I’ve fallen between the snarl and the calm whispers

I’ve fallen between the thin cracks and the hollow cries

I’ve fallen between insignificance and crumbs of emptiness

I’ve fallen between the corners and crevices of brokenness

I’ve fallen between the remains and disguised pieces

I’ve fallen between the torn walls and dreary coatings

I’ve fallen between apathy and a misfit playing in the black

I’ve fallen between misery and torture dancing in my blank eyes

Leave me a pile of scrutiny

Leave me a bag of aggravation

And I will toss it in the dying closet

Leave me a tiny bit of solitude

Leave me an ounce of spoiled milk

And I will throw it in the empty pantry

Leave me a gallon of spiked juice

Leave me a shred of laughter

And I will painfully swallow the bits

Leave me a bottle of shadows

Leave me a jug of sarcasm

And I will watch myself drown

Leave me a tank of affliction

Leave me a plate of dirty lies

And I will break another mirror

Leave me a pair of worn out glasses

Leave me a little bit of rust

And I will never see my heart ache

I sat in a puddle of insignificance

I stand in sand of irrelevance

I am undistinguished to you

I posed in a senseless portrait

I fell in a pointless discussion

I am minor in your grand vision

I sink in a vapor of nothing

I find myself alone in conversations

I am a cloud of dust in your clarity

All you do is spin in a circumference

All you do is dwell in a circus

And it all feels the same

All you do is throw away the compass

All you do is dance in this sphere

And it all feels the same

All you do is stumble in the fuzz

All you do is rewind and push play

And it all feels the same

All you do is gravitate to a cycle

All you do is remain who you are

And it all feels the same

She’s dressed in compromise

with a splash of anaesthesia

Lost in the scars

She’s wreaking ruins

with a touch of benevolence

Tangled up in a mess

She’s covered up in scotch

with a hint of animalism

Disoriented in the haze

She’s cleansed in affection

with a pinch of pandemonium

Invisible to the

She’s laced in anarchy

with a shot of jangle and bedlam

Slipping in oblivion

She’s cauterizing affection

with roses in her palms

Scatterbrained colors

I use to languish in the polygon of my weeping mind

I thirst for the fragments of my anguish to mold my center

I use to sulk inside myself and drink the wine of selfishness

I sunk my teeth into the dejection

I use to dwell in the camouflage and sink in my words

I swam in the black river under the oppression

I use to neglect faith and drown in the empty tear ducts

I fell into the depths of silence

I use to grieve in the awaken sadness and never sleep

I felt the last breath deceive me

I use to shed my dead skin in the morning to erase the gloomy nights

I carried a chain of misery

I use to gasp at the hollowness and gazed at the autograph

I refused to stare at the nemesis

I saw the signature and found it revolting

A transformation within shouted

She woke up

fragilely disheartened.

Stumbling through

the vacant parking lot

She feared the poison

but chose to swallow

the disturbance

She is helplessly frozen

by the enigma

Falling through

the suffocating blur

She stretches

her cauterized reflection

Desperately seeking

self preservation

She covers her

tumultuous scar

with black mascara

to ignore the recklessness

If I could run away

I’d join a flying circus

Chat with the lions

Chant with the crowd

Joke with the clowns

Dance with the acrobats

Crawl with the trapeze artists

Hide with the magician

Wrestle with the roar of the tiger

Walk with the Bear

Fall in love with the sideshow

Sit between the caramel apples

and the cotton candy

If I could run away

It wouldn’t solve any of my problems


Check out my books!

Constantly disoriented

frozen whispers speak to me

A deep hunger

to be understood

An appetite

to be stirred by intimacy

No one cares

No one shows it

Efforts are fallen between

the cracks

No one hears me

No one listens

Distorted perception wakens

This is my canvas

Only a writer, a poet,

will gravitate to my words

To everyone else

I am not here

No verses can disguise

the barbwire truth

Furious on the inside

Depression settles like dust

A intact plan merges

Ignoring my needs

Methodical and analytical

Reread the chorus

Every day was an opportunity

you threw away to show me

Nothing will prepare you

for what I’m about to do….

Staring into the

desolate snow globe

watching my brittle

tears howl from the chair

Craving novacane for

my anorexic heart

Gravitating to the infection

that is soaking to

my sensitive past

Refusing to retrace

my footsteps of

Chestnut street

Tangled ghosts weave

through out my

strewed mind

Only to see a glimpse

of a debilitating disease

Concentrating on the

disappearing inner tyke

Becoming a nomad within

Placing my hands in my

ragged and faded jeans

trying to capture the light

of playing hopscotch

No matter how many times

I seek the clarity and purity

of my jagged youth

Chestnut Street is just a sign

on a ten foot pole

*Laurel has asked me to use this street name for the Challenge.

The stench will never disappear. I sit here in agony replaying the years in my head. I stare into the pitch black and contemplating the decisions that I have made in my colorful life. I was a jester. I have discarded all the useful cards in the deck only leaving myself with only a few to hold in my tired hands. I steer away from the root. I run away from the tears that refuse to see the sun. I was the fool in believing in the word forever. You took me for granted. I took you for granted. You didn’t have the ability to own up in your own mistakes. You chose to be stagnant. I thought I was the infant in this relationship. I took my vows seriously. My heart is full of mush, layers of sensitivity, and the cream you find in the center of a donut. I wanted more. I craved depth. I took responsibility of my actions. I stumbled away shapeless seeking the truth. I am a lost soul. All I can see is a twinkling light. I will find my way out. If there is one thing I do well it’s being persistent. Nobody will tell me I can’t do something.

Exchanging blows

Trouncing the integrity

Parading with clout

Testifying with a punch

Ruthless and cold

Clobbering with animosity

Losing perspective

Gaining self worth

Sitting on a Island

without a blanket of protection

Circling apathy

with loneliness on a death bed

Persecuting myself

Questioning my beliefs

Constantly defending my being

Slowly giving up to society’s views

If I could grab the empty atmosphere with my palm

I wouldn’t let go

If I could see a glimpse of breeze of echoes

someone could hear me

Disease and disorder stain

If I could vanish in the horizon no one

could see my aggravation

If I could destroy all the decay inside my gut

I would feel alive

Pins and needles stew

If I could wrap my thoughts around a slippery fear

I would let go

If I could escape into a tunnel of solitude

I would crawl for miles searching

Affliction and plagues cross patterns

Beneath the clutter

and the discolored anxiety

the war between us continues

Engulfed by the

fractured promises

Gobbled up by the

untamed distance

Dwelling in the dusk

crawling through the

dark wild

Regurgitated phrases

of shades of love

Acknowledging the

hardened suffering

Stomaching the

patronizing goodbyes

Inhaling your desolate

and sinister perfume

Sucking and gulping

your mocking remarks

Withstanding your

arrogance and malicious core

Underneath the deceased

your stigma withers

Ribs shook

Teeth chattered

A swig of Alligator Juice

Testing intestinal fortitude

Crying Esophagus

Liquid to soothe the deserted soul

Reviving the hostile lungs

Defining the edges and nerves

Overtaken by the emptiness

As he fills his stomach

with acidic Alligator Juice

Pouring down overused mentalities

Change fumbling around

Pulling four quarters to insert

in the old fashioned jukebox

Numbers exchanged between

the mentalist and the statue

Between the shot glass

and the pint of a Irish stout

Scattered observations are slurred

Tip toeing through the cigar vapors

and the barking stilettos

Polluted with aggravation’s

and lipstick smudges on the glass

Empty barstools are playing violins

Loneliness waits for no one

Be careful where you drown

your heartache and sorrows

Look up at the glaring neon sign

The Bottomless crutch