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 


Pain is relative

Dedication: To my fading self worth


Pain in relative

And as it burns through your memories

It becomes a part of you

A scar that you know like the back of your hand

Chemical burn that you learned to caress

And is always there when you’re alone

Cause the skin is so vile

And the scar is so great

That no one will want to hold you with your crippled emotions

And the solution would be to deal with it like the dead

Going back to those few moments

Very few unforgotten smiles an whispers

But you think it’d be best to deal with it like the living

It’s the solution of the strong

Because you have to be stronger

You can’t let the burning desire

Of crashing into vice consume you

So you deal with it like the living

Having it square in the face

As a reminder

A reminder that redemption won’t save you

And damnation is imminent

Damnation caused by your desires to be

And live in a way you believed to be beautiful

But in fact is just a tunnel thats getting narrower

And there’s no way out of it

So you drown in the vinegar at the end of it

To nurture

To feel numb

To not care

And then, you’re strong

In this context “strong” meaning empty

Cause you’ve hit rock bottom


No one can ever hurt you again

Hi. My name is Hopeless, and I am a Wordaholic

You know that feeling when you want to write,

But you have nothing to write about

So you end up writing about not having anything to write about?



I must have about 1000 scraps of paper

With that exact same idea

Of just filling up lines with senseless talk

Just because I have the urge of seeing a page filled with ink.


It’s become an addiction

Playing with words,

Snorting up vowels,

And smoking metaphors

To get high on explanations of the unexplainable


Because the feeling of getting lost in words,

Traveling into another dimension

Up above your sense or normalcy

Is just about the same buzz you get from the sting of liquor

It’s the same memory erasing effect

That leave you dry

And leaves you satisfied

Under the migraine


I am an alcoholic druggie who’s addicted to rhythm

Who will never go back

Because without my pen

Without my words

I feel the shakes and aches

Of the pain that slowly creeps back

Tickling my spine

And taunting my lips



And all I need right now is my hideaway
So I can run away from you
And fly away with him
And the memory of the kiss that never touched my lips
Or the vibration of the strum that gave me goose bumps.

And the guilt of looking into those eyes
And feeling something real for the first time in a long time
Knowing those eyes felt the same
As they begged me to be the queen of his world for only one night
But knowing all the same that there is no such thing as freedom of desire.

All I need right now is my hideaway
Because reality without the sea rocking under the hammock
That shook with every glance
And rocked with every sigh
Is as painful as holding back the tears form saying goodbye.

I miss the cold and the warmth
I miss the wind that made me fall for you
And your grip that kept me steady.

The way you got ahead, stopped, waited and kept going.
The tears swell up again as I remember how you called me munchkin,
Didn’t annoy me when you made me feel small
Cause in the end I was and I am the bigger person.
Because I was the one who waited in the cold
And dreamt about your lips and voice
And you were the one who didn’t show.

But then his shoulder catches my tears
As I stutter to tell the story of a hidden craving
And he holds my hand
Whispering a promise that I know he can’t keep

Cause it’ll fly by just as fast as the seven days
Those seven days that I will always go back to when I feel lonely,
Because I will always go back to shnarfing and loving.
I will always revisit our last glance on the staircase,
And that night that turned into the darkest moment
Before the dawn that would end it all.

And so I go to my hideaway just one last time and see you there,
With him
And the blurred voices that surround us
But I can’t seem to listen.
I’m to wrapped up in what could have been and never will be.
I’m to wrapped up in counting the hours until tomorrow
Can it not be tomorrow?

It’s 3AM and I don’t want to say goodbye,
But the quiet whispers so loudly that it’s time to go.
I embrace the quivers, and shivers and the heavy rotation
I walk away
Still holding his hand because neither of us wants to let go.
Can’t my hideaway just become home?

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.



And so I Sit

And so I sit and I listen
I listen to you complain about love when there is a trail of suiters behind you
Ready to catch you
When behind me there is only my shadow
And she’s to weak to catch me.

And so I sit and listen
I listen to you complain about compromise
When you’re the one who can’t handle desire
And then theres me, yearning for another chance at commitment

And so I sit and listen
I listen to you say how no one loves you
When I am sitting here, still loving you

And so I sit and get lost
I get lost in my thoughts and imaginings
But I sit and find nothing, I’m going no where
I’m empty.
There is nothing to pick at whats left of my mind and heart because its all up smoke
The ashes gone, blown away with your last kiss

So I sit and build a wall to hide my insanity behind a smile
What else can I do?
I have to sit and listen to you after all

And so I sit and listen
Holding back the tears in order to be strong
I’ll get by on my own
But you?
If you could, I wouldn’t be listening.

One Way Ticket

This is an assignment I worked on that I ended up loving. It’s a remix of one of the great Langton Hughes poem ‘One Way Ticket’

I pick up my life,

And take it with me,

And put it in a jar of

Insecurities, Innocence

Hopeless romance,

Next to ingenuity

And no confidence

I pick up my life

And take it on a journey

To the corner of 39th and 9th

To the booth where your lips touched mine.

A place that distance is nothing

I am fed up with the laws of logic

People who think

Yet do not ponder

Who are scared of walking backwards

And leave the romantics out to dry

I pick up my dignity

And take it away

On a one-way-ticket

Gone up into the stars

Gone out into nothingness

Gone, just gone