Cephalalgia

Questions

upon circles

skimming patterns

of figure-eights

in hot-cold flashes

across my forehead

pulsate the weight

of existentialism’s

symphony

of silver-shelled

facades

onto my shoulders,

into the ground,

unto Thy God.

Angel-Love-Fool

There you go.

Here I am.

And the world does not give a damn.

Coping Mechanism

Repetitive.
Trance.
Music.

Predictable shapes.
Falling.
Fitting.

Instant gratification.

Justification
of hasty
decisions.

Visions emblazoned
on memory
overdrive.

Hypnotize—
paralyze—
aching psyche.

Numbness
equals
no pain.

Fingers clicking
ticking
time
away.

Brainless.
Mindless.

Wasteland Fortress.
Soulless Savior.

Tetris games.

Meditation

I sat quietly for a moment.
Felt my chest breathe.
Let my mind wander.
Let my soul speak.
And it said to me:
I will forgive you one day.

Jarred from my trance,
I blinked harshly,
three times,
and glanced over my left shoulder
in paranoia.

I don’t know what it means!

I don’t know…
what it means.

I don’t know what it means,
but it lives in me.

Kiss Away the Demons

Raised scars across your back
I would graze with my lips,
breathing soft affection
over years of abuse and neglect.

Tracing the path
of a father’s misplaced fury
tattooed on your skin
and emblazoned in your mind,
I trod lightly.

Each kiss,
like the wings of a butterfly,
I aimed to heal you
with a gentle strength.

Through my touch
I longed to infuse you
with a sense of hope,
a replenishment of worth.

But I couldn’t leap the fiery the gap
between the callous scars
and your soul.

No, I never did succeed
in kissing away your demons.

Hipster Haiku

You eat Pop-Tarts.
I eat Organic Toaster Pastries.
And don’t you forget it!

Global Ambition vs Everyday Apathy

Come watch the fight!
Free on pay-per-view!

Contradictory catalysts
battle to the death
in the mental mind
of a so-called young-adult.
Low-blows
to the cerebellum
will knock Ambition
off his feet.
But if he regains his balance,
watch out Apathy!

It’s sure to be a good fight.
A duel.
Blow for blow.
It’s a toss-up who will win it.
But bet your money on a TKO.

Social Stratification

If we all have control
over what we do
and I want the same things out of life
as you,
then why am I lying here,
naked on the floor,
watching
you
soar?

Clumsy Heart

Volatile
projectile
emotions
spewing a thousand different hues.
The reds
bleed into the blues,
leaving a dark purple bruise.
Then when it heals
it turns yellow-green,
with a boastfully branded sheen.

I really need to stop
running into
things.

Broken Dream

Tired and
(poetically)
uninspired.

Waiting and
perpetually
debating.

Once you have it all,
all you can do is wonder
what you have it for.

And just like that,
you’ve reached the breaking point
of the American Dream.