Ignorance is the night of the mind. A night without mood or stars.

Pianos and butterfly kisses

I will be the butterflies that tickles in your stomach  in the middle of your wet dream. I lightly flutters my wings against the white and  obsidian keys that is your ribcage.  And sigh as your sighs makes the the notes to my gentle  melody, dulcet and lethargic in tempo.

-Charles Bukowski

If I never see you again
I will always carry you
inside
outside

on my fingertips
and at brain edges

and in centers
centers
of what I am of
what remains.

-Charles Bukowski

The awakening moments of vibrancy

She wakes to yellow light breathing on her skin from cracked doors.

The ethereal hues half captures her attention.

White noise drowns the other half. 

She listens as the tilt bed gushes to the ceiling, about the

lovely intertwined colors under its blankets. 

Her silver shines vibrant and erogenous as neon sex in a window.

Emollient scents the sheets and perspiration licks her flesh,

With redolent perfume and vibrants moments she drifts back to sleep

The the

Red robin, Red robin

you are so lovely with your

violent red blushing breast,

sharp and pointed

eyes that, gleamed like

metal in the sun reflecting

off morning dew.

Standing proudly with

your vivacious red chest

radiating. Perched with

pride on a branch outside

my windowpane as if

saying look at me world!

Look at me while I stand

and extol trills of good mornings.

O! sweet Red Robin

while you did look

brilliant you appear

so much more alive

through the scope of

my Beretta 92FS BB

gun, at 4:49 a.m.

seconds before I

pulled the

trigger. 

Mots dans la matinée

Sinking in purgatory between the
witching hour and the suns awakening.
I am not sorry for the wandering of my
soul, nor the slow enlightening of
the moon light across my ceiling.
My soul is a soul that shifts, restlessly
inside their minds, searching for my other.
Within seconds I am a moiety without a body in
between 5:22 and betwixt 6:56. After shifting
through Merlot wine bottles I collect the
sleep from my eyes, pour them into the hour
glass, and give cheers to the being sitting
behind the moon. Minutes burn and hours chase
the weariness away, heightening my awareness.
But still seeing blurred faces and feeling hands as I
sink into purgatory between and betwixt
the witching hour and the suns awakening.

3:49 AM Skygazer

You dont know her 

untill you've seen her at 3:49 am.

Watch her stare across the Sky's body

Settled on the Earth

and lost in space of the Night's eyes

Do you know how to relate to her as she confides to the stars? Because who eles is there to speak with? The stars and the moon is a constant in her life and always will be. Unlike the lovers and friends that are vibrant and warm in her presence but poignant and cruel with the absense. 

Do you know now why she cries? Her fate as all other humans is to live passionate and exciting but quick lives. Love quickly, cry quickly, smiles, dance, embrace, praise, and encourage quickly. Can moments spent in her loneliness be truly understood by others and can anyone but a loner truly understand what it is like to be a star? 

What it is to be a fuck up.

Cunning and emotionally destructive with lies thick like honey. Too sweet to resist. We cant even restrain ourselves. But it is especially alluring to the newly made butterflies, who unlike us is not used to the flith. Whom are the easiest to corrupt. We fuck up are addictives, the glorfied heroine and drunken escapes of the gutter world.

Free Falling

Her world is a flat surface, curious feet always seem to take her to the edge. Counting each black and white tile at her zenith. Keep your sunshine she say. I want to be the rain, because while afriad of heights, i dont mind the fall just as along as I am not falling alone.

But until you come she will stand at the edge.

Union of the Tress

Before you fall in love, you see the other person as a bare branch; as you fall, you coat him or her with jeweled attractions about 80 percent of your own making.

My bare branches
enlongates towards the
sky. Praises are hidden within
my petals at the possibility
to grow. I wish to flower
your being. Grow as a
your bark
to warm
us during
the snow
storms.

A Series of Seven

Humans are so easily swayed.
Lured by gilded promises of hollow
trinkets, in exchange for
a continued existence vainglory.

Lust is the physical
manifestation of vulnerability
in the feminine divide. Worshiped
crudely he turns her vulgar and ashamed.

Pride is the self-entitlement
of the neighbors home. Tailored
fit, aloof dispositions. Stay
calm while we spit on your culture.

Wrath knows what knife will
cut deepest. What another's blood under
our fingernails, teeth grind to the
gum feels like

Sloth gives too little, to help the soul.
Glutton takes too much, to feed others.

Humans covet
the things we see around us. Envy
is the colonialism that has grown
too powerful because my pockets will
never be empty.

Burnt Out

Derek Hess

You didnt want to die,
But you didnt care to really live either.

Faces in the rain

I tell her,
I want to be like raindrops.

That I don't mind falling,
as long as I am not falling alone.

Procrastination

Oop, hello ground
it’s been a while
you look well
gritty and hard
like I remember

good old ground
we’ve always got on right?
me and you

ground I promise
I never forgot about you
it’s why I thought
we wouldn’t meet again

alas here we are
toe-to-toe
hold on a sec
my heels want to say hello

oop, alright sky
how you been?
I just saw the floor
and I’m sure he’d send
his regards

I guess you two
see each other all
the time though
I wouldn’t know

been looking at
the horizon for ages
it changes you know
but it doesn’t get
any closer

I’ll stay here a minute actually
me and you have got some
catching up to do.

-Tumblr

I climbed
A poet's
Tree last night
To wrap myself in it's
Leaves and pretended the branches
Were your arms.

I don't mind the splinters it gives
Me because unlike the ones you give me
I can
Pull them out.

And as much as I would have like to
Take a pocket knife and carve lines
Couplets, haiku's, limricks, sonnets...
lines into the brown bark and pretend it
Was your skin, or my skin.

I couldnt.

I can't do much of anything now a days
Maybe I am just a morning glory
lost withing a tangle
of vines.

I am Blue as the crying sky.

Poem written and performed by Skim Skima

I’m catching gazes that aim to catch gays.
Your eyes.
You ask me why I choose to look how I look.
My answer is the same question, back to you.
Homosexual. Put yourself in my shoes.
Gay bitch. I bet you can’t even imagine what I’ve been through.
How damaged I am, because of you.
It’s true I wanna love who I love.
And more honest I am. The more you wanna mess me up.
You said, my judgment day will come.
Well it did. Day after day. Gay.
Night after night. Dike.
You think being gay was a choice in my life?
Who would really choose to face this kind of hate?
They way they say it, you’d think I was Satan.
Don’t you see? Your hypocrisy is so blatant.
Stop complaining others are racist when you’re doing the same thing in my face.
Your eyes attack my faith. Faggot
And give me shame I can’t seem to erase
So I ask god to save a mess like me, but leave me blind
because I hate what I see.
Faggot. Silence I mask it.
Faggot. Everybody laughing.
Faggot. While I’m standing here
Disgusted that I can still feel disgusting.
No wonder I am so not trusting.
Look at me. And look at this world I am in.
And look at me again.
I know what exactly most of you see.
So let the names begin.
Cuz I guess I must trust my pain so much.
Enough to let it come inside me. Again and again.
And I must love the connection it brings from my heart to yours.
But I would never love the ways it burns.
I got a lot to learn. But some things I was born to teach.
Close your eyes and feel how deep I can reach.

Why I secretly hate mirrors

I really feel strange every time I look into a mirror. I forget that I have a form, and I get used to thinking of myself as the "thinker", and not the objectively viewed person. It's hard to get a definite view of yourself when you know everything, and know just how complex you are.

The mirror shows 'you', plain and simple, you might think of it as viewing your purest form (although that couldn't be more wrong). I am shocked at the sight of 'me' I don't recognize myself, even if I have only looked away for a second. I am staring at a stranger. I know that it is not a good representation of me, but mirrors remain a way to force your physical reality upon you.