Night haikuThe moon comforts a waveBefore its impending deathUpon the shore
The reality conjecture. Monolithic dreamsWhen you live so long among dreams,they start shaping your realityWhen you live so long without...reality shapes you
FireIf life is a slow torture anyway,Then it is a blessing to be,From time to time,Tortured by loveAnd if be consumed,Let it be by fire
ZenSometimesIn the zen gardenRocks contemplate people
PhantomWhen lifeor fateor whatever it isthat puts things togetherand takes them apart...when Itamputated you,it left mewith a phantomlimband you are still attachedto my bodywhen I danceand make lovealone
Nature morteI tried to paint herI had already set the backgroundthe cold and warm colors, the surroundings,the atmosphere, the light,the soothing feelings,the sheets on the bed, forever unmade,a plate of fruits on the nightstand...but then she leftand all I have nowis a fresh paintingd'une nature mortewith a plate of fruits on the nightstand,the tortured feelings,the atmosphere, the dust,the cold and distant colors, the surroundings,and her form, imprinted in the sheets on the bed,forever unmade...
Piano in an empty roomMoving out. In the living-room, only the grand piano remains,black and shiny, like an insecttrapped on the ground, one wing extendedas if trying to fly right before death caught up with it.The sound would be different nowwith no furniture around,no books to soften the notes,no rug to dampen the low vibrations.I never learned to playand now the piano seems to epitomizethe black bulk of my regrets...defiant, untouched.On a whim I sit in front of it.I let my fingers flow as they will,my mind wondersand I drift away for a while.After I don't know how long, I stop.The sound is different in an empty room...and with a trace of excitement I realize I had something there.Later that day, when workers came to pick up the piano, I just sent them away."I'm gonna keep it" and didn't back down before their protests.I will place it in my next apartment,in an empty room,so that it sounds different
Metamorphobiait is a wonder all the changesthat one endures in a dayat dawn, in fear, desperation,then words pull you from the abyss,your lungs inhale a swift elation,the eyes perceive a kind of bliss,then clouds, dark clouds, again in silencethe rain, the wind, the sun againat last the dark, the taste of violence,the sensual rhythm of a trainand like emerging as imagoyou exchange fear for delightyou are a thing of many facesdepressed by day, a god by night
Metamorphosesat first you crawl,eternal flow,the thoughts that race,the body slowand then you stop,and sleep, and dream,cocooned in silk,no thought, no scream at last... you rise!into the nighta lunar mothin search of light
an apology to anyone who'll listen It begins with a wishand ends with a sigh.I am in love with boys whodon't exist and girls who I sometimespretend are myself. Spineless,spiteful, and one hundred percentsporadic, I'm becoming undone.When I wasyounger I thought itwas a sin ifyour parents didn'tlove each other. Now Iknow that it'sjust the way this world works. And hell,I need you right now; to tell me that gaining four pounds in three days is typical to tell me that living in a dream every second is perfectly okay to tell me that I'm normal, that I'm still sane, that I'm not going to close my eyes one day and never open them again.Don't look at me. Please, just don't lookat me. I can't remember the last time I had no regrets.
Hope Dies At LastMoths; fluttering ghosts of dreams long gone dead and passed – and past. They ache for the love of light but their blind groping for the truth Burns them.In the end, all moths die as Icarus – as infantile projections of our innocence as hope too, dies at last.
PersistenceI have a black old sweatersome of you may know ityou've seen me wear it so many times,too many... some might say.it has a few holesthe sleeves are almost falling apartthere's a pink decolored spoton the left side, near the stomach,where bleach fell on it.but it's my favorite sweaterand I still wear it very oftenin fact I'm wearing it right nowwhile I write these linesand though I don't attach myself to thingsthere are some that no matter how much you tryyou can't completely replaceand you will always loveand you will always missafter they're gone
FarulFarul de piatră știecă, pe orice vreme,marea îi va fi tot timpul aproape,duioasă în timpul fluxului,mângâindu-i forma avântată din apă,și acoperindu-l în valuri înspumateîn timpul furtunilor.În ziua când marea nu va mai fi,farul va lumina în zadar,căci el nu a strălucit niciodatăpentru corăbii, pentru oameni,ci, în adâncul nopții,când soarele nu mai era să o încălzească,farul lumina marea.
NipponThe cherry blossomsare always expectantbefore an atomic explosion.
in which I become beautifulI drown my conscience inthe holy water of my wrists,I carve hearts from emptypaper for my galaxyboywith stars written in his skin,and I swallow moths tomuffle the emptiness andhelp me fly away.
The last doorA long empty corridorLeading to a black doorI try the doorBut it's lockedI look backBut I see nothingForward is the only wayBut that way is blockedI know there's lightRight on the other sideSo I won't restUntil this door is open
Styrofoam BreathA new sun rises, A day has dawned.The tables have turned And the curtains are drawn.Static faces in blank disguises, Two suns can't set before another rises. Gazing to the unknown horizon,My whole world is torn.Flowing from her eyes and into mine, Prospects are reborn. The vision forever lingers:Hair clasped in rigorous fingers. The sky was murky,Two drops of color lost in a glass.Stirred once and left...Left to sort things out with the amorphous deep. Frail foundationsWithout fair warning,And angels at nightHave never dreamt of morning. Expressionless smiles,Wrinkled, cracked plastic... Hollow words neither believes.
Love AgainLove AgainI hate to admit-That I don't stand a chanceAll risks turn into rifts-Our hands will become too...distant-I crumbled inside every time I tried-I couldn't look you in the eyesA reflection was all I saw-The beast within me whose heart was still rawI'm afraid that trust is a one-way street with meYou can only depend on your ownFor I have deemed myself unworthyWhile I cling onto the tombstones of massacred hopesI've abandoned the part of my soulThat connected to othersI was forced to let that side of me goSo never again would I fully mourn for anotherA sphere of tears-Floods my sockets with fearKnowing that-Every possible future will mimic the past-I've stayed awake-Inside the eternal moments that I've createdAnd my immortal regret-Is that I don't know if I can ever fall in love...again
The end of a worldAs I look out the window and see the clouds of smokePeople are leaving their house,With their face drained of hopeClose by I see people crying,In the distance I hear people screamingThe worst is happening,Only this time we’re not dreamingThe faithful are gathering,Holding hands and prayingThe tainted are bargaining,Taking anything that can be takenThe weak are jumping off buildings,Leaving blood on the pavementLarge scale of suicidesWhether by knife, gun, or hangingIt’s anarchy out thereAnd it has only begunI’m damned to the flamesBecause my sins can’t be undone
Without the IndividualWithout the IndividualCan you imagine a world, directed by a single mind?A collective conscious, a living hive.Each time we are born, we receive a part of itAnd when we return, we share in the pool.There would be no fear of death;No fear of the unknown…For a thousand souls would bolster our hearts.We could live—truly LIVE—to the fullest extent of our capabilities.And when we succeed?That success returns to the hive…That success can be shared across the next generation.We would become an ever-evolving organism.One with a thousand faces, but a single driving purpose.Can you even imagine how that would feel?But…I suppose that you can’t.For you, as with all humans, share in a single flaw:The nature of the individual, the ego of the singular man.Existing in a void of his own thoughts—he has no point of reference.He is alone, even if surrounded by other humans,For he shall never share in their minds…
reachi.don't whisper secretsto raindrops, they'llonly betray you,one day they'll crash down,and everybodywill know.(never trust, never love).ii.i was soaked in rain, and youwere soaked in regrets, andwe are all strangersin a way. (when we don't know what to say, we talk about the weather).and we are useless and torn, like scrap metalwaiting to be recycled. but don'tlet the shame linger,don'terase us.
FineEarly mornin’ coffeeNever tasted so bitter.I’m telling you, I’m fine.Every mornin’, the same routine.Why do you still not believe me?I’m fine, I swear.I just couldn’t sleep…Again.But who needs sleep anyways?I write instead.I’m fine. Just a little brain dead.I was just thinking about the past,And I fantasizedThat there was a happy ending.I’m fine now.I’m just fine.Don’t worry.
Everyday Ghosts1.She hid her white Mohawk undera purple umbrella she used to blockout the sun. She slid intoa bus seat and pressed her bloodred colored lips together. She was alive,that was all she could ask forat that moment.2.The spiders were starting a familyon the ceiling,in the corner. The paint was startingto peel. She moved in, anyway.She locked up the thoughts of youin a small safe andhid it under the bed.She would not cry. Her eyes werebloodshot & empty.3.Three wishes, and that couldn'teven start to help. Three starsin the sky. Three scars on her thigh,and five reasons why she should move awayAway from it all. It didn't matter,in the end. In the endYou kept appearing; You keptHaunting her.4.A year later and she had a pettarantula; She hid Polaroidsof you in the dirt (with her skinny,bare hands).A year later and she waspulling out her hair. She waswhispering secrets to her arachnid,and wishing, hopingyou weren't alive(existing)
deliriumi've had my fixof hot, black cancer.when has the river ever stopped for love?send me to sleepaway, away.
You WillICatholic school can really fuck you up.Petty insults; “you have ugly hair” “got milk?”Breasts at the age of nine.Bullying makes you someone you don’t want to become;hide all that blackness in your heartwith overly cheerful hyperactive personalities (that make others think you’re a little strange),quickly forgotten.Friends can’t tell when you just want toscream and cry and be alonebecause of how deep you’ve dug yourself in.Afraid of yourself, you think and think, and THINK,until you are terrified you’re going to give into those dark thoughts - (and if you do, then you’re just numb afterwards. Staring at hands blankly).IIFaith in everything, the world, God, people around you, yourself;all you can see is horror.You hide it, fake it, pretend to be okay.Why would anyone care to listen?Just one person of billionswith worse problems than you th
While It BurnsWhy does a moth flyDirectly into the flame?Perhaps its captivatedBy the beauty to be foundIn such pure recreationOr perhapsIt flies so surelyInto its own deathBecause it believesThe flames of rebirthWill allow it a second chanceAt metamorphosis,And perhaps that this time...It will appear a butterfly.Perhaps this is the only thingIt can force itself to believeWhile it burns.
Morning haikuA burning sunriseThe eyes catch fireWash my face in the pond