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Literature Text
Outer Body
we twist like starlight
caught underground.
an unseen conflagration,
purposeless in a vacuum.
and pseudo-
profound conundrums
burnish under the blaze
of burning metal and
gallium gazes;
as our meteorite eyes
glaze over.
the soles of feet, smoke,
as we greet sons of the so(u)l.
we step in galaxies
hid in carbon fi(b)re,
whorling wistful
reflections in blue neon.
surreal repetitions
mar our footprints
as they trail ever forward,
ever aimless; never still.
revolutions run ragged
as stars, smooth and jagged
are splattered across perpetuation.
bokeh plasma
staining obsidian-lined skin
in a silent fire;
they rage,
scattered through endlessness like
an afterthought, or perhaps,
an aftermath
and we lose ourselves in what happened
after that.
walking with a caravan
of astral travellers,
an epiphany strikes
as if theophany had occurred.
our psyche being forged
away from the lock and frame,
as it released into the deep end.
swallowing us whole in the ocean,
the copious desolation
brings us light-
years ahead of our days.
space is esoteric in its philosophy.
vitality is etheric in its projection.
eyes wide shut
before our shuttered light flick-
err(or/s) out
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Literature
rising above mediocrity
let's hear the ocean die,
our resonance is excellent.
we reiterate gravity's victory
at the shapeless currents
of the wild.
our insecurities cannot be paved
by its rage up in the mountains.
we only mock with little minds
and littler goals: we only know
how to scream louder
than a crashing wave while we
stand knee-deep on the ground
they cleared.
Literature
unarticulated
tonight I ask myself:
where are you going with all these names
in your pockets? syllables that taste
unauthentic in the desperate American
mouth.
repression is a series of images
golden streetlights
blinking
pedantically
earthbound angels breathing
flame, starving hands speaking
in tongues, glazed eyes
asking are you fucking okay
pale skin becoming moonlight,
reflecting and refracting and
the quiet understatement
of listless
lips.
mutual poison.
Literature
Infinite
part ii.
I locked you in my closet,
in the recesses of my mind.
I kept you in the dark,
I kept you in the stagnant, static,
strangling air for what seemed like
years because you couldn't
remember what day looked like anymore.
(You would sit facing the wall,
scratching letters into the paint,
nails curling and cracking upward.
You wrote
"I love you,
I love you,
I love you," over and over until
you would bleed from your eyes
because you couldn't
keep them open anymore.
That paint was toxic.
Wasteland.
You fed off the fumes of dried
polymer and you were so sure that
if you tried hard enough
the words would go through
to me.)
It must've taken
Suggested Collections
Another day, another collaboration. This time with one of my favorite writers and people in the lovelyyyy Sophia (Lissomer). This marks our 4th collaboration together and I must say we fold over each other so smoothly now. I knew we had good chemistry from the beginning when we wrote Rebirth Celestial and it continues on with this. This was an absolute blast to do because this originally her piece alone and it was actually pretty experimental for her and I just kinda threw myself into the piece and so this collaboration was born. Of course this was a blast to write-- I mean, it's Sophia, c'mon man! 
I don't need to tell you guys how awesome she is.
If you fave my version please fave hers!
Here's the thumb to our previous collaborations:
I don't need to tell you guys how awesome she is. If you fave my version please fave hers!
outer bodywe twist like starlight
caught underground.
an unseen conflagration,
purposeless in a vacuum.
and pseudo-
profound conundrums
burnish under the blaze
of burning metal and
gallium gazes;
as our meteorite eyes
glaze over.
the soles of feet, smoke,
as we greet sons of the so(u)l.
we step in galaxies
hid in carbon fi(b)re,
whorling wistful
reflections in blue neon.
surreal repetitions
mar our footprints
as they trail ever forward,
ever aimless; never still.
revolutions run ragged
as stars, smooth and jagged
are splattered across perpetuation.
bokeh plasma
staining obsidian-lined skin
in a silent fire;
they rage,
scattered through endlessness like
an afterthought, or perhaps,
an aftermath
and we lose ourselves in what happened
after that.
walking with a caravan
of astral travellers,
an epiphany strikes
as if theophany had occurred.
our psyche being forged
away
Here's the thumb to our previous collaborations:
Rebirth CelestialRebirth Celestial
As craters crackle the skin
I hear the tumultuous waves,
crashing down from the hollow bowl.
And the terra firma
begins cracking and creasing,
under the weight of space.
These are the sounds of the Earth,
as we undergo an evolution,
as opposed to infinite revolutions.
I often lie under the atmosphere
and watch melisma pour forth from
the stars, an enchanting acciaccatura
blink of an eye.
It is all too easy to feel alone,
but the vast depths of the sky hold me;
a cold but familiar comfort.
With the soil underneath my feet,
folding under the curl of my toes,
I lay underneath her
bare to the earth.
The brisk winds play cloak
around the piloerection of my skin.
The terrestrial sphere painted
the color of ravens
from the silhouette's tempera.
The jet acrylic kisses my pores,
as I rest under her stygian blanket.
And oh, what a rapturous darkness,
and what ephemeral illuminations;
the starlit path from collarbone to cheek
ill
MalignmentMalignment
You're so dramatic,
hot and cold in the
same fractured sentence.
You frustrate me;
like a picture frame
that isn't quite centered right.
Left hanging by a thread
that maybe it'll look okay
from a different angle
or a different light.
But us, no matter what angle,
or day or night,
we were like puzzle pieces
that didn't fit.
And it drove me crazy to see
those two pieces
just sitting away from the game,
that we had a misaligned frame.
We were never on the same level.
You, you were a constant
temptation to insanity
with your ill-chosen words,
oh-so-innocent smiles,
protestations of 'I love you'
and whispers beneath the sheets.
The road to your goodwill
stretched out to forever,
and I grew so tired of
trying out configurations;
the countless positions
that never quite seemed
to startle my senses,
although they always
stimulated yours.
Your tongue was a cliché
But it wasn't the polished edge,
I was most concerned about.
It was t
Shards Of RealityShards Of Reality(With SpriteBlayde)
there are days when words drift by him,
and like leaves floating on a still day,
like migratory birds that aren't supposed
to be in this town 'til september;
there's something wrong about it all,
something he can't quite pin down.
so he puts his pen down,
and rushes out of his room.
because he refuses
to be pinned down to any space.
he'd rather unplug from this outlet
that traps him inside,
and turn on whatever this tip off is,
that escapes him,
as it skims his skin.
he'd rather suffocate
than to put his collector's pin
into the socket.
a breath of fresh air
always did him good,
so he stepped out on bladed grass,
not expecting the lacerations
to hurt so much
and he didn't know if it was the lawn
or his skull that framed his sod;
the tender soil under graminoids
that made him lose
his grip on his terrain.
but he was losing his territory,
the way dew dissipates in the heat.
like crops dying in a famine.
his eart
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