its ours.

there is always that space there
just before they get to us
that space
that fine relaxer
the breather
while say
flopping on a bed
thinking of nothing
or say
pouring a glass of water from the
spigot
while entranced by
nothing

that
gentle pure
space

it's worth

centuries of
existence

say

just to scratch your neck
while looking out the window at
a bare branch

that space
there
before they get to us
ensures
that
when they do
they won't
get it all

ever.

-charles bukowski

stress.

read my mind
i am in the mood for sorrow
aching to kill frailty.
too bored
hence tired to sleep.
the crevices in the ceiling
aiming back at me;
right between the eyes.
i scratch 'till it reddens,
i forgot how beauty connotes logic.
how then this excuse of an auspex,
my fingernails rot from the liquid..
i touch the worthless turning to stone
and it reminds me of fortitude
as like shun from light so clearly blinding.

this
failing to achieve so passionately,
coincides with depicting tones of gray..
and
where have all those flowers gone?
cant help but talk about the weather,
and once i drown in a sea of aborted children,
i'll say martyrdom pays well and be savored.

i think of that cigarette-charred voice;
that will bring us together
you..
and us

returned.

what can i trade for a day like today?
what can it be for time to stop,
as death is what will be
as it is not the end eventually..
will it reap me of sin?
will it reap of what others may despise
and as i ask to look in the day's face,
it breaks codes as all hope falthers to my inexistence
contemplating..
yet this distance practices me of my undesire
to fulfill
and be totally unresolved,
in grateful blessed insatiety.
gone will be as like this day
i reappear in accordance
to what i truly owe beyond debt as a killing joke,

it is life.
it is what i next awake up to in my bed..

mercy.. (my hands bestow somewhere and to whatever)
i am overwhelmed
it is what i next awake up to in my bed..

week.

here on my own
awaits unreason as i am
and never as before sober
in the next couple of days;
will you like me now?
will i finally awake to sudden being?
let me begin and be cleansed
of purity

foremost
my hands were never in my face,
the beer was never better
like handcuffs to remind you
of the clock's arms too tired to begin
and yet it remembers
so far where they
to negate a night so sublime.
i could if i would really will,
reprise and be less of a man.
a distance too long to walk
and looming in its swerving turn.
yet a kiss goodbye from her,
shocked me back into coherence.

strange, so strange
am i inspired
for threshold to take toll?.
this
and only this i take with memory
as it is living beside me
they curb it,
to pass on to the left side.

though i am left with her somewhere
i can be of only this too near,
and of her black wings
mystify even to the most absolute.
i dont speak for it end,
and because
just because.
truth hurts even more
as those days went by.
still towards what i think is wise;
to stop at nothing 'till its demise.
enough to dwell back into nightmares
of knives emaciating,
and of nails burrowed from the cross
for your palms to impale with
for your own fists to clench with
needing..
wanting..

i cant think anymore,
and just maybe
i am too tired to love,
but too linear for pure abjuration,
perseverance might pay off
at least i know i can think that.
i'll paint a picture then,
to remember
what is too beautiful for words.