|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
Dreaming too realisticallyI crumble to a heap atop my bed sheets, pray for restful sleep cause lately I wake occasionally, reaching out for a ghost, I'm speaking but I'm alone, I feel confused in this state, why am I feeling this way, traveling back stammering with a lack of self-worth, it's only at that time I hurt, when these dreams ensue my journey back to reality, fabricated illusions of your beautiful body seem to elude me, I don't mean to impose I really just don't feel whole, I'm empty, secretly I'm pretending, mentally I'm just reminiscing, I'm now extended by definition, waiting with apprehension, I see your silhouette in the distance masked by miles of images of our friendship, a stream of memories, I stick to the footpath directly beside it, I'm enamored in this streams perpetual plea for me to leap deep within, I aspire to find that fire inside it, that desire that previously resided in your eyes if only for a minute, I miss it, now the extended limit of this path is imminent, I see your image at th
My friend in the mirrorI can write on and on about how his brains strong, a life lived long, one life lived through strife n sorrow songs, wait did you see that, lets recap and revisit back to when his life was lived without her conspicuousness, it was happiness till he fell deep within her conviction, his broken heart made him take that pain prescription, now he lives as memories through sentences conversed between old friends, old acquaintances, he maintained his sanity single handedly, damn it must hurt him beneath, I can feel it pulse, I can feel that pain staking hole, its placing aches in his soul, that's why he hurts as a ghost, haunting a home of loving folks, its fucking jealousy being provoked, did that girl know he died cause his heart choked, it couldn't swallow the sorrow, I sit wallowing sorry as a bystander, confused why his love was misused...mishandled, what's hard to fathom is that as it got cold only a single soul stood by his side, only I took the time to cry beside this guy, we looked to
A ghost at his graveborn in june, already staring at a tomb, in my mind i stand beside it, with a black rose a broken nose and my head bleeding, coughin n weezin constricted breathin, i think i'm already dead. i cant see straight but i feel my heart race, cause as i look back at the past of my life, i see drugs i see lies, bad company n broken ties, despise n hate, lastin impressions of the wrong mindstate, times i shoulda said no, times i shoulda just jumped or let go, go with the flow because my future is evident, but i rebelled and yelled at every cause or situation, i questioned myself basically one thousand times daily, continplated praying but threw the idea out as my mind began aging, now as all this times elapses, i hate the fact that my own past lacks all the laughs i coulda had because i felt my dignity was in harm of loosin all the slack i had gathered, so now i stand immortal as a ghost haunting my own grave, and in absolutely no way, is anyone else to blame, all that anger and mistrust, left
Southern modernizationBlack comedy market economy, banana peel political humour, cards with the cartels, the solution free room service and credit the union. Bolivar twist, ding dong dollar under control, valley of the coin desert with no value. Gangsta paradise, the victims are the people. Big mac and cold conflict interference a part of it all. In little Mexico you’d need a high horse to jump the great border wall that boasts its peak.
Viracocha melts waters unlike those it rose from, making waves of out of metal oceans to overtake the current south, re-steel, re-take, tech-mechs the entire south into neo-Machu Picchu, cyberpunk music moulding, reshaping old society into an new age, iron dynasty, fresh coat for an old, ancient look. The coattails of Quetzalcoatl if he were a modern man pull together the merge of future and long passed past..techno temples and the like.
SolaceShe never slept well in the dark,
not without the children of the sun and moon
to guide her weary lids home.
Guided by the aftermath, she was always two steps behind.
What did the world look like to the girl who had been through it all?
Braved the heaviest of storms,
yet skipping over cracks in the pavement.
They said her eyes were the wisps of clouds before the storm.
To him they were reflections of pages overlooked.
She said it was like she lived the life of someone she had never met.
Laid out to dry, yesterdays news.
He knew her as the girl who was built to never collapse.
He wished he was too.
He loved her more than words could say, and yet her pain was such,
that at times, he feared she wouldn’t make it.
But on nights like these, even when it threatened to consume her,
he became convinced that somehow she would.
Keep in Touch!