hollow....
who pretended to listen to me?
who really never listen to me? who thought it where jokes of what matter to me.
of depression in voices, in hidden
personalities, i rolled old cigarette butts into new cigarettes, with ash
stained finger tips, drank used instant coffee from old water in the kettle,
for days, on the stove, with paranoid calming, thoughts of the enamel seeping
into the steaming water, pouring it into
the brown dust of coffee bean powder, just sipping, scattering books that were
unread on the floor of someone else’s room, crumbling
of all my floating thoughts quaking on torn to shred newspapers of revelations
left randomly
in
bathroom stalls,
aisles of convenient stores,
the laundry mat,
pizza shops,
basements I’ve boarded,
rooms i've destroyed,
on this floor along with me, crumbling
like the paper turning off all the
lights keeping this house alone,
dark,
blind,
filling the air,
car’s engines,
machines, killing all silence and
thought.
birds fell asleep as i woke
on this cold christmas day,
physically alone, wanting to stay
only alone,
forgetting, the actions i took alone,
then waking, alone
while i kill myself in my
dreams
during the past,
who should’ve killed itself,
unprepared for attempts;
no rope,
gun,
or my own knife,
passing out
drunk,
vomit keeping me a float
in the middle of
dead poetry,
attempting to finish something
for once
not even of one's own life
one's last letter
to the men of blue
to only have read it.
to no others for whom it was meant.
the robe of black.
to judge it.
for no others for whom it was meant
to be judged.
hitting cement side walks
of crowded main-streets.
in sky scrapper cities.
of the tops of the highest.
waking up in shock,
of where i've never been,
of tops of cities.
i've never been,
will never visit,
but in dreams. i've visited.
in blank eyes of mine,
in those dreams.
the blankness of my mandible dropping,
and eyes hazy.
of silence of my lips.
in
those dreams.
holding smiles, locking palms,
of that strange women
whom one has never
met.
but on top of cities,
we seem to always dive
into one another’s retinas
with the colors mixing
together.
swirling into a gray,
adding the color of the sun,
draining the, the light of day,
to make a pitch black orange sky.
stealing the stars and
throwing
them away
taking a bite from the moon
then spitting it out into each others mouths
spitting
all over everyone
we are so high
crushing each cloud.
as god and goddess
opening eyes
hungry and only a mortal
the next full moon.
ill be fully prepared;
of rope
and stole
of gun
and bullet,
or my own knife carving all of your names
with hers on my chest
digging in
scratching down notes on my palms
of love,
art,
sounds,
society,
and drunk babbling.
watching of these stars
turn off,
in our universe,
in others.
conversations of stranger’s love,
of hate in jealousy,
of death,
in the rain of the first winter day,
alone
pleasure of smoke from exhaust,
cigarettes,
tearing throats up
shredding lungs
pleasuring the world.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem