Chords of Discord

waged wars and riveting rebellions
at the end of it all
we eventually make peace
for the world is us and just us

vendettas breathe in between existences

Que Sera Sera

we befall where death beckons us
we become where life belies us
we betroth where happiness begets us

Motif

she sat up all night
and
bled by the piano

tales of an otherwise, shredded and minced in a rancid melody 

Barebones

between your chameleon thoughts of a desired love story
lives are traded in flesh and skin

but then, what about the barebones?

Poetic Justice

if words could cut half as deep as a poet's insides
it'd wither your entrails and shrivel your lungs and leave you for dead before life could whisper


the day poets turned poetry
mankind would be a long lost stranger

But Why

i wish i could be indifferent like it were true
i wish i could put on the facade of ignorance i bought off the inexpensive grocery store
i wish i could believe for once, stories were just about stories
i wish i could undo it all; every bit of it, every last of it

i wish for all and none of it
somewhat like the life of an oxymoron


why is it that distances seem ruthless cruel only sometimes
why is it that sometimes, existences grow flesh, become skin

but why

Homeless

i once knew someplace i called home

a roof, a floor, and four concrete walls
i had once thought that's what it meant to have a home

year after year i keep coming back to the address i had always called mine
the same bed, the same linen, the same fragrance
and yet, it has never again felt like home


i once knew someone i called home

a name, a heartbeat, and a hundred thousand dreams
i had once thought that's how it felt to have a home

day after day i keep coming back to the breath i had once kissed mine
the same mascara, the same lipstick, the same perfume
and yet, it has never again meant home



the bohemians lost in translation, where do they live anyway
did anyone ever know

Lost

freshly severed pieces of a morning's catch lie served, pale and cold
spoilt leftovers from last week pile up like corpses, stale and stinking

the lurking depths of the hollowing entrails have lost appetite


half a glass whiskey, many a burnt cigarette; they are today's palette
stories old and new, bleed on the canvas you'd imagined off my parched skin

the withering crevices of the dwindling hippocampus have lost love


crumbs of death and shreds of life cohabit the weeping blank spaces
you and me drown in the deafening rabble of the in-betweens

the curious semicolons of the rancid existence have lost poetry