fitter happier

been drinking too much
sour bottle blues
and critics say they don't understand
but how could they
"ungrateful son of a bitch"
running in circles in a higher dimension
chasing after a snitch
but she's not golden
bronze, if anything
cynicism won the game
that's what made her my one
and lonely
but i've always been this way
my heart is an empty courtyard
an empty chest
and these girls
they fall like dominoes
but not like nicki minaj
more unrequited
they've fallen for the next guy
anyway

Proclamation of Emancipation

Planet Earth's Drama King 2012

Brother to Brother

Baby boy the road is long but they say if we follow through we'll get that pot of gold
Suicidal like a cat 9 lives couldn't hold us back
Daddy said you were the fire
Lets not forget we have each other

Nothing can stop us now

You are the innocent hope
When I see you I see me and so much more
What is more to love than the miles between brothers
It's you and me vs all the others
And we'll get hung over like a rack full of coats
Daddy never left us, cause in each other we found home

Don't forget that even the ghosts can't haunt us
We're perfectly imperfect
The world's our prey and we are the hunters
We'll take the world by storm
We are the eye of hurricane
Watch you be the greatest man I'll ever know

I see you bleeding out but I promise I'm reaching out
You'll never be alone again
Not for a single day while this earth spins
The vultures spinning will die of hunger
Cause I promise you'll make it through
You'll make it through ok

Baby boy go get it
The world is moving
But I'll always be waiting
I'm here right by your side

Alone

They say home is where the heart is and I've never been more alone
So tell me where to go when I've lost my heart somewhere along the road
Let's get drunk off each other and ignore these cracks
You and I together till the morning do us part

I've got leaches on my heart
Starving for attention
We're broken beyond the cracks

Give me something to believe in
I get high off my self pity
I guess at least I find comfort in knowing
Someday this has got to stop (right?)
Friends in high places
With hearts smeared on the ground
We're vicious selfish "lovers"
Only want what isn't found

And I'm stuck in desperation
Alone in self dementia
I'm not who I was at the start

I see clouds of you slipping from my mouth
Kissing nicotine off each other while the lights are out
Text a romance novel and the poet is alive
Broken lovers both together, alone in doubt

If god has a plan for me then he can bring it
I'm ready for the pearly gates or to burn in flames
Cause I'm not just a soul drifting without a route
I'm a heart beating only on depression and self doubt

I can see the wizard hiding behind the curtains and drapes
I'm ready for my reveal, I'm all of Dorothy's friends
No heart no brain and I'm barely brave
But maybe with another shot (at this) I'll feel ok

From Waffle House at 1 AM

Torn between denial and a breakdown. I'm always torn between something and something else. Lillian took me home, but home is where the heart is so we just went round the cup de sac until we ran out of gas. Sojourner. Kind of like a wild heart but more tame and a little more blue. What's the worst possible outcome? Multiply it by two. I'm the broken heart searching for the noose. Stitch me up and call the doctor.

I got some sort of cardiac arrest on Wednesday. Doctors prescribed me the wrong antibiotics. You'd think I flipped out but (besides the pain) I was pretty calm. Still fucking hate hospitals. Still fucking hate me.

This isn't poetry. This isn't really prose. This is actually just my running thoughts 17 shots in. You'd think I know better. I'm just frustrated. Alone, surrounded. Bittersweet irony. I'm laughing but really in an internal kind of way. Pillow talk suicide. Body like a dragonfly. Eyes like bloom. Sinking flume on the picture frame. Pink feather on the alcohol tap. This one girl gives me the eye but it's only cause she's seen me around Fiji and she thinks I'm better than I am. Breaking the superstition and challenging the stereotype. I'm the pretty broken poet girls just want to fix. I'm unfixable, uninterested, and frankly, kind of an asshole. Why the starry eyes? Your image screams louder than my words ever could. I'm only writing because I'm lonely and I need to get this out before it kills me. In love with a lesbian. This is one hell of a life.

Note to sober me - relax and relax and relax. Maybe loneliness and a lack of love isn't that bad, but then again we both know better than that. You're welcome for the superficiality and escapism to tonight. And be proud, for a drunkard, you're fairly poetic and in a way, while in this condition you actually can break hearts. Artificially sweetened revenge.

Anamnesis

eyes fluttered like wedding veils
lungs locked up reaching for air
i got the weather in my veins
and trapped love on broken cells
sullen bride torn from her heart
long distance with the afterlife
a prince crowned with shark eyes
future focused on another life

tell me why
 
breathing in the chalk lines
tasting bitter in every breath
crystal heights are a part of me
falling asleep but never dreaming
slipping into a memory
so long ago
and they're better off without you

nothing goes right so i went left
threw caution to the wind
found our childhood vows engraved
hide the passion for later
but don't forget the date
tell me how one that's so blessed
always feels this empty and vexed?

the alchemist

this lingering ghost of a sentiment is going to be the death of me. i'm a peon to circumstance and chance and they'll have their way. leading my hand into the gallows, i stand tall and proud of something that i built and helped set down. because you and i were just a faded memory sketched on the moon with initials dictating the love that would clear so soon. we're the tides of the rise inside an imploding heart begging for mercy. stuck in a bubble of a world that's not so kind. we're all going to die starting with me. let me be a martyr instead of a victim and lets rebel against conformity. they said that we're free once we've lost it all but they haven't realized that once alone you're left with your thoughts. they're vicious and corroding and poisonous to the touch. i'm the only thing that stands in my way and i'm winning today. does that make winning losing or does it even matter anyway? nothing is ever tangible or important because it's a matter timing in the end. we're all puzzle pieces being forced and molded like we're clay. we're the shadows of the concrete of a drifting ambulance speeding through the highway. we're the angels with the bitter lips blowing kisses in the rain. every lover is just a season to be left away because we all change and our future is never bright ahead. i got a love like a stove fixed on my headstone forever and ever, or at least until i grow old. and she fell apart to the mystery of love and being in love and all that's in between. because lovers are made passion and lust, and the sex that leaves these cabaret dorms the shitters of the ivy leagues. we were built on bedsheets and roses. we were the alchemist's dream. we were the gold in the lead and the stone that fixed the missing link. tonight we die alive like we always have. because every day's another story and that's why i never sleep at night. let's not let time pass and keep me in mind for years to come by. i don't make any sense because i'm losing my mind. but nothing really matter because i'm really just ending my life.

28:6:42:12

the void

i hate how she does her make up around her eyes
a liner away from blacking out her view
i hate how her long hair tangles and falls down
the drapes from which the cat's lives hang onto
i hate how her eyes squint when she glares
the wrinkles guiding to the ocean in her iris
i hate how her eyelashes flutter flirting when she blinks
hummingbird silence- love is her photosynthesis
i hate the wound she'd lay her kisses on my lips with
the crooked half-smile that's cauterizing my own pains
i hate the porcelain that composes her skin
her dead doll eyes that i would sink in
i hate her half-done nails she forgets to color in
that mural isn't the only thing she left unfinished
i hate how her whispers set soundwaves on fire
the white noise from her lips luring me inside her
i hate how her heart left me cast away deep in
a wreck of a metaphor to cover up what i will choose to call "love"

"askin him if she gonna play games with the super smash brothers, but none of them you"

wrap your arms around a foreign neck,
your lips let loose all the demons we locked away
i was just the anchor docked away grounding your head
but gravity plays games with the lovesick
make a casket out of my bed
tonight i'm living dead
car pooling into the fast lane
take the next exit
this love is a car crash waiting to happen
and you left fingerprints in the crime scene
this was no accident
and you can count on all the time you'll spend
to make something out of nothing
because that's all that's left
you tore off the sutures
doc, can you tell me what happened?
keep me on the line so i don't drift away
these blue little friends keep me in check
and you can lie but words only take you halfway
between your story and the bedroom
and there's only one story your iris says
and this was never love
this can't ever end cause there never was a start
"i never really loved you" i let you tear me apart
getting high off of denial, but i'm a work of art
that kiss worked like an engine - i will avenge my heart
so wrap your arms around my trusting neck
they are the noose- hide the stories you locked away

18

This is the soundtrack of our last dance. The leaking drain where we threw away our last opportunities and second chances. Where forgiveness is but a doubt, and love is but a foreign concept, indescribable and unreachable. Hung on to haunting memories and ghosts of you. I'm sinking in my chest, with the rising instance of pain being blocked away by denial. Acceptance. Your voice sounds like screeching violins while you utter the final words to this call. Drop the phone and pick up the pieces. Reality, so eloquently placed throughout life, yet so ignored by dreamers. I'm starry-eyed, but the sky is rainy tonight. Cloudy, and heavy. Placing my feet upon Earth, where they belong. I was never meant to keep you so close, and that realization is probably what haunts me the most.

Not Waving, but Drowning

I only miss you when I'm lonely. Wipe the shavings off the carvings in my heart and let your memory remain. You come in waves. The sweet transcendence of your lips placed upon mine, fed by the discovery of young love - it's moment like these where I beg for another heart to hold you with, to lay your head upon, and with which I can love you. I feel you vacuum my emotions, drained out into the sewage of you, lit only by the reflections of the world outside your apartment window. Street lights bless me with near-sightedness, but my recollection provides further insight into what's beyond. Could you still love me like you had once before? Could emotions really just dry out and remain as the shallow shell inside a wishing well as they are now? Could I be the spark in your bejeweled eyes, the freckle of your iris, the reticle of your occult desires? The answer relies only in the scars I've collected through the years, etched with your name onto them. Wearing them as a proud owner of these medals of honor.

This recent pain has taken a toll beyond mere direct impact, the collateral damage has forever dragged me back and fixed every habit that I've broken. Binary heartbreak. How can I be stuck in a moment where the cure has now become another ailment on its own? The labels on my ribbon-scars are only owned by a deuce, yet it feels like my heart's been trod on like the remainders of war. A war held only deep in the confinements of my masochist head that once damaged, relieves itself of all the memories of loss it previously kept hidden away. Am I forever forsaken into making the same mistakes?

You were the seed, planted deep into my heart. Through my tears, I watered you and kept you safe and sound, and dragged you out through the best, but hardest, three years of my life. Yet, through all the photosynthesis you received from our golden times, the smoke and haze of the fire that you begun to burn began to expand and cover my eyesight. They say love is blinding, but I was lost in an absolute state of trance. Even now, watching and picking through our grayscale photographs I am nostalgic for the disaster we conceived. I wouldn't mind watching the world burn if you were here with me. Your seed has grown. You are a field to me.

Now, about her, she was the cure. I dragged my guts for seven months before I managed to sort myself back in place. She was the lantern at the end of the road. I'd spend every second trying to spot her face, hoping she could just sink into my eyes and read everything my heart was screaming but my mind was too proud to say. Besides, I was too busy unhooking my heart off the bear trap you laid it on. As time went by, through little wishes on stars and on unusual times at night, I realized that maybe I was just trying to keep myself from opening out of fear of ever loving again. The minute she asked me if she was in love with "the poet" (which by the way, was born out of the utter sickness and despair that your pain caused) my heart began racing unlike it never had before. She spoke the perfect words at the perfect timing. Her head would tilt slightly to her right when smiling. She would cry and be afraid and hide behind me. It's funny how the worst things in life can bring you to the very best. I'd feel the rush of my blood coursing and pouring down through my veins when I'd stroke her porcelain skin, and when her wide browns would stare at me, I would be caught in a moment, timeless and breathless.

Love is a conniving, lying, and secretive little bitch. I had never felt as I did with her, but I learned in the worst possible way that just because they say everything you want them to say, even with the rare gift of timing, it still does not assure to you that they are the One. She was not perfect, but was complementary in every right way. I was never listened to, I was ignored and made fun of. She thought my words sounded pretty. She held them on the palm of her hand and would cry from reading them. You merely packed them into a bookshelf of a thousand words that I gave to you and let them fall out of touch.

Now, don't take this the wrong way, but she cured from you. Yet, there is that subtle desire to go back to a time where things were careless and disaster was preferred. Where love and sex where one and the same and when I could spill my breath onto you and let my soul flow through your body. Aging opens the eyes to people, though. I can't stand the thought that I am merely a shadow of a time for you, not particularly because I have a desire to be so again, but rather because I do not want to be another shadow for anyone else. I'm just a footnote to dog days. I don't want to be just another hasbeen to another lost, loving wife.

I only miss you when I'm lonely, because I can't stand to care as much as I do now. Take me back to innocence and make me fall in love again, even if you're not you anymore and I'm not me, either. Take me back and spill onto my skin like you used to, back when we wouldn't give a shit. Take me back to the time where every new kiss felt like an absolute new finding. Take me back now and say that you love me, even if you don't love me.

Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Fool me thrice, fuck off.

This assertion for a pain has grown twofold ever since I've seen you walk your way. I'm not more angry than I am disappointed by the sudden drain of emotions that you've unleashed. When do you feel love the most if not when it is lost? I'm struck at midnight and so all the words begin to flow. You're the smoke inside my chest, smothering the pain away. I hear your voice panning away and I'm begging to know, baby, what am I to do with a heart that has chosen to follow you through the cold.

Surprise me.

I feel like I'm pumping sex into my chest, with broken hearts making for broken beds and letting my body become the mattress while you tread me with your linen skin. Diamond eyes are the spotlights for tonight's entertainment. Light me up and take a drag. I want to inject my smile into your veins. Let regret call you all the way to the back of your head. Scream away when you realize that I've already left and all the voices in your head will be the mere echo of my past self, resonating with your memories of the good times you're yet to be nostalgic for. I'm sick of feeding you my grief. My heartbreak is your wet dream. Dream away, because memories will be the only thing deep inside of you, and I hope they pull at your heartstrings and remind you how alone you will really be.

The Patron Saint of the Totally Fucked

How am I supposed to feel? So distraught my words can't even pour out. I'm shooting blanks at a computer screen. I've never felt as lonely as I am now in love. It's kind of funny how we all want someone to love when misery strikes. This is an open letter to you.

Dear Miss Misery,
you can take this chemical imbalance and shove it down my throat
let my body ache and my hands shake and let yourself take toll
because I'm stuck in a purgatory between your thighs
the sweet taste of surrender that once made you mine
keep me diseased in my head and make me spill these words
because once they got you, they'll never let you go
and so it begins
dear lovers and friends
we're just a staple in time until a better one comes ahead
strip me from my mind and let the dogs loose again
maybe some day they'll feast on the our remains
because all that's left is for carnage or keeps
we're just the anesthesia being pumped into our cheeks
you were a drop of a waterfall pouring
into my eyes, a canvas that's been whited out
what is the missing link?
because every step closer seems to take us
further away from our dreams
rip the soul from my chest
i caught the devil in a new dress
and my dog eyes keep making the world grey
feed my heart to the blues
let astronomy have it's way (with me)
i want to break out from my starry-eyed chains
i've got a way with words so you better watch your back
cause these are meant to break your bones
i'm the anchor in your throat
i'll give you what you want
i'll make you feel alone
baby, rag doll hearts are meant to be torn
there's tint in your sincerity and in your alibi there's a hole
so now i'll give you front row tickets to let you see what you've left to burn

Sorry for the Night - Demons Still Visit Me

Desperation courses through my veins. The sort of immature sensation one feels when they are fourteen and "nobody understands." Such childish games. It's the sort of wicked games that the world revolves around though. If you fuck up and nobody sees, was it really a fuck up to begin with? I'm sort of stuck in this pinebox mentality coming up with better outcomes to my worst solution. Hate me hate me hate me. Kiss me in the gurney before they take me away. I'm diseased and I'm not even sure that's strictly metaphorical. The calendar is my lover, counting me away with a kiss on every past date. And then there's self-dementia. What could possibly be worse than being insane? Having the actual label stuck onto you. "Bipolar" "Neurosis" "Schizophrenia" Alzheimer's heart beating me past every breath that counts down. Ragnarok to love. I've been misled past the crowning of princes. The glass of water in which I drown every day just gets bigger and bigger. It's a fucking ocean. All that resonates are the clicking keys that give off the empathy I so much desire, but can't completely receive. What's love if it's just situational? Why do all the pieces need to come click? Why can't it sprout in the midst of a car crash or a trainwreck? Why am I so consistently fixated and obsessed with Love? My heart's the cage and I'm the one stuck within, comprehended by my subconscious routes. I'm the tree no one listens. I'm the pressure in the bottom of the ocean. I'm just the culmination of mistakes summed up into a carefully woven package. I'm the kid parents worry to conceive. And now, worst of all, I can't make words sound pretty because I don't have the fucking time to.

Black coat, white shoes, black hat, Cadillac.

Ali, Jac, xoxo

They say that there is a big hand pushing our puzzle piece hearts to their destination, but somehow it's harder to believe in that when you got misery pulling you in another direction. "Life's about the journey, and not the destination" though, right? I've isolated my guts and my pain from my life, guarded in a tiny glass cage next to my "I used to's" and I guess it's been working so far. Naturally, holding too many skeletons in a closet and it eventually erupts, and that's where my writing comes in. Even then, as lonely as I felt, there was a sense of camaraderie and understanding from the most unexpected of all places.
I don't really remember how it all began, but I had just finished reading Camus' The Stranger and I was just going through a nihilistic crisis. I felt like my life was a fuck on a trainwreck. This was just supposed to be my "diary" of sorts, written with such disparity that only I'd truly understand. I guess that the core of it all just screamed what it all truly meant, and you guys just got it. That's just what it came down to.
I'm not very capable of expressing what I feel (oh, the irony. You can only go so far when English is your second language, though.) - and I swear it's not on purpose, but I don't feel like I've ever let you all know of the importance of your sole existence, and my appreciation of it, so thank you, for everything and every minute spent reading the words that heal me, because every comment read by you guys is another stitch to the wound. ((damn, how's THAT for a run-on sentence?)) It's an honor to receive the sense of camaraderie- no, friendship, that I do from you guys. So, from the very bottom of my heart, thank you forever and for everything.

Alors on Danse

Is it fucked up that listening to that one 3oh!3 song gives me the blues? I'm pretty sure that's illegal somewhere. Copped out of my scene points. Next thing I know, I'll be listening to Lifehouse. No disrespect.
It's a funny thing, love. I've never been speechless, yet my words are stuck inside my sunken chest only coming out as sullen breaths and blissful whispers. I can't write anymore, but I want to. (Oh, the irony). My hands shake and my heart is racing but my mind is blank. I'm stuck in some sort of limbo between heartache and love and writer's block. Drowning in shallow water. I want to scream out your name, but I don't want anyone to hear me. Oh, sweet irony. Too bad I taste more sour when I'm 4,000 miles away. Fuck everything, I can't make sense. I'm struck like a clock and I'm left ringing on your ears after midnight. Maybe you'll find that ringing on your fingers, at some point. (engaged). locked. loaded. I just want you here, but I pulled your absence near so I could at least feel the emptiness left behind. Alas, I'm alone, but I know that at one point there was something here, and I guess that's what counts. These tubes lead me to you, but sometimes all we need is that touch I can't provide, and that's what's killing me. Give me a lobotomy so my mind won't kill me. My ribs are tearing apart. My heart's breaking out of its cage, and it's going after you. I'm locked in the empty hallway of an emotional brothel. Friends aren't friends and lovers are absent. This is the love song of this cabaret, where fuck buddies are the players for and love is the game. (We lost). They're getting locked and loaded. Their screeching moans and touches tend more to their souls than to their wounds. We're still naked. We're still under the rain. They drink crocodile tears to the point of inebriation. She said it's ok not to care sometimes.

And I can't understand why.

Cluster(fuck)

Summer's end on the wrong hemisphere.
CAPS LOCK ON LOVE
and everything else.
shit, got caught stealing the moonlight from somebody else
i'm addicted to addiction
(save me from myself)
theatre trade and bloodshed
fist fight under bed sheets
tears are the new rain
how far can you stretch a love
before it's ripped by someone else?
it was all a sinking cube of ice
on someone's jack - a distilled sense of self
plastic cups are just another arms trade
for lust and love and everything i hate (i love)
woke up to another seance from a former self
"i hate you but i love you and nobody else"
drinks are just the tears you haven't cried out yet
and these words are the ones you haven't thought of yet
remember to remember and forget all that you regret
got my double life showing like i'm dorian gray
picture perfect lovers but in a kodak moment kind of way
the dog days are now over
but we got nine lives anyway
so this is more of a celebration
to heal us lovers with cheap champagne
so now i'll enter hibernation
until our timezones meet again

Busy Dying

I've never been as lonely as I am now in love.

Lack of Words.

I'm only lonely without you. Am I riding your coattail to heartbreak, or am I alone in my demise? This horrible, sinking feeling overrides my body. I got moonlight exhaling from my veins, I got the blues pumping out of my chest, I got a heartbreak coming through my fingers and into the keyboard. I damn these airways that are haunted by your memory. I can't stand how destiny fell short for us, and my insecure and self-conscious mind can't seem to accept that all that we may hold onto now is hope.

My IV is every telephone line that shortens the distance between us. This transamerican love split my heart apart, stretching it through miles and miles. I have one foot in an airplane and one stuck onto the ground. I'm tearing apart at the very seams of my frail heart, but I know your worth it. Chasing the engine that separated me from you. I'm stuck in a terminal (disease) waiting for my final ride. Rolling through my words is a hidden message of a love that can't seem to be erased. Hidden through these letters and tears is the hope of redemption and time. Doctor, build me a time machine because I just can't wait. What's my heart if not just nuts and bolts and wiring gone awry?

I can't even keep my hands in place, and I can't keep my head at the same thought. It's revolting. It's revolving. It all tastes like heartbreak and alcohol and sweat. It's not just cold outside, darling. This heart is frozen in position. It's facing you. (This is me giving up my badge to you. I retire.)

The colors are flashing, but only in a black and blue kind of way. Heartbreak coded DNA. She asked me to lead her to where it feels like heaven, so I lead her to my bed.

Tonight, I lay under the same sky as you, but somehow it all seems more cloudy when I'm not sharing my bed with you.

There's Something About Mary

She asked me who is the one that loves more; the one with a bigger heart that loves so much, or the one with a smaller heart but that loves with every piece of it. I'm stuck wondering with my breath taken away, wondering what kind of a screenwriter set up our conversation. She sits on the line, expressionless - like always - but that look in her dilated wide browns screams more emotion than any single word could. Somehow people wonder how I managed to fall in love with someone they believe to be so cold. If only they knew. No, actually, I hope they don't - I want this to myself.

The city looks so much more beautiful with her voice narrating what I see. I'm just left wondering what kind of a hack destiny is for giving me such large emotions on such a young heart. Timing is everything; it's not about the right person. It's about the right time. You're giving me a fish pole without teaching me how to fish. You're giving me the wheel without teaching me how to drive. You're giving me a heart without giving me time to love.

She lays with her head on my collarbone, and my ever self-conscious mind remains worried of how comfortable she may be. If only my bones were softer. If only I could just mold to her shape of preference just to keep her here, forever. Her skin glistens, but I'm not quite sure it's only the light around us; there's something about her porcelain skin that makes her glow. And her fingers, slowly leading mine to where she wants them to be, playing with each of their counterparts before resting intertwined on her chest. I try to stop my breathing, maybe that way I wouldn't feel how I am pushing her away with every breath I'm taking. If she could read minds, she'd know that the she was the only reason I was breathing in the first place. My hand slowly strokes her left side, and she turns and whispers that I'm making her nervous. Maybe she noticed she was actually making me nervous just by looking at my eyes. I feel my chest tremble, and I worry it's annoying her. Suddenly my subtle heartbeats become tremors. I can't breathe, but it's not because I am 13,313 feet above sea level anymore. She turns her head and tilts it forward, closing her eyes. My blood boils, and my heart begins to pump out air. My head gets empty and my chest relives itself. My hands feel a close grasp, and the blackness of my shut eyes develops life and color around me. There is nothing else in this world, but the complete everything that she is. With her lips, she has killed me. With her lips, she has given my life. With her lips, she has become everything tonight.