My aching flesh prison
carried me so long
on seas, through continents
seeking the holy anchor
that could keep me –
all adventures have been
no more than false illusions
on a deserted island
with my mental wreckage
Love is the strongest amongst human instincts –
so beautiful and so urging
that gives meaning to this meaningless carcass;
however, instincts can be overwritten
such as killing the self is possible.
Love is complex and built up in us –
we saw it from our parents
at least those who’ve seen any;
for the ones who missed that chance,
love remains an abstract concept.
Love is built on beautiful insticts and ugly humans –
human constructs that judge,
select, favorize and exile the ones out of scope;
such outcasts may ask what is a body,
what is wealth or health in their depair.
Love is relied to something that is healthy –
so what responsability it is
to eager for it even if you are mentally ill;
infecting others with your ominous stance,
injecting all bad into something all good.
Love is blind and easy to anyone –
it’s a source of ecstasy to all,
but it’s a struggle to build it up;
some are lacking all above,
Welcome to Me.
It’s odd you say
to get on and handle this
while I’m my own
Scylla and Charybdis,
but it’s not Odyssey.
I’m releasing less attention
because I’m breaking under some tension
from the rules of nature,
being this carbonic ape-like creature,
but I’m still doing my best,
still living even if pain’s ripping my chest.
The days’ve been heavy,
my rhymes have become just as wacky,
rolling down some short-not shots
while playing a lunatic, mad poet’s plots
with loneliness as franchise
that’s sad, not, until the wretch dies.
No harsh feelings, that’s fine,
I’m still holding the line and that’s mine;
I’m born with bigger heart, naive –
this is how I’ll leave, nothing more to achieve,
but till my hands can tremble,
I note myself down, so you can remember.
What a talent, what a treasure,
but has nobodoy to share this pressure,
talking as if it would be shareable
my crazy selves, nothing like cherishable;
no need of “pain, no gain” bullshitting –
I’m just here for some fire-spitting.
Dark, surrounding big-blue ocean,
I’m still burning on its surface in self-promotion;
my flames tremble, and are heavy,
none’s feeding them and I gave up already
since its hunger would eat up worlds,
but I’m just a poor poet who’s running out of words.
There’s a jail amongst the jails
inside my darkest noesis,
writing doctrines, sending mails,
Why do I love you?
The thought of freedom is so sweet,
the sunshine is so teasing;
I don’t even have the time to read –
your jail is just pleasing.
I built the walls, burnt the bridges,
scorched the land, searched the witches,
ruptured the nerves, devoured the preserves,
starved the body, tortured the mind,
riped out the tongue, blinded the eyes,
left none behind, let none comeaforth,
I am alone, only of a sort;
still the enemy is knocking, mocking,
wherefrom I cannot flee
and I just can’t…
The years are already blurry.
They create a false reality,
my mind. I don’t trust what it is saying though
like problems will disappear by tomorrow.
As a naive child, I hope so too
that I will live, and it is true
that I will see a tiny part of happiness.
I might clean my sight from stress.
I want to see it, but I can’t
because I know it wasn’t meant.
As if there were no tomorrow, it’s in hurry,
this decade is leaving me with a quick sorry.
I’m lost in the dark and I’m afraid;
I myself got myself chained,
and I know I could be anything better
if my light had just a bit flattered.
Alone, on the last word’s right,
I say I won’t reach more height
because here, even my self-hero flees
from my false realities.
Here’s the fellow who’s not mellow
I’m born rotten and forgotten
I had had poems, kind of solemn
But here I am with crying rhyming
I’m good in bad moods and vice versa
I tried to be a smartass, but proven the least smartest
I’m still unknowing, and not going
I’m a born clown, pulling down
I’m in a vortex, out of context
I can’t heal, I can’t feel
I’m surely nut and I am not
Just play with me the big games of life;
Dream and Desire,
Honest Sighs and Happiness,
Past of Good and Bad,
Future as if There’s No Tomorrow,
Future Where’s Tomorrow,
Playful Good Mornings,
Nights Beyond Expectations –
they are all so dear to me.
Play To Be My Partner,
Play I Do Care About You,
Play all the games of True Romance;
then, if I walk near at the end of my journey,
playing Old Age or Game Over,
I can tell you
I loved playing with you.
Because thrown away
in the box of broken
is an awful feeling
with no playing
But you found me,
holding me as a whole,
and I could be your tool for joy.
I felt still worthy for a short.
How? What? Why? I really dunno –
Though my life was already ready to go;
Drama, drama and goddamn traumas –
These drums are drumming under all my Sagas;
Dive and rise, dive and rise are all my rhymes –
These tenses tensed me all the times;
Crawling, falling, crawling, falling in a row –
Bowling the same boulder with a giant crow;
Wishing – hissing this has been such an Epic –
But despite all the witting, been just pathetic;
Missing love and dissing care –
Out of context just as sex –
My mental shutdowns just multiplex;
No social circles, nor any goals –
On my knowledge bigass holes;
Body? Housing? Dare to diss that thing? –
I’ve never been else than disgusting;
I tried to ignore, tried to die –
But I failed even to cry;
My nerves served me only disconcert –
Awkward, harmful as pervert;
I’d blame gods or Darwin’s words –
But it still constantly hurts;
I should quit and I am closing –
My life is the best thing for losing;
Even the thought is so pleasant –
No more drums of past and present;
No more future unpleasant Pre-sent.