8 passenger mini van
i carry all the love
strapped in
delicately
irrational angst and
idealism fighting
in the backseat
i have no room for
your regret
my stomach fell
into the earth
when i heard you
were going to be a dad
i have been loyal to a ghost
for the past 6 months
of course you still want me
i was always the person
who was capable of
loving you despite
the placement of the
planets
and your scorpioic
tendencies

the light is flowing on the naked trees
reality is more beautiful than metaphor,
I'm thinking while I'm feeling
the river of darkness flowing through me
faces gestures smiling and forgetting
destroying the plenitude of not yet known
spring explodes like vitamin bombs in old scars
the life waiting to happen begging for us to contemplate
I'll never stop dreaming someone else's electrical storms
I have to learn how to walk on how to love even more
the skeleton of darkness in the hands of time

You likened me to a piece of art. Endlessly reflecting every tender sentiment. Every traumatizing connotation one could possibly interpret from the ugly world around them to boldly stand as a beautiful conclusion.

And perhaps that's what I could have been. Perhaps I was on that trajectory but it's funny how not unlike that same imagined piece of art, interpretations vary. Interpretations change.

I am art. A piece perpetually unfinished, left in isolation. Undesired.

I am a painting done through once loving eyes that's decayed and morally declined and become indistinguishable from its original vision.

I am trapped inside a suffocating abstract space where the only "consolation" is endless, mind numbing "reflection" that lost its value when crippling dissociation took over and my own living, breathing body started being horribly neglected.

I am art, but I'd give anything to be human.

my eyes a blue absence memories disguised in tears
I cannot be other but a song, as simple as that
I am you only in the morning, then
I commute the night to the tempo of your steps
you should come with me to the edge of noise
of haze of pearls where all begins with a duchenne smile
I am surrounded by blind walls free only in my sleep
when I fall far away from me in another you
what I say have already been said many times
by candlelight in truth and bone marrow
the fullness of my love too deep for sorrow

words already written somewhere
in the syntax of time
some waiting to be revealed
expelled through themselves
you
waiting to be caught falling back
into the great wide narrow
open
life gets unbearable
if you feel it en detail
the naked devil in the details
yeah yeah yeah
you are
on the quest for a nymph of the lungs
a never envisioned bride with a maybe smile
moaning melissas not monalisas
softnes curves textures and forgetting
like a work of art
blank canvas for your might in delight
you are also looking for that pain
again and again
more view in between your shoulders
she did it and maybe they subtly pay
the paradox of a black hole
our hearts
fancy yourself
you invent the feminine itself
on the edge of self-combustion
the feast of an unknown body
till you turn into yourself again
and into wildflowers
they taste the magnetic field
its scorch its bustling to give and receive
who gives who receives
the earth wonders

there is earth  in our bones

everyhing has its nemesis
dont't worry
I'll bathe you in my tears
still
I'm writing this poem
with/for a smile
in all fairness

the woodpacker came today
its flight filled with bliss
it flies like a deer
******* in
its desire

I have
not forgotten

-you-

purring, from
the parching tree

Your unassuming
crooning wooed
the willows
of an older
England

earth-smoke

fumitory..

summer songs
of Solomon

A single sweet monotonony
dependable as harvest store

came summoning the daysleep
word delectable.