la petite mort

they call it the little death.

my energy is spent, bumpin' and rockin' and knockin' the boots till all the youth-like energy is used up. she issued a warrant for my arrest but i defected and retreated inside my head, left the handcuffs locked to the headboard and blindfold tied tightly over my eyes. and i regret that i couldn't see her pursed lips or the time-weathered scar lines.

inside my mind i find no insight -- only binds; only aged ideas soaked in brine and left out to dry, shriveled up and coated with iodine so that the colors and textures are unrecognizable. who am i?

today i had friendly skies playing on my headphones after our facetime and became mesmerized. i wanna play a couple slow jams for her and show her what it's like to reside behind the eyes of a bipolar soldier during a manic reprise; show her how beautiful music sounds and pronounce how the elegance strings my vocal chords. and i want to expound, but really words can't describe the synergistic phenomena that presides...

residuals

please feed me hickeys to match the scratch mark scars you left with me; i love the lingering presents of the past and so i use them for future musings...

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it's amusing how much i bottle in, how much i stuff down just to try and make it all fit, how quickly it comes bursting out. and it might be impressive just how much the contents remain under pressure; but i've never been one to stay content with the complements of compliments, to contend and render the kind of shit that begins to cancel out trauma skits being replayed in my mind whenever i witness all of the fucking triggers...

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1. i'm bitter even though i masquerade as sweet.
2. i mask my residual negativity when i flitter around attempting to recompense the messes rendered by shattered egos.
3. i veto dogma and expect to replace the vacant space with divergent moral ideologies, internally consistent paradigms and frames of mind perfectly juxtaposed next to what's commonly considered normalcy.
4. when i'm feeling dejected i reflect proportionately the portions of people's personalities i peep and oscillate what i see needs to be amplified.

_______

i love when gray skies prompt the magnetized static and clouds to collude and dump thunder and precipitation, keeping access to the sun asunder and blockading its representation of willful ignorance to life's damning diligence.

_______

the second time i got lifted, i lost touch with the surface for a while; the comedown left me devoured by realities i'd tried to sweep under the rug since i was about 6. all that shit had come undone within minutes and left me fucking sick to my stomach and mulling alone in a cold room, starving for closeness and connections i eventually figured out were impossible to protrude...

the beaming daemon

he gripped a few swigs and hit the gas, launching us from 0 to 40 with poor coordination and an intent gaze that was replaced by my intuition or maybe some viscidly vivid vision. but was it enough to save us, or did we really die that night?
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a few days later i became aberrational, shifted from a knight into a zombie and narrowed my sights, shot myself 8 times in the liver. we skidded while i shifted from 0 to 80 in the center lane of a highway; a daze gave way to my brazen mindscape and all i could see was a fairly meek landscape...
_______

if he ain't dyin' for me, then i ain't ridin' with him; there's no time for that...
... i just want my time and my mind intact; when they both gone, you can't buy 'em back