I hit rock bottom again,
  living in my own fiery hell inferno.
Before I coped with the pain,
  or maybe now I float between reality and fantasy,  
     just enough to feel this pain , burning.
My suffering , love lost was external,
    so why is it internal?
I hit rock bottom again,
but this time I am not coping,
    I am b̶u̶r̶n̶i̶n̶g̶.

Did you get home last night?
  " I spent the night at her house"
                  - m̶o̶d̶e̶r̶n̶ ̶h̶e̶a̶r̶t̶b̶r̶e̶a̶k̶

Paint me naked,
A million ways,
    I will never be content,
       With what gazes back .

Save me from this romanticized brain,
my body enacts its revenge,
  Engrossed in an end that does not end.
It penetrated my soul, my body, my mind.
Save me! Save me! From myself!
From these thoughts, of this **** r̶o̶m̶a̶n̶t̶i̶c̶i̶z̶e̶d̶ ̶b̶r̶a̶i̶n̶
.

Am I dying awake?
   or living a dream.
I do know I am drowning,
  falling deeper, deeper, gasping, begging, pleading,
      praying for help!
This H̶o̶m̶e̶, yes, this symbol, we "called" home
  is killing me softly, as it fails to contain this soul.
    Which weeps and dies, for this symbol a constant reminder
     that we used to inhabit.

Chains of d̶i̶s̶a̶p̶p̶o̶i̶n̶t̶m̶e̶n̶t̶s,
  are my tributes to the world.
Failed poems full of incogitable nuances
   each number, another sorrow,
Full of my of diluted fantasies of happiness.
Paint a succession of damages, of a broken heart
    which sings its same old tune,
        old , overplayed, disappointing tune.

Why am I alone?
Pondering and lingering,
consumed in irregular thought.
Why are my tears not heard?
The soul it weeps not seen?
This pain, streamed from my eyes, leaves its sour taste.
Why am I alone?
Happiness surrounds me, and pain imprisons me.
Free me from this cage,
      it chokes me,  
          it's shadow paints me,
                  free me from this loneliness.
-A̶l̶o̶n̶e̶

I saw a strange character in the mirror tonight,
  he smiled at me, rays of sunshine that illuminated his song.
       Like a yellow cannery, impure, happy, small but strong.
          I saw a strange character in the mirror tonight,
                 I wish I could say it was . . . 𝗺𝗲

My mind wanders the cosmos and the heavens,
always thinking, what you'd think of the man I became?
   Should I come and meet you in the dark?
      Would we be bestfriends again?
          Is this E̶x̶a̶l̶t̶e̶d̶ thinking,
             or the madness of my own silence?

Like the trains,
  that always run late.
      I was late to love,
      I was late to happiness,
      But I was early to the desolate sea of loneliness that awaits us,
        as the train gets lost in the foggy gray hills of death,
             we all reach. . . you were early to that stop.
                   I am still late waiting for the station, for us to meet.

Inside my mundane complexion
constant tides and angry currents stir,
it bites and claws at my insides,
hoping, pleading, to form the words
for him to notice how much he means to me.
But another voice, internal screams out.
Even though ages have passed,
flesh has turned to dust,
my heart is yours,
my mind is yours,
my brain is yours,
my lust is his,
  but your voice,
         leaves me s̶p̶e̶e̶c̶h̶l̶e̶s̶s̶,
            as I know I am not the one.

When did I detach myself from the current of reality,
eternally fused to the nothingness that awaits us?
To become a slave of dreams and machinations.

When did I become another heartbeat,
longing for fantasies of love,
only to find the anguish that comes from human desire.
Knowing that we are powerless to our fascinations.

How many days go by, as we long to be remembered?
For art, for name, for doing, for living
only to reach the same end of obscurity.

They call me a deconstructionist, a detester of life.
But are we not worthlessly tied to this current of life?
We are born with no concepts, no meaning, an echo of what is to come.
& that same echo escapes us in the end.

D̶o̶n̶'̶t̶ ̶c̶r̶y̶ ̶l̶i̶t̶t̶l̶e̶ ̶b̶o̶y̶,
you are vain, blasphemous, ungrateful
         an arrogant and flawed poetic braggart.
you are an egomaniacal, cold, self centered fragile flower
          of your own self built malediction.
your heart black, wicked, evil, vengeful.

Don't cry little boy,
    just avoid the mirror,
       avoid the thousand cuts of self inflicted pain.
          as the man you grew into gazes back.

In the mirror I see,
An old vase, full of white chrysanthemums,
Under a sea of emotions,
I imagine the vase in vast hues of blue, red, purple, green.
It changes and morphs into my creation,
but the chrysanthemums persist,
for a vase is a vase, change is change,
but what is inside stays the s̶a̶m̶e̶.

This pain I have carried.
   This pain I proclaim,
        This song I sing,
             This song of love,
                  I can not erase
                    when will
                       I finally
                           be
                             f̶r̶e̶e̶?̶

I have written thousands of poems,
30,000 thousand words and counting.

A quilt of memories both mine and yours,
   quatrains and couplets amongst swaying palm trees.


I wrote about anger, I wrote about hate,
   I wrote about death, I wrote about love,
       I wrote about lust, I wrote about you.

I drew maps in the stars,
   and my words became waves of emotion plunging
     me ever deeper into insanity.

But the words yet left unwritten,
    can not be created or describe,
       each day l̶i̶v̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶w̶i̶t̶h̶o̶u̶t̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶

This wave of emotions,
that has invaded with savory harmony of unbreathable anxiety.
Mornings to nights, nights faded. . .
sorrows well achieved and joys badly lived.
Be still my wounded heart,
as it pulls me in.

Every kiss you make,
  memories will cross your mind,
      and you will feel my lips once more.
         Forever tied in unyielding song forever on repeat.

When you are angry at him and you yell,
    Just remember. . .
       Some of us wish we could see him, talk to him, yell at him.
             Life is cruel and fast always 𝓒𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓲𝓼𝓱 it.

Life has made me write poems,
for others they have created poems,
I live vicariously through their moments,
each kiss, each love, each heartache.

Life has made me write secrets,
of others nightly silhouettes,
full of passion, full of grace, full of desire,
each touch, each stroke, each breath.

Life has mocked me with the moon,
with all its grace that illuminates you at night,
as you take flight oh sweet moth towards its light.

Life has scorned me,
  taken from me, broke me,
        now I write poems,
          and live 𝓛𝓲𝓯𝓮 through others.
             for I fear to 𝓵𝓲𝓿𝓮 𝓶𝔂 𝓸𝔀𝓷.

Have you ever felt the pain?
Not of dying, not of love.
Not of pain, but of a word with no escape.
It's silence is deadly, like an ardent comet full of expression,
devouring your mind, body and soul, never blooming into existence.
Have you ever felt this pain?

@ 3AM
melancholy state of mind,
  wishing you were,
    yearning for this real life simile to end.
      hoping today is the day I do not compare anyone to you.
        for I love you and hate you,
           save me from this ᴊᴜxᴛᴀᴘᴏꜱɪᴛɪᴏɴ
.

NAN
You write about heartbreak, then comedy.
Opening up, only to close yourself in fear.
You write about happiness, then about losing and longing.
As you lie and try to convince yourself, erasing your desire.

ADP
In those early morning hours, I create my own galaxy.
A place free of fear, free of losing, free of loving.
For every moment of longing becomes a star,
tainting my perfect cosmos with memories.

NAN
You create imaginations, mechanisms of coping.
You build your walls high, they make me want to climb it.
You build your galaxy, full of gloom and curiosity,
   a mysterious code I want to decipher.

ADP
Two kids lay in the stars, dreaming.
As if dreams could erase hunger.
Two adults lay in the stars, loving.
As if love could stop time.
Two souls become one,
Until two becomes one . . forever alone.
All that is left is broken, ugly and spiteful what is there to decipher ?

NAN
I want to see . . .
   Each window past, present and now.
I want to see. . .
   The happiness that oozes from your lips.
I want to see. . .
   The dark and unrelenting sea of your depression.
I want to smell. . .
   perfumes, coffee on your breath, and your 1 am scent.
I want to feel. . .
   the pain in your heart and the pulse of its song.

I want you.

- NAN & A Dead Poet ✌

Forgive me I am broken,
     I throw myself in strangers arms,
            for warmth?
                  for love?
                      for happiness?
Forgive me for being profoundly hopeless,
   for if love is a game, I ****.
      They took him from me,
         no green mushrooms to bring him back,
              no rainbow stars,
                     hard, cold, reality.
Forgive me for it does not hurt when a stranger 🄻🄴🄰🅅🄴🅂

115 degree days of misery,
  under larger than life palm trees.
    Sipping a cold crying can of coke.
       oversized sunglasses by the community pool,
          I hope they hide my gaze.
              lust at first sight, ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴇʀ at a glance.

Take me to the stars away from my endless state of misery,
Take me away from narcotic induced happiness,
       Hold my hand pull me out of the sea of demons,
              that pulls me back in, take me away.
Pick me up in your beat up old chevy, as we ride the cosmos.
   Tell me its okay, make the voices go away.
      Hold me tight, until the shaking stops.
Take me away, from this endless song of ꜱᴏʀʀᴏᴡ.
▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃
┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊
┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ˚✩ ⋆｡˚ ✩
┊ ┊ ┊ ✫
┊ ┊ ︎✧
┊ ┊ ✯
┊ . ˚ ˚✩

Every moment was a falsehood,
    "I love you" is "I hate you" masked with wanting ; its cheap makeup.
         With his life ending, his last thought was remorse.
             Remorse for time wasted, cheap words, and you.
                Oh! sad little clown! "I love you" on the marquee,
                      what a performance, cheap, comical, old.
                          

                         -A clown named 𝓐 𝓭𝓮𝓪𝓭 𝓹𝓸𝓮𝓽

Clung to you and cried,
  I begged you not to die,
      for the moon forgiving blessed us with another sun.
         I held your hand,
           I broke down,

How selfish, all the time it was me, me, me.
    Not your pain,
        not your peace,
            nor your sleep,

I am a selfish and a weak fool.
   who fears to be ａｌｏｎｅ

𝒞𝒶𝓃 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑒𝒸𝒽𝑜?
𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓋𝑜𝒾𝒸𝑒 𝑒𝒸𝒽𝑜'𝓈 𝒾𝓃 𝓂𝑒. . .
𝓸𝓷𝓮 𝓿𝓸𝓲𝓬𝓮 𝓪𝓵𝓸𝓷𝓮
   𝓾𝓷𝓭𝓲𝓼𝓽𝓾𝓻𝓫𝓮𝓭
         𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓿𝓸𝓲𝓬𝓮 𝓲𝓼 𝓪𝓵𝓵 𝓸𝓯 𝓶𝓮

Little Boy,
  you care too much. . .
     you love too much. . .
        you give too much. . .

Put your dreams first!
   𝒯𝒽𝒶𝓉'𝓈 𝓈𝑒𝓁𝒻𝒾𝓈𝒽
It's not your responsibility!
   𝐼 𝒸𝒶𝓇𝑒
Go, run, be free!
  𝐼 𝒸𝒶𝓃'𝓉

You loved them so much, they became your burden.
   You cared so much, they became your illness.
      You gave them all, they became your death sentence.
-𝚢𝚘𝚞

Reality is reductive,
  mundane tasks,
      mundane days,
         wishing for the best to come.

Wanting what we can't have,
               Craving what is wrong,
                     Forgetting what we have,

over and over again,
   Reality is  ░r░e░d░u░c░t░i░v░e░

Sacred body, yes; that which I have fully explored and mapped.

Scattered tattered walls,
  cracked and broken from each strike.

Pillars structurally not sound, against all condemnation,
  you beat, longing, wanting, leading us to a calamity.

Body, yes ; my sweet beloved.
  we know each other you and I.
     Stop, hear my plea; please stop.
         Don't beat, don't long, don't want,
               He will be our 【Ｅｎｄ】

Where is the color?
    Red , blues & orange hues.
Where is the sound?
    Singing Birds, overplayed love songs on repeat.
Where is the smell?
    Cheap coffee blends on your breath.
Where is the touch?
    Rough, gentle, callused hands.

Drifting in an endless tide of nothingness,
    Dark, silent, odorless nights.
         "I love you" loses its luster,
            "Forever" loses it shine
                 Bliss becomes sorrow,
                     Tears become strength,
                        Ashes becomes flame,
                            Red knees of prayer become sore feet,
                               I look in the mirror and find peace. . .
I learned to love again,
      not for you,
            but for me,
                 I learned to say "I love you" to the man in the mirror,
                    Accept, learn and stand once more.
                        Its easy being with you, but hard being alone.
                            Thank you my old beloved.

I curse the mockingbird,
  that sings to mock me. . .
I curse his song,
  that brings him joy and happiness. . .
Insuperable, ugly, disgusting song. . .
  mocks me for my loneliness
I curse the mocking bird and his mate. . .
   that laugh at me as they mate
I curse the mockingbird and its happiness. . .
   for in it, I see a past long gone with no future.

I curse myself
   for in my song
        I lost you
          I am
         αℓσηє

Forgive me,
I am a cheater, a breaker of vows, a breaker of love.
   through ardent passion,
     I found a thrill,
       no a dream,
         that I call my own,
             he smiles,
                and I forsake you,
                     he speaks,
                        and I fall to my knees,
                           he touches me,
                             and I fail you
forgive me,
  hypocrisy,
     un-pure, yellow, tainted I pray to you. . .
        and through his kiss ,
            I 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐲 you.

I stopped into a church
I prayed for him to go away
Everyday the sky is gray . . .
I cried , he looked at me & I died. . .
      "Please go away"
             "leave me alone"
                   "stop staring"
unanswered pleas down on my knees
                        I 𝕡𝕣𝕒𝕪
               but he never goes away
                         -𝔯𝔢𝔣𝔩𝔢𝔠𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫

Yes, I dream, I live, I wander afield
    lost under starry sky's, interweaved in stormy sea
Lost in fascinations of a declining mind.

Yes, I dream- lost to past thoughts
    I hold the stars, conquer the waves of my own mental damnation. . .  
& yet - from past memories there is no escape. . . past touch, past scents I FALL APART for, you set off this dream in me,
       but its a dream, that is all it will be
                           -A Dream

"you can be anything"-mama said
       But I couldn't, I wanted to be his
            Death took him from me
                 -𝚌𝚛𝚞𝚎𝚕 𝚒𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚢

I can spend thousands of dollars and hours,
  only to look in the mirror,
    & notice everything I am not.
        - ɪ ꜰᴀʟʟ ᴀᴘᴀʀᴛ

Solitude becomes a choir,
  An illuminating echo that turns into a horrid cacophony.
        Harsh reminder of a dreamer who could not dream,
                    A painter who could not paint . . .  
                          A singer who could not sing . . .
                                Come and calm this song, Come and save me,
                                     From this anxiety, that steals the value of my life.  
______________
Fireworks explode, they color your eyes.
     Do not sing, do not paint, do not dream, simply write.

Artistry cannot erase desire.
   But it can fuel your fire and desire.

Let each stroke, give you sensations.
   Of my hand on yours, a state of warmth and delight.

Nonetheless when you suffer,
      And beg for “HELP!” know.
                I am never.
                         -🄵🄰🅁

Red, White , Blue and even purple too!
    The most sensational being,
                 on warm summer day.
                    Frigid, Cool and collected,
                         Beautiful until you melt
                  your insides show, molt and transform into a monstrosity
                                       -🅿🅾🅿🆂🅸🅲🅻🅴

Interweave my dreams in the wind,
       blind stars in my eyes,
             endless sensations on my soul,
                  enamored and enraptured in your sea
                      which beats upon my door
                           your sea which leaps into my frigid heart,
                                waves of unwanted passion,
                                     fear and pain play in the air,
                                         Emotions long lost,
                                               awakened once more,
                                                      you whisper "let me in"
                                                           my silence speaks volumes
                                                                    "free me"

“words don’t hurt.”
    They only build bridges to the most hidden isles of our being,
Bridges which illuminate our most hidden, self-hate, doubt and pain.
               & as our very being walks the hidden bridge,
                    They enrapture, take us down, into the dark abyss.
                         Pleading, begging, hurtful, angry words,
                              Pull us down, down, down, until we are submerged.
                                      Pointless words that entangle and drown you.
                                                   So, no they do not hurt,
                                                            They slowly ᴋɪʟʟ

Give me your hand, give me your love.
Give me your hand, while we dance in purgatory.
An insignificant event, a moment in time.
Maybe five minutes, that is all we will be.

Qualm my steady heart in this dance together,
a simple reminder of each second that passes muffled by heartbeat,
While “our” song plays, “our” insignificant song.
Maybe three minutes long, that is all we are.

You gaze into my eyes, and I peer in your soul.
Our names become lost; they no longer matter.
For our love, song and dance are lost in time,
For that is all we were, two lovers, insignificant, lost to 🆃🅸🅼🅴