Carnage

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

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 

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Kissing a Fool

How lost must I be that you have me going back to the one thing I swore I would repress form my lips and mind entirely

Maybe it’s better to stay in a dry spill than go back to the torturous task of an art that has been so played out.

I mean it was played out when it was written out 154 times

Yet here I am trying to reiterate what has always been stated in iambic pentameter

In rhyme

In kids poems

In erotic literature

There’s just nothing new to say about the time consuming, death eating, fucking plain messed feeling up that builds up inside me when I see you, when I think about you, when you hold my hand and kiss my neck

Because it’s all been said before

It’s not new to want to rip apart every memory because so help me God even the happy ones make me feel like there’s nothing to hold on to

Because they’re an echo of doubt

They’re a sad excuse of a deranged version of a fairy tail that I can’t help but find in every book I read, every song I hear and every insignificant sentence that simply mean so much to me

Not knowing if you can read between my lines or there’s a subtext in the way you nonchalantly glace at your side when I’ve drifted off into my non-sense once again

And then there’s your confusion

Which confuses me

And confuses you

And then it’s back to me

And then I end up being completely honest about something that I don’t even know if I’m saying correctly because there tends to be a third party nagging at my brain to mix fictional feelings with uncertain truth and makes me bombard the wall you’ve build up to high because you can’t have me being right

At all

Not even about this

The irony being that you’re the one who supposedly feels so sure about himself

You can’t answer the question of what is it you want

Your coward sense of humor and chivalry surpasses your logic

And yet I’m the one who’s complicated

When I’ve managed to put aside my pride and wait for something that you want but doesn’t convince you

Knowing all the same that if the tables were turned you wouldn’t wait for me

Maybe I am crazy

Or just plainly stupid

But I guess you must have been kissing a fool

El diablo cajuelo que me atormenta

“Porque nadie se tiene que dar cuenta”, 

He said with that wicked smile,

That got me every time, 

And melted me away,

Como burbujas en una pecera,

Que desaparecen mientras te ahogas. 

And he keeps me down, 

Doesn’t let me slip away,

Making me believe that I was safe between el merengue, 

Y el suspiro,

Not realising that I didn’t matter.

Never did.

Not to him.

My carnaval un 27, 

Became el diablo cajuelo que me atormenta,

Cause you pull me in with your color,

And power,

But scare me with it just the same. 

Y si te veo en La Vega corro,

Cause I can’t take another blow. 

So I loose myself in the rum,

Y escucho una bachata en tu honor, 

Cause your memory I can’t let go of.

From childhood comparsas,

To movies en el malecón.

From stolen kisses that felt right, 

To intentions that felt wrong. 

And those secret glances en La Romana 

That let me forget I was raised in la Pedro Enrrique, 

And reminded me that I’m more that who I seem to be,

But made me forget that who I was, and hope to sill be is strong

All on my own. 

 

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

Congratulations

No one can ever hurt you again

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  

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

 

Hideaway

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?