FISH

type, delete
type, delete
type and fucking delete

“What’s happening” her thoughts alerted her
my fingers have lost their rhythm
the music that once was has now been raped by silence
that racing mind has now been seduced by stagnation
“why”
the morning used to be her haven that black coffee
used to be her drug, the one that carries her away
from the plastic bags that suffocated her
every freaking day

“is this anger?” this foreign feeling
that’s infiltrating her soft skin
making her quiver with wrath
she penetrated her brain, beyond the thoughts
that clouded it, across the nerve bridges
that balanced her sanity
she walked on the lines that connected
the cerebellum to her frontal lobe
she could feel the throbbing pain
that caused this anger to erupt
that’s causing that white slate in front of her
to haunt her

Her eyes dilated
glazed with a layer of tears
that she fought so much to hide
everything around her blurred
her brain power has infiltrated her reality
altering it, trying to convey a message

She found herself
on a window sill
looking down,
this new augmented reality
surprised her,

she saw individuals wondering around in circles
this mind over body experience beat any psychedelic
she could taste emotions, her eyes had the ability
to strip the raunchiest of fakes to their birthday suits

Her eyes scavenged them scanning them from head to toe
As she did, she peeled off a layer that was translucent
that covered the muck and gunk within
She wowed herself with this ability

She was astonished to notice that those close to her
were filled with more dirt than the bottom of an oil spill
they were dense but had a beautiful cover
that lured the loveliest of people

She felt like she was looking down at a fish bowl
filled with gorgeous colored creatures swimming
peacefully with each other
red and blue, pink and velvet
weightlessly swerving, waltzing
with each other

“what a brain”
“what a reality check”

while some were filled with dirt
others were consumed with niceness
a humble nature, that of a rare breed
a diamond with in the rough
their colored glowed from under the water
seducing her being, wanting to be part of her real reality 

She had never exhibited any rough nature
but that boiling within needed to be tamed
or adapted to
that alter ego wanted to surface and paint
murals with the insides that embodied
such beautiful creatures
while keeping those of pure nature
of transparency swimming seamlessly
in her world around her

The fish surfaced
and fled the waters surrounding her
leaving those
dense ones at the bottom

“we know” they said
she found herself
naked
plastered with colors
layer-less
and
seducing nature
by her true
sense of
Self

City of Molten Souls

Once upon a time
yes, it starts like this
time was a defining moment
a second of realization
that was stamped in
4 simple words

“Once upon a time”
there came an event
that changed the path one simple person
blinded by the routine that has been injected
in his blue veins

He was addicted to it without knowing
a junkie of life, slowly smoking its daily alarms
tapping the ticking needle,
that merciless needle of time
that stops for nothing and no one
falling in the deep illusions of its mushrooms
embodied in cup after cup of caffeine beans
then suddenly crashing in his bed
with a body full of alcohol
the perfect ending for any life junkie
who has succumb to the seducing moments
of a daily routine

Once upon a time
he woke up in his 4 walled bedroom
where pink floyd greeted him with his colored poster
and a psychedelic vortex poster on the next
welcomed his vision
the heat from the summer sun
melted him, sweat droplets
covered his face,
he ached for the morning breath
but it had failed to satisfy his lungs

the summer sun
was careless
he has never experienced such heat
he sat on the edge of his bed
looking through his book of survival
a book an ex of his gave him
for some reason that has slipped his mind
“she probably knew about this” he pondered

“How to survive the end of the world heat?
A step by step survival strategy”

NOTHING

The heat increased forcing his posters to melt
the colors trailed down the walls like colored
tears on the cheek of white porcelain doll

“Did she know?” the question seems to stick to his thoughts
He rushed to the window at the end of his curved room opened the shutters
“FUCK, the world is melting”
He noticed his neighbors carrying buckets and buckets of melted colors
and throwing them from the balcony
creating waterfalls of rainbows, yet conveying
the agony and suffering of the heat

His body was in a state of wetness
the room is falling apart
in the midst of all this, the thought of her
still lingers, eating up his brain

“Who would ever buy such a book?”
when he felt the floor’s texture morphing to liquid form
he knew that this was not a joke
He rushed across the wobbly stairs
their tiles were melting together
forming a river of white with polka dots

His legs were shaking with fear
“i need to make it outside, before the melting
heat eats up my skin”

His body was slippery with sweat
he could see the door
the view was mirage like
the heat made the vision wavey
you see the heat embodied in the air

As he ran across the falling colors from the balcony
all he could think of was that girl and her book

why was she part of his life? why that book?

He ran down the streets
of melting sidewalks
and red bricks
across the screams that horrified him
across the glass that was overcoming the ground
with its translucent colors

all the melting hues seemed to gather
at the end of the street, in a puddle
his body was slowly taking part of the paint concoction
the screams melted away, the sun was hotter than ever

he felt his last breath leaving his body
he took one last look at the sun, it was as yellow
as an innocent child’s drawing of it

while he was being swept away
he saw a paint brush, a huge one
tearing the sky apart and reaching
for his blue eyes that were on the verge of melting

it touched him, that giant brush was dipping its
smooth end in the red of the melting bricks, the grey of the sidewalks
and and the blue of his eyes

he screamed as his eyes melted away
joining the molten magma of the city

once the brush exited the skies
it made its way on a canvas
his soul was alive, he felt the brush
move his blue eyes across the tabula rasa
he heard a giggle
a familiar one
a feminine soft one
that would always compliment any joke he made

It was her!
the woman behind the brush!

She was painting a new world
Pollocking a new city
with the sun by her side
and the city of screams
and colors
melted
in her hand

Through it all
she melted once before
but has allied with the sun
to create a new
world
for
her
by
her

Baggies

She woke up one day
with IV tubes in each arm
surprised at the matter
she looked frantically
for a familiar face
to ease the shock factor
that has overtaken her
in a split second

Her white robe instilled
a sense of confusion and a dash of fear
“what’s going on?” her mind repeated
the white walls of the room failed to respond
the echo of her voice did not succeed at relaying
the message to a humanoid or even someone capable
of responding

She inspected the room, the IV tubes
she noticed that each baggie at the end
had a name of a person, people that were
familiar to her, to her life
She could not make up the description below
but since the liquid within wasn’t red, she was sure
she wasn’t donating blood, but it was liquid of different colors
leaving her body …

This sparked even more fear
why her? why was her body a medium
from which these baggies with names are collecting

Her instincts kicked in
she did not agree with the fact
that her own temple is being abused
as a lab rat

She removed the tubes from her pulsing veins
and ran down the door full hallway
the whiteness of the place was disturbing
the walls emitted cold, her skin did not like it
the kind of cold that your heart knows is followed
by a demerit to paint its purity black

She saw a cabinet
“files, records, that’s good” she vocalized
she was sure she’d find the answers to her presence there
Her feet could not pace her anxiety,
they ran like wild horses away from that horrid room
away from those parasitic baggies that just hung there
getting fattened by different colored liquids
from the same person

Flipping through the files
her name flashed in front of her tired eyes
she just noticed how lethargic she is
picked it up and opened it
desperately

She saw endless columns of names
she knew – but did not want her memory
to remember or even highlight the brim
of their existence

“what do they want?
what the hell were they extracting?”

As her vision trailed with her finger
after each name, she traced it back
to the “Reason” column

Her eye lids flickered in astonishment
“essence”..
“They want my essence?”

She closed the folder
and followed the exit arrows to reach the roof top
it was dark, the car honks and the lights
made it look like a loud teenage club
nothing was in sync, but as a whole
it looked just fine
she sat on the ledge
aching for a cigarette
she saw another man
with a white coat, smoking a rolled
one

“Hey you..
yea you.. roll me one”

He looked at her
his dark framed glasses
reflected the lights of the city
his coal dark hair brushed back
in a sleek manner that reflected his own

“Ah, it’s you, I was up here thinking
about your case… why everyone wants your essence”

She walked up to him, with
whatever was left of her energy
“So you know” as she watched him
roll her cigarette

“Of course, have you looked at
yourself lately? did you notice
your pale skin?”

She couldn’t pin point the color under the
blue night sky
but she had one question boggling her

“Why were the baggies with names and each had a different color?”

She dragged the nicotine stick, gestured for a lighter
and paused in anticipation

“you see, those were people in your past
who have been infected… well not infected
let’s say blessed with your essence
time has slowly but surely taken its toll
on the sparkle that you left in them
so they gathered and requested
some of your essence to be injected back into their lives
since they cant chop you apart and keep
bits and pieces of you” he smirked

“Each baggie knew which essence to withdraw
hence the different colors, baggie 1- I forgot the label
wanted the humor you injected, that’s why it was pink
the blue baggie was full of your wit…” he exhaled smoke as
he told her

She was speechless
Every time she tried to say something
silence filled her mouth and ate her words

“I came up here to wait for your process to finish
but here you are
on the verge of collapsing, yet so curious”

She turned to leave
her robe slid from her shoulder
The doctor, yelled
“Hey
there’s still some left
on your shoulder ……”

She ran like no tomorrow
towards the red exit sign
wondering
“what have
they given me?”

Astray

Jittering fingers she’s nervous
“what the fuck is happening?”
This is a first! IT SCARED her
of course it did

it was the first time
she experienced such a feeling, a loss, confusion
and even a bit of nausea

the fucking blinking line why isn’t it moving,
why aren’t her fingers dancing on letters?
Have they become weary
or is it that her brain has become dreary?

She wants to scribble and doodle
even paint a mural but why have her ideas abandoned her?
Could it be that her heart is empty?
Could it be that her spirit is slowly fading
into this so called routine
that they glorify so ideally?

what is happening,
her colors have darkened
and her eyes are dim,
lifeless indeed this is horrific

I am sorry but this does seem grim

Her nails are chipping
and her skin is aching
her brain is screaming,
yearning for a meaning

the loud noise in her head pertains to her,
she only hears it but she looks around,
seeking conformity
she wants to see if anyone else,
is listening

Could it be that those injections of “busy”
have sedated her wild spirit?
Could it be sucking her blood
deriving the color within?

Could it be that she’s overdosing on “busy”?
Slowly enjoying the things momentarily
before she’s gone completely

As I was ending this entry she looked at me,
got closer she lay her hand on mine
pale white cold skin, long boney fingers
“please don’t let me go”
she said as she locked her blue eyes on mine

I startled and confused asked
“Who are you?”
She smirked using her last joule of energy
“Your inspiration”

Wings

When did this all start?
When all your energy is being sucked in
by your daily needle?

When did you become so exhausted
with life? You were a flame
a fire sign to be exact?

No one could tame your sparks
You were bubbling with fireworks
Your music was your own
in your head or all around you

The way you walked
looked like dancing, your eyes were even closed
so you could unite with your own melodies

Your night was your life
you lived for the moonlight and the
star twinkles
You lived for chilled nights
and wild thoughts

When did this all start?
Could it be that you are aging
that time is whipping you into shape
opening your eyes to that grim future
that everyone plans for
the house,
the family,
the security,
the comfort

Hold on a second
You have that now,
But what did your sparks dwindle to?

They are still there
I can see them in the golden
hues in your hair

Why aren’t you out, why are you
giving them sleeping pills to secure
your rest?

Snap out of it,
don’t ever compare
that’s the biggest sin you can commit
and the biggest guilt you can self inflict

Go, walk naked
dance with eyes closed
let your hair be messy

Go hug and kiss
you are a beautiful creature
with endless energy
with colors of possibilities

Go smoke your cigarette
with friends, laugh at your own will
let your wings open
stand on that railing
and fly to where your mind
goes

JUMP
there’s a world out there
also naked wanting to feel its skin
on yours

FLY AWAY

QUICK REALIZATION!

When was the last time you actually looked into someone’s eyes
when they were talking to you!?

When was the last time you actually saw the words connect
your vision to theirs?

Did you ever notice that it makes them fidget when
you gaze at them, with full concentration?

Did you ever notice that it makes them feel awkward?

Why?
Why can’t I look you in the eyes and tell you my story
Why do you have to monitor my face
my lips, my cheeks
my hand gestures?

Why does it bother you that I see nothing more
than your eyes?

Eyes, they amplify
eyes, they diversify
eyes, they quantify

Why?

Try it, look at them straight in the eyes
while they are conversing, don’t look weird
just listen with your eyes
and watch the connection
MULTIPLY!

There’s a whole galaxy in there!

Feeding the “Itch” of a Writer!

Fingers dancing beautifully
on the keyboard,
tap dancing carefully on each key
every calculated step
generates beautiful words
virtually inked on that blank slate
It’s a good day to write

It’s a gorgeous Saturday morning,
that hungover feeling, the smell of yester-night’s drinks
they still linger, you are smiling

It’s damp outside, the rain teased us
with sessions of heavy doses and then disappearing
You play those bluegrass songs,
It’s a weird feeling, but nonetheless a high

You want to have that cigarette with your morning coffee
but the pack you smoked yesterday
claws down your throat

and still you smile,
what a puzzlement that brain of ours is
you think it conspires with the heart?
you think it fucks around with you,
and then giggles tremendously with the heart?

You think sometimes it just takes a day off
leaves all to the heart?
The simple yet most complex formula
of MIND over BODY
will forever torment us
silly souls,
feeding on romance, lusting for adventure
injecting chaos, snorting the nightlife
Smoking the idiots, inhaling lovers
Exhaling pain,
dancing to music, tasting life’s sinful pleasures
falling in fuck-ups, getting our selves up
working to the bone,  living immortally
Kissing the world, hoping for everything

There was never a day that wasn’t a cocktail
of disappointments laced with uppers
diluted with experience with after effects of “lessons learned”
but when the sun sets and I see the dark veil cover the sky
I still back, I light that damn cigarette
I look at the traffic below,
the frustrated society, honking and yelling at each other

I take a drag, I let out a smiling sigh
I live in a country running on crack, everyone is edgy
but hey, what better could a writer wish for
if every day is an entry, fed to me by
the junkies of this beautifully chaotic
country!