Solitude

Solitude helps me find shelter in pain
the inspiration comes as a form of retaliation
against the incertitude's of the heart
interludes of inter winding moments.
Words only write themselves if there's suffering to be had;
ageless solitude is immortal
like ghosts of loves past.

Love in the time of cholera
Love in the time of aids
uncertain loves in the times that I live
I roam the Earth without being part of it
only certain of my own existence
in any given moment, time or place
I live where I don't belong and yet I don't belong where I live.

Solitude has bonded with what is left of me
scrapping together the remains of my soul
becoming one with my bones,
like a mortal disease
and yet it's bitterness taste better
than any sweets
I wouldn't trade it for anything that breathes
anything that touches the Earth,
anything that sees the Sun.

My notepad becomes engulfed with it's aroma
and it's aura scape's through my pores
this pen is a sword stained with my revenge
there is nothing I wouldn't dare to say
if my heart is ravaged with pain
painted with it's disdain
repossessing my very being
that it wouldn't dare to lose;
Solitude feeds my spirit better than any muse.

Anything that ever needed to be said or written
has already found a way to see the light day
Solitude finds a way to re-arrange the alphabet
when words are scarce,
when nothing comes my way
I will take these scribes
when my flesh only knows darkness
not seen by the sun, but in one with the Earth.

You Taste Like Pineapple

You smile when you see me writing
tenably watching like a child,
when I turn my prose into rhyming
I smile back, "this one's about you"
when I kissed you this morning
I suddenly realized,
that you taste just like fruit.

Like a Pineapple, of all things considered
sweeter than a whole bunch of grapes
your skirt flaunts your skittles
and your legs take the proverbial cake
Piña Colada to go with my Enchilada
pretty please let me taste the Rainbow.

I don't like Pineapple on my burger
on my pizza I don't feel it either,
my taste buds become a bitter turbulent river
but I just love it on you,
that little thing that you do
dancing in that lil' grass skirt,
make it our own personal Hawaiian Luau.

Your juicy lips,
they are 100% from concentrate
blow a kiss for me, please drown me in them
a Pineapple, falls ways far from an Apple
and SpongeBob lives in one of them
from your eyes to your thighs,
I think of way back when
my favourite fruit in the garden,
you humbly became,

with the words you shared as we laid in the hay
your slick laughter intoxicated my lungs
right down my pores and through my veins
and that's a good thing,
always a good thing
put your hair up,
the mirror loves a silly face
your sly smile for the camera,
my photogenic exotic babe.

Endangered in this world
you are the only one of your kind
please stay by my side
and let me one thing in you confide
that the forbidden fruit wasn't an Apple
alas, it was a Pineapple.

Battle

Shattered soldier in the middle of nowhere
with a body tattered of forgotten kisses
battered every inch from the waist up and down
and that is how, I go into
battle....rattled.

Taking the cowards way out is out of the question
it's not part of the equation.

I live in no man's land, setting up
tent above a land mine
ready to go off with what's little
left of me.

I am a victim of my own friendly fire,
a masochistic hitman for hire,
carry me in your arms and out in of
this bloody battlefield
that came to life right after your
abandom.

I held myself for ramson,
on the same chair made of your
rememberance
where the untamed odor of your skin remained
and the fragmented pieces of my flesh where deserted,
left for the vultures of oblivion,
facing a firing squad and it was myself pulling the trigger
in the darkest of dawns painting the air in blood,
like finger painting from my son,
I went into battle with myself to rescue my own soul.

I went into battle without ammo, with
love poems in my pocket
so I can set a bone fire
to keep me warm during the long
dreadful nights,
where not a single star came out to
shine ,
just the faithful moon which reminds me of you
so either way my fate was doomed
in this unrelentless battle for my
life,
blindfolded with no cigar,
I never wanted to lose.

YOU

You can't have her eyes
because they still look for me in the darkest of nights
when you hold her tight
she still feels me breathe
because your breathing is obsolete
and doesn't mean much
in the grand scheme of things.

You can't have her strengh
because I gave that to her,
you can't have her breath because I took that away
but you can always have her body
that has become an empty shell
because she is not there
she still sleeps with me
bundled up in between
my solitude and I.


You can have her dry lips
their moisture stayed on mines
you can have her complacent smile
because you never knew the one
that's genuinely warm and affectionate
the one I still own
the one that belongs to us
from those star-lit nights hundreds of moons ago
to the gray Sunday afternoons spent underneath our skins
when it was just the two of us
and a cup of ice cream
where all the love in the world could fit
and still have plenty of room for more.


You can't have her nose
because it's tattered with my kisses
and my essence will remain in her lungs
as long as there is air in them
as long as she walks the earth
her lips will never know once more
what is the meaning of true love
unless they meet mines again
at the door of wishful dreaming
where the sky shakes and our heaven breaks
shared by the two of us.


You can't have her ears
because it's the color of my voice
she would always love to hear
regardless of the pain it's coated on
so tell me now if you must know
the truth of the matter if nothing else
who is with that person with you
if she's not even with herself?

She Called Me Yogi, D-Girl

D-Girl

Night, is nothing but a shot
I drink by myself
between the four walls of my anxiety
as I contemplate nostalgic eyes
next to a dim lamp becoming
a laminated passage
to my dreams, to my solitude.

Like the dreams I always longed for
maybe if I had held her tighter,
kissed her longer then perhaps
I wouldn't had lost her.

Say good night now
and don't forget to count your blessings
even if she was the only one
and realize how lucky you was
to have even met her
even if you never see her again.

She used to fall asleep in my arms
tied to my hips close to my lips
as if searching for a kiss in the dark.

I used to feel her breathe
during the course of the night
while we drifted apart
like two shipwrecked sailors lost at sea
but when the morning came
we would use the sunlight as a compass
to find each other again.

But I'll always have her puppy eyes
staring back without blinking or,
even thinking just how much I've missed her
along with her nomadic kisses.

Long gone her mementos
that have disappeared in a vault
along with the ashes of this love
and a bill from a place I have never been
the tattoo on her calves, her pouty lips
my D-girl you will always be
even if you never did came to be,
the girl of my dreams
you always were, and always will be.

She Called Me Yogi

I could breathe her from two hours away.
I could taste her over the phone,
yes I could, and,
I could have loved her even if
she was on the other side of the world
I could have loved her still.

If I didn't know any better
I would had thought
that she was Daphne,
the Nymph Greek Goddess and I was Apollo
trying to unearth this bleeding arrow,
so madly in love with a beautiful Laurel.

She called me Yogi Mou,
for reasons unknown.
She had me wrapped around her pinkie toe
Again, who would had thought?
Not even a Psychic could had foreseen it
and she made love with the force and scorching fire of a Phoenix.

I was a fool to think my love could have kept her,
yes I was, and, who would had thought?
like a Tornado she is gone
while I walk through the ring of smoke
she unconsciously leaves behind
and from here to the Pacific Ocean
leaving traces of her broken heart.

Futile Words

Your last name is a river
of fluent flatulent words
as old as your years on earth
you overflow with futile words
that should had never
found their way out of your mouth,
they should had stayed in
and not seen the light of day
and saved me of the futility
of having believed,
in you.

Futile words weary and worn out
coming out of a shaky pen
being held by an unnerved hand
sustained by a shot arm,
futile words are infertile words
that produce no seeds
as much as they are worth
they don't mean much
to the eyes they were meant for
when they are more of a mirage
of the futile life we left behind.

Futile words are an afterthought
more like a liquid sword
transparent like the light of day
changing shape like a feat of clay
the very same matter you mistook my heart for
after those long futile letters
that became paper planes
that flew over the shore and onto the sea
of the wasted memories we had become.

Words that waged a war against love
armed with futile hope
and their best friend solitude by their side
taking their best shot at your heart
and now they wave a white flag
when the battle left them rattled and blown
if they can't no longer worship the way you breathe,
the way you talk, the way you walk,
oh futile love of me, the very air in your lungs.

Your gestures and facial expressions
became a fixture of my lexicon
your name was my one word vocabulary
it became futile to add new letters to the dictionary
you were my breakfast and lunch
the dreams that became nightmares
futile words are the living breathing force
that brought our souls together
and tore them apart without remorse.

But as long as they found the way to your soul
they became redeemed ceasing to be futile
and I want you to know one thing
when it rains think of me
and if it pours think of us
and the future we could have had,
because these futile words where more than just words,
they where a ray of hope
and my life flashing before your eyes.

Bullfighter, The Forgotten, The Catalyst

Bullfighter

Look at me in the eye,
I will slay you
turn you into human flesh
and much to my dismay
you will come back charging
while my eyes are blood-shot red
like the disdain infiltrated in your lungs
nowhere to hide, impossible to run
they say I drink too fast
well, they drink too slow
as long as I have been resident on Earth
I have never been selfish one day
so let my bloody steel sword
allow me to valiantly retort
time to grab the bull by the horns
like the most gracious Matador
either we make it out alive
or do battle until we are both comatose
like a coward trying to breathe
his way out of a room full of thugs
I don't fear death,
alas, death fears me
because I am beyond everything that stands
and I stand above everything that breathes
life has built me a shrine
to illuminate every last day that I live
even if I never die at your hands
for better or much likely for worse
like so many others before
I am taking you with me.

The Forgotten

I was never there
I never came to be
I am the forgotten
and that's just how it is.

Forgotten...
Like a corpse in a battlefield
I will be buried in a nameless grave
a Kamikaze without a mission
an uneventful day.

Forgotten...
I was left to the vultures
dragged by the winds of solitute
with cobwebs in my soul
a cactus without water.

Forgotten...
I have become a fragment of your
imagination
my lips never had a place to stay
like a dead leaf in Autumn
a footnote.

Forgotten...
Like a patient with Alzheimers
I live in the mind of an anmesiac
Heaven of wasted memories
How did you forgot, to forget,
forgetting me?

Because...
I was always there
and I did came to be
the love of your life
no one loved you like I did.

But I am still the forgotten
and that's just how it is.

The Catalyst

I am the catalyst of this cataclism
the catastrophe that impaled the atmosphere
of this vagabond heart that is shaped like a sphere
and an uncertain future being build out of fear
that gets bypassed product of my cynicism.

Secluded in my lab conocting a potion for this illness
and when all else fails call me the alchemist
nothing more than an angts-ridden antagonist
my apologies to the pessimist, my excuses to the optimist
I was born to be a masochist with a heart made of silver.

Buried in my bunker trapped in someone else's lore
which in turn makes me the catalyst of my own downfall
I was baptized a catholic without ever being asked
turn me into a cyclist and I will pedal real far
turn me into a labyrinth and you won't be able to find
traces of me, of who I was, or who I never came to be.