I find the irony of human biology is that we are taught the ribcage protects our heart from physical harm, and the irony of human psychology is trying to understand what plays a role in emotional harm — yet seldom how to protect ourselves from it.

Your body
(h)as bec(o)me
a temp(l)e
onl(y)
fit
for
believers

deeds eviscerated
/ clawing weakness
sloppy cuts /
willpower destructive
present featureless

thoughts enunciated
/ piercing sharpness
sloppy cuts /
likelihood delusive
future unresolved

feelings elongated
/ lasting bleakness
sloppy cuts /
sanity depleted
memories absurd

Those elastic hands
having but coupled a river of tears
and wisps of yielding smoke
to begin with
a life
unknown and unblinking
like a pair of dead eyes
and play pretend
or pretend to play
for watery dreams
and smokey must-bes
and ought nots
somewhere in line with a broken smile
and a misty sense of senselessness
a spinal cord snapped
so did million daggers shoot out
from each vertebra
tears flooded out of her ears
and smoke forced the air
out of her lungs.
She turned away from the dread
so she could rest her head
on soft shoulders
and yet
none could bear ever the weight
of her sorrow.
Now both lungs dead
eyes closed
lying on her bed
she carries her weight with a finger
and carves out eyes on her forehead
she swallows light to linger
forever in her chest
as a heart
nobody would give her.

I’m fading away, backing off from life.
Echoes of joy and faults pass like falling stars.
Every day has a few drops less of strife.
Silent shrapnel crashes in soft and witless shards.
And I’m shrinking from the Now;
I couldn’t even tell you how.

Moments of ecstasy and pain are sealed,
Like shrines to a life I still know.
Etched in summer’s softness or in steel.
I am vanishing, but I don’t know where I’ll go.
My once-beloved and my son are here.
One ignores me, while the other
Watches in helpless fear.

Five A.M and I am by myself…again.
Sun washes in with sorrow in its face.
For the thousands of times, I have slept alone,
I feel like a stranger in this place,
I once called our home.
Now it’s a cage to me,
Filled with broken promises and mis-matched lace.

I am going now, heading toward the West.
Leaving memories and pain behind with a sleeping wife..
Every day brings me closer to an end
Leaves fly in the road behind me, remnants of a life.
I am crying for the misspent years.
But no more of those; I am changing, switching gears.

September 17, 2010
Edited – January 5, 2016

I dont want food to be my adiction anymore
I don't want to numb my emotions by yet another drug
I dont want to sweep everything underneath a rug.

Yes Ive did it wrong, but what could I do?
Food was the only thing that gave me comfort, its not like I've could've shoot up ******* in my veins at the age of 10.

But I had food, a sick adiction, a temporary fix, for problems that are much deep.

It's a miracle that I could've even function under such amounts of stress, But I did it brave without showing any signs of distress. And why, why wouldnt I feel disstress and pain? anyone that walked in my shoes would feel the same.

So this is my solution, a sour and sweet absolution, from now on there'll be no supstatution for how I feel.

How it all started I cant quite remember
The only thing that's left, a fragment of memory, a piece, an ember.
I pleaded, I begged the God to think of a little child that is being destroyed, I begged him to react before in me the only thing that would be left was a big void.

But God remained cold, there is no way to cure the wounds of old.So I ve rotten for a couple of years, tried to heal my wounds with yeast and tears.

And nothing came abought, only a deep saddened drought. My soul was slowly crushed by a false mission, with a ban to sign my petition.

I've sat on the cold trone to know how it feels, nothing in that imaginary belief is real.
Witches serve the rulers that claim they're bold, pretending to be divine but inside contain only mold.

And this Earth spins, there is no other way, but for us, petty fools to be dismayed. Puppeteers pull their strings, so we can forcefully bow down and kiss their rings.

What kind of idiots do you think we are?,
Do you really think all schemes go that far?
Sad alone, abandoned, without any hope, We go out and accept these monsters only to be hanged by a rope.

Call them Psychopaths, Borderlines, Narcs,
They give a bad name even to sharks.
But every thing that rises needs to fall.
But before they do, they'll try to silence us all.