#6262

i wear my clothes to bed
and i smell like chamomile when i'm alone
i have nightmares i sleep with lights on
i can't figure this on my own
and i feel like a fucking joke

i haven't felt like this in what seems to be
a thousand years
turns out heavy weights
and sex
and eating well
doesn't make existence any easier

i might just as well throw the trash down the drain
who even cares?

#7768

proclivity to reenact feelings;
i hear the same voices go round and round and round an
d as it seems, they are not what's left
of the future that i've already seen,
mor e like a pi(un)cture already hung on the wall
i can't-
and i won't-
take down

   (so i gotta paint these walls around it so as to pretend we're fine)

neurotic chaos
is so empty
it drains
the blood out of my fucking
life.

diary entry

i have been having a hard time making the choices my consciousness needs to work itself through what's left of this year. i spent the whole of last month trying to recover from what the first half of the year left us. it's impossible to face a world where climate change is a neverending reality and i'm being consumed by someone else's bad management choices. i wish it was my mistake that could be fixed by saying i was sorry, but even writing these words is taking a harder time than i thought.
i used to read a lot and copy the style, i used to interact with stories long after they were gone. i read two books in the past two months. one was by aldous huxley, which i found dull, uninteresting; and the second was by alessandro baricco, which was fascinating. both of them were short stories, with shallow characters, but baricco's style is endaring; tales about silk being brought from japan, a string of love that consumes itself, a war that never happens, the figuration of the end of the world... it was as beautiful as a desert sunset. as beautiful as your skin.
on saturday we spent so much time talking about the depth of the mundane world we live in. there are no secrets between us so it demands conversation to transform itself. there's no hiding in the shadows, there's only a continuous stream of discussion. i have never been more in love with you that when we can talk about everything and nothing at the same time.

astringency

i spent too much without saying anything cause i guess nothing was happening, eh?
the lone writer
here i come

218

the rainforest is burning
and people hashtag it
i see it happen through the strings of time
and people hashtag it
it's just a sign of the time
how anyone with a space bar
can become a writer;
anyone with an enter bar
can become a poet;
anyone with good resolution
can become a photographer;
anyone with a good hashtag
can become the news reporter we need.
the rainforest is burning
the city keeps flooding
it's just how the tide flows
it will eventually carry us in

recurrent nightmares and a taste for mint tea

long entryways
high halls
i am hanging somewhere from above
in all the dreams:
    there's light, even from within
    there's dark, even from the inside
a sense of belonging into what is no longer mine
a body fills to be a cavity i can sleep in; no more progression
i draw a line into empty space
while i hear the songs that draw out my blood

it's immense
i have been dreaming of reclusion and secluded spaces
of dreams of unknown victims
every day i think about
what life would've been
without you

taurus

head rests on a chest
rises, unaware
unknown to man are still the depths.
with calm, now and again i explain
the meaningfulness of whales
how they recycle and cycle through time and space
their innate and immense ability to disperse

through time and sound i will collide
with species and humans alike
someone with soundness will understand
in its true light the meaning of the hug;

for one second awake i will childishly admit
that i am again in love with me,
how the fate has come into my hands
and molded itself right
into the shape of a body
i can now touch.

april

the summer is coming to a common end
it began, so i remember
while i was away from harm
in broken arms
in paradise, a promised land

i took a bus and
the sun setting chased away my fears
i was so tired when we began;
i am so tired now that the summer's ending

even when the sea is within me
even when your skin collates mine
when i'm nowhere but where i wish i'd be

the blood turns black and the mist follows,
a foggy dream unwound
a true nature unfolds in terraces we don't know of
and i say

the river and its sediments
will follow us wherever we go
it's just a matter of listening,
then
the heat will always be within

part iii

he said nothing
i said less.
then i left.
whatever happens between us happens
on the brink of destruction.
i only leap out of comfort when
i can think later.

always when the sea and the moon come to greet me.
she has been in my eyes this whole time.
that night she was somewhere quiet.

she's a rose, a quiet lagoon
a hidden treasure at the bottom of the sea;
he's a national anthem
he's the song my voice can sing

in the night they stay afloat
wondering what got us all together
how the strings can connect
and spin us in

i have stopped trying to guess the motions
i just take them in
let the tide take me
wherever i have to be

part ii

she said, "you have only wasted your life!"*
i looked up and never for a second doubted she was right
but was she bound to treason?
i couldn't tell by the looks in someone elses' eyes;
for a second i'd thought i'd lose her forever!

then the tides washed me in,
the rain thought me clear
the ending of the roads kept me quiet
and the warm summer breeze at night
finally awoke my spirit.

i slept all night i think
without the nightmares seeping in.
he said he couldn't.
i wondered what happened those hours
i was away.



*oscar wilde, roses and rue

part I

if i sat on the moon and wondered from above,
how we all became so tiny and solid
a free-formed cluster of uncertainty,
would i find the answer the stars haven't yet
provided?

i often think about shapes
and how the tides change with the moon herself
a presence of innate beauty, that challenges me
could i be an eclipse that casts a shadow so long it might never be full again?

i have been the fool for years
played behind the screens in times where
i was wrong, so was the next
and then the next of strangers

i let everyone in
hoping it could heal itself
then came the part where
i finally fell asleep broken apart

i felt the salty drops of sweat on my forehead
and winced
you said it was only normal
to make an effort for what you wanted

so i sat and asked the moon if this was what i wanted