when the dams burst, we will patch them up with words

"Tell me again, where is it you stop and the succubus begins? Why is it that once we separated we both ceased to exist?" A vanishing act, in two parts.

Act One: My pitiful proposal right in the middle of study circle was the first arrow to pierce your unfeeling heart. A feat more noble than neon on the periodic table. And you? If you were an element, it would be gangrene, the way you suddenly appeared and immediately created a crime scene. A biohazard more toxic and lethal than Fukushima. You radiated light, and at first glance I was blinded. Now that each individual shard of shrapnel has been plucked from my silver eyes, I see that you were nothing but nuclear. Once a dream within a dream, until you decayed and became a fucking nightmare within another godforsaken nightmare. Like those matronly Russian nesting dolls, but instead made up of demons, until there was nothing left but desolation.

Act Two: What happened to the wide eyed hopeful freshman that I met handing out pamphlets to save the rainforest or feed the world or whatever cause you'd attached yourself to at the time to make your human form seem believable. That same kid with the thick accent from East L.A. who arrived on a full scholarship to help inner city sweethearts avoid the inevitable—getting initiated into the first gang whose leader fell in love with her. I should've known the damage was already done and that you were the greatest con artist to wield a pen as a weapon. You seduced lovesick idiots from all walks of student life. Who knew future doctors, lawyers, and politicians could all be so easily swayed. Either way, you were a lost Latina princess who made men feel like one of your Latin Kings.

What happened to our heroine who refused to be branded like the cattle that would never be found on her plate. She was skilled in every recipe from cookbooks of anarchy. Who knew sometimes even soldiers sold out and became the same sheep they swore up and down 'til kingdom come that they would never be. The very sheep who required shearing and saving from a slaveowner who would rather refer to himself as a shepherd.

Behind the scenes a heavier battle was brewing...a conflict that was as deep as canyons grand, that had way too many layers. Our waxen eyed protagonist met his Waterloo in a spicy Puerto Rican seductress. Together, they personified academia, every interaction either ended with evacuated lecture halls or underneath ramen-noodle-stained-thrift-store-bargain-basement sheets. Spectators sighed at the sight of these star-crossed young lovers like modern day Montagues and Capulets. Together, they were an unstoppable machine.

Lovestruck or love's fools? The line between their overlapping identities faded with each day. They put blood, sweat and every last teardrop into the resistance. A revolution like no other, they claimed, that was the brainchild of their brilliance. As they grew closer, their separate clumsy heartbeats merged into one single thunderous rhythm. Surely nothing could come between a love that was united in humanitarian efforts.

By the time graduation robes neared, and colours reappeared across campus, the string that bound these altruists had started to come undone. Consumed by consumerism, a worldly woman in designer threads stood in place of our former rebellious lioness. As she appeared to be a phoney, her subjects rightly labeled her a fraud. Soon, her expensive appearance was a liability to their cause.

One black Friday between thunderstorms was when this War of the Rhodes' came to a halt; she turned away in anger only to be struck by his left lightning bolt. Electrified, and hurt as we reach the final breaths of real love, as it often ends. Only fairy tales wrap in happiness, why else would they appeal to us heartbroken humans.

What about healing, like we planted trees? What of the hospitals, where we pulled smiles out of the broken and the weak? What about the prisons, the detention centres unjustly holding refugees? Where did we stray, where did the love go? When did our own silence need to be bought with violence? What about orphans, widows left to starve in the streets? Where did we go wrong, to get here today? What about love, sweet love that doesn't end up settling in court? When can we return to peace and harmony? Unless we turn back, we won't have a pretty planet to watch on TV. If Satan's greatest con was convincing us he doesn't exist, isn't it time for us to accept we got ourselves into this mess?

Brain On Fire.

Engaged in reckless abandon,
self-medicating as I gamble.
I grow more weary as I persist,
as I become more promiscuous.
Am I the victim of KIDNAPPING,
where they took my BRAIN,
as I fought them off with fists?
ANOTHER abductee gone missing—
but they won't break my spirit,
even if they take away my WINGS.
DIAGNOSED in an anti-septic hallway,
though I still remain unconvinced.
I refuse to be an EXPERIMENT;
I am nobody's test subject.
One SATURDAY,
a PATTERN emerged 
that was disturbing; it began 
with DELUSIONS
of grandiosity. 
I may feel spurned now, 
but I'm still learning.
If only this INSOMNIA 
would just let me sleep.

Brittle.

Tough as diamonds, I still stutter.
Even equipped with spirit real resilient.
Titanium temper you can't tamper.
Bullet proof; I am bone brilliant.

No weapon could wage war against me.
You are Hiroshima to my bomb atomic.
Hydrogen gases could never harm me.
Napalm nor nitrous oxide could phase me.

When I fell to this planet, I crash landed.
Rode in careening on a comet.
Like obsidian, I am igneous; volcanic.
Concrete, cinder-block, ceramic.

Jackhammer my stone heart in the street, chances are the road will crack before me.

I survived storms, and tsunamis;
scaled sorrows, climbed calamity.
Rappelled into the fiery pits of Hell,
wrestled with remorse, and reversed spells.

I can't be destroyed now—I refuse it.
My lights may flicker, but they won't finish. 
Any attempts to break me will prove fruitless.
Diamond life of mine can't be cut open.

Paintbox.

Blood of my blood that runs scarlet red, rivers that rage through my DNA, these parts of me they can't be changed, they make me a sinner and also a saint. 

Forest fires devoid of rain nearly burnt my body to a crisp, orange were the embers that remained, as I maneuver through life's malevolent marigold maze. 

Yellow bellied and afraid to admit I was different from the rest, still, society and its rules sought to suppress my truth, now, as I seethe under the saffron sun while she sets, life gave me lemons so I shaped them into bullets 

I embarked on my adventure to fulfill Emerald City dreams, once I evicted my ego, I was no longer envious or grisly green, as I adopt the lotus position for deep reflection, nothing could feel quite as successful as I do whilst meditating.

Awash in the blues, I was drowning in my own sorrows, sinking in streams of sapphire sadness, these were the lessons that led to greatness.

Insecurities that were once unappealing, ignited, erupting into indigo intuition. My experiences could fill entire oceans, now that I emerged victorious over my emotions.

Violet violence is now just a faded vision, through my introspection I have been vindicated, fields of lavender and lilac fill my garden now that I have learned to love the man I always hated.

Synesthetic Symphony.

Burgundy bells blared brittle, like bread;
savoury silk suddenly singed my silent skin.
Chocolate chimes chased charcoal chalk,
talking toasters tingled tangled trucks.

A hissing whistle wilted hitters, 
tittering critters tinted cisterns.
Blisters erupted belittled erasers;
cauldrons bubbled creation's blazer.

A shock of sterile antiseptic.
Christmas tastes light blue like plastic.
Sometimes seasons sound unfamiliar,
and stranger than a static splinter. 

Sirens arouse sentiments unpleasant,
sharp like spies and estranged sisters.
That's when I just grin and bear it—
colourblind is chaos in its brilliance.

Dolcé Vita.

Eyes like the silhouette of Sicilian sunsets so majestic.
A marble mind carved carefully, with time; prophetic.
His humour could sell out shows at the Apollo.
With a sensitive flair, and sun-kissed hair, his will be a hard act to follow.
Roman nose, defined, and Aquiline; his every feature is disarming.
Floating through my Venetian canals, this Florentine was a natural prince charming.
But most importantly, his heart was Hercules, and his spirit was prosecco sweet.
He would die a thousand times trying to fulfill your every single dream. 
Pray to the Vatican, that we should never part,
I'm Juliet, he's Romeo. 
This boy has captured my heart.

Cobblestone.

Glorious gigantic greenery
filled fantastic flights of thievery.
A thimble; a thin, symbol of servitude,
as symmetrical as pulchritude.

Beauty surrounds all the things we do,
sometimes it's in taupe, others in blue.
Grabbing at levitating atoms
lies a grisly, gnarled rattle.

Games of houndsteeth,
patches of crimson,
line sterile streets with seeds and peat,
like we're in prison.

Catfish catch us at our weakest,
when we're desperate, in secret.
A candid snapshot of us on Tuesday,
mothers no longer tell us who's gay.

Geysers, canals of chaos create my cityscape,
Typhoons wash our troubles off to seabreak.
Hyperventilating, so I take away my hand.
Hold onto me as we spin, I'll add vision to your wasteland.

With fingers tousling your green hair,
my lips will kiss you til you grin.
Crafty soldiers hold my ego hostage,
until you became my breakfast sausage.

When we, crystallize then come together,
we never separate for stormy weather.
Call me whatever you want to,
I'll be a ghoul while I haunt you.

Have a fever, let it take me over;
I'm powerless under your persona.
Six on the stick when we drive,
seduce me whilst I kiss the sky.

Like it or not—you know I'm your guy,
know you believe me when you look into my eyes.
Pull up skirt, then swallow your pride, 
since I know your tears already dried.

Prove to police fame comes at a price,
You don't have to tell it to me twice.
Hop on up, let's see what's so different 
when I know we're both out here 
counting dividends.

Asylum.

Losing my mind was like swallowing hot coals—it stole the words from off my tongue. A treason like no other, even though we anticipate that it will burn. Embers lit up my mouth from the inside, like walls of a cavern lit entirely by torch. 

When my brain malfunctioned, my grasp on reality suddenly became loose. Unraveling like serotonin silly string until all that remained was one big knot. As my sanity escapes, all that was left is a pile on the floor of mess. 

I lose track of time as I obsess about an idea that evolves into branches that make up a nest. Twigs of delusion turn into entire trees when subjected to neglect. Dopamine twice a day does nothing to improve my self-respect.

I search the seafloor for something familiar to swim alongside with, making my way upstream until I can tell fish apart from their tailfins. Saved crocodile tears in a sandcastle—oysters reveal pearls of oxytocin alabaster.
It is finding yourself in quicksand sinking faster than a shotgun romance. A pair of rusting lock and key attached to some bridge in Prozac, France.

The metallic taste of mania often enlists the assistance of anxiety, especially when steel-spangled spices offer little in the way of variety. Pepper was better than ever back when salt was still secret, my pulse becomes a clock who only measures what's too soon to be revealed yet. Ticking thyme listens as time talks of things it wishes it had done. 

One arm's uneven the other's at odds, this unstable season's unreasonably hot. Going crazy was easier once I'd been driven there before, who said mental illness always left a suicide note scratched into stubborn cellar doors. 

On my way back to the real world, silence was the only schoolmate I knew I could trust, for even when she was pin drop quiet, her heart still sighed the heaviest. This Bipolar beauty was wickedly brilliant in battling her own serpentine uncertainty, hissing wildly as she slithered back to a sense of reptilian sobriety. 

Sheroism.

If Coco Chanel played by the rules herself
then there would be no iconic Number Five,
but ever since this mademoiselle raised Hell,
the fashion world was fiercely brought to life.

Indira Gandhi's ruthlessness
is how she rewrote India's history,
waging war for independence,
she was a state of emergency.

Dancing her way to the top of the charts,
Madonna's world tours sold out at every stop.
She used sex as a weapon to open her heart,
until she became the reigning queen of pop.

Refusing to slave another day, 
Harriet Tubman was determined to be free,
this renegade helped others run away,
on a route to the north country.

Some women prefer chains and oppression, 
so they silently accept all that is unfair.
This is why the good girls go to Heaven, 
but the bad girls go everywhere.

Nefarious.

I suppose even the most nefarious entities are desperate for an identity, 

creating their own corroded communities through engaging in impunity.

Erecting idols of their enemies & slandering their friends, 

scrutinizing all the others when it should be them under the lens. 

Delusion, like psychosis, has dust mites thinking they're superior;

as they sit and compare battle scars although they're dazed & delirious. 

Their obsession with made up offenses dines on them like a predator,

until a patchwork of paranoia peers back from every reflection.

You wanted to curse others, 

now you got it back times three, 

abandoned by your own mother, 

now all you have left is me. 

Reader beware: 

you're long overdue for a scare. 

Surprise, you spooky bitch, 

bet you thought you'd seen the last of me.

Cockroaches possess the common sense to evade certain death, 

and yet these criminals lack the discipline to not end up behind bars again. 

Pitiful, y'all look like idiots—and then, 

you continue burning all the candles at both ends.

Overdose on your internal ugliness—

your looks could kill like Fentanyl.

Poison's preferred over your name;

even arsenic has more appeal.

Your sticks and stones playground name-calling games are primitive and lame, 

as you engage in hide and seek-like child's play, I get at you with grenades. 

Then for my grand finale, I shower you in fireworks and flames, 

as Satan's symphony welcomes you into your grave. 

The Earth erupted in uproarious applause, 

as soon as it was liberated of you & all your flaws,

the world finally rejoiced, and knew peace

once your screams echoed from Gambia, 

all the way to Greece.

I bring brilliance while you obsess about irrelevant events, 

you and your network of invalids couldn't even win dumpster dive pageants. 

As I observe you from the upper decks and echelons, you sink; I stay afloat.

You tear down completely innocent allies around you in accusation, 

isn't it time you took accountability for your own reputation? 

If you build it they will come to tear it down then ask for more, 

is it any wonder the wicked wail they're victims above all?

x