It was the intoxication for you that made me realize that I’ve been getting drunk of the wrong things for way to long

I’ve been sober before your lips, before your hands on my hips

You made me rethink the concept of being in a state sobriety

Because I would always see my self staring at the end of a bottle for a daring push into the world of extraordinary cliches to feel a sense of normalcy, different than awkward social convention I shoved myself into 

But then I found myself drinking you, and felt at ease, felt at peace

Because liquor isn’t supposed to transform you

It’s supposed to bring out your truest shade out form the shadows

Shadows that were born out of the constricted norms embedded into my mind before I could even think about playing with my barbie dolls

And then I drank a tangy mixture of cheap vodka, expensive self-derailemt and an aftertaste of a misplaced childhood.

And for the first time in my predetermined existence

For the first time in my etiquette driven, formulaic personality

For the first time my mask fell of my face

Tumbled down on to the floor

And fell between your fingertips

For the first time I wasn’t afraid of pain

I found comfort in the scars you left on my neck

Open wounds that got infected with delusions and ill-adviced caresses

Because with every stroke they became deeper

And now here I stand

That result of your carnage

Battered black and blue but holding on to your control over me


Waiting for you to bite deeper into me until I’m lost in my own oblivion

Only to find myself in your arms

Wanting to feel weak again

Craving the hangover 

Revolution of the Hopeless Romantics

As I take a stroll down memory lane 

I run into the corner of nostalgia and broken hearts 

And run into the ghost of the past 

That leads me down three sharp turns 

And I end up un the end of Bull Shit Ave.

Right where it meets with Honesty Hour Street 

I’m faced with a huge cement bunker 

At the top in huge letters it says

“Institute of higher love”

I walk right up to it high and mighty 

With my heart on my sleeve 

And my dignity hanging by a thread 

Holding on to my independence

Can’t loose it in the mind games 

Can’t loose myself in the secret glances 

Or in the hand holding 

Or in the full words with empty meanings 

I can’t loose myself 

Cause I’m burning this place down 

From the inside 

And watching the false hope and promises of all the aching hearts 

Burn up in the smoke of the revolution  

Wake the Hell Up

So I wake up and buy a ticket to nowhere,

a one way ride into the emptiness of my mind

To prove to myself

That an immigrant of logic won’t just migrate to the cockles of my heart

Which contains all my choice of reason and words that do not rhyme

In order to wake up from reality

And fall back into my dreams

Where it’s just you and me and a camera

That captures every moment of the feelings I long to express in words

But no words can express.

How cliché of me…  (stop)

But I guess that’s poetry.

Clichéd phrases with meanings out of the ordinary

That dig into that uncomprehended soul of wisdom and artistry.

A jumble and mumble of moody complaints

Inspired by a leaf falling and landing on the window

Leading to conclusions

Of why we live

In a world so cold and full of nothing but shit

And the fact that we chase that shit up and down empty ally ways

Pursuing for a false light of hope

To ignite that love that will probably be buried under all your insecurities.

So wake up

To the fact that poetry is derived form red roses and blue violets

That are actually not blue, but violet.

But you see

That is what a poet does;

They confuse and mesmerize you with words

Injected by the drugs of insanity

Mixing them into cocktails of forgotten questions.

Wake up to the fact that poets are just talented spinners of reality

And I am proud to say

I belong to the community of frustrated spinners

Who search for deepness in shallow chocolate milk cartons and vodka bottles, or any bottle  

Or the romantic side of an earlobe.

I just have a talent for rotating perspectives into phrases

That only I will understand

But that somehow you’ll feel them in the deepness of your veins

As they crash into your inner thoughts

That make you believe that I am actually writing about something worth while. Well I’m not;

This is not the sign you were looking for in the starry night

That is just as hidden as your desires for that kiss.

This is just me,

Throwing out random thoughts

Of just about every painful nip

That has been taken to my battered mind and built heart.

Wake up into the parallel dimension

Where these words transport you away

From your death eating, agonizing, time consuming, worthless and pitiful complications

To figure try out what in the world I am writing about.