat, only beating passion and spilling self hate,

gripping self-confidence and choking life from the essence of being.

Music thrums- exorcising demons, but the gates of hell yawn wide

within and the devil himself strums the lines of fate, whispering.

Emptied and poured out, depression container cracked, leaking

leaving nothing inside but rage, smoldering, smoking fury,

a fire lit on wood too green, too soon, billowing black belligerence

punishing no one but the inside of the body is charred charcoal,

stomach acid eating the silence screams and drowning hope.

Rage in the moment, scream in the silence and dance, dance!

Music thrums through, exorcising demons while exercising.

Inhale, breathe, forgive, forget, love, live.  Live! Live! Live!



“Look at her sparkle” they whisper,

glancing sideways as she glides along

across the dance floor like a lit ruby

bursting with life in her sequinned dress.


“Look at her sparkle” they cackle

as she tackles conversation like an art

and masters comedy like  fishermen

master the fish, hook, line and sinker.


“Look at her sparkle” they jeer and jest

hoping to capture her light in their cruelty.

Like careless children catching fireflies

they strip away her wings and leave her naked.


They batter her with words, red dress rent

and her strength is gone, her words all spent.

Until finally she can sparkle no longer, dull

and defeated, one of them, or so they think.

I can see beyond the tired facade of falseness,

beneath the lies painted on to cover the cracks

and past the pleas for that light to shine again.

I simply point her to a mirror and whisper,

“Look how you glow! Look how you’ve lived life

and how you’ve learned livid lessons.

Look how you’ve loved and lost and lived.

Look how you have laughed till you cried.

Look at how you glow!”

Post Script


I wanted–meant to tell you the other day,

the words tickling the edge of my throat

but my tongue tripped and stuttered,

and suddenly robotic I could not speak.

Utterly unable to utter the words as if

I couldn’t understand the language.

The reality much dumber, I was simple stricken.

so I wrote you a letter describing you,

drawing  your beauty with my words, and

tracing your shape with silent syllables.

The keyboard keys clicked on and on,

until my fingers were consumed in cathartic

release but still I didn’t say what I wanted to.

I finished the letter, printed it and signed it

with my name, and with bold red ink bleeding

my hopes and dreams unto the pristine paper

I penned, P.S. I love you.