Swimming in deserts 

And it’s not until the last group of chills rush through your spine
And the salty memories drop down your lips

That the fog is shivered off your mind

The ability to breathe at your fingertips

It’s not easy being clouded

Being unaware

Doubted 

It’s like you’re about to reach for it

But then can’t even talk about it 

They say the key is to be aware

They forget the warning that said to beware

Be where? 

Elsewhere is where I want to be

All this foreign nuisance is suffocating me

From time to time it’s like I forget to breathe

Making my surroundings the ultimate enemy

And I tell myself it’s not the way to be

Me myself and I this shits getting kinda lonely

And it’s when the lights out 

That it begins to hit

Saying everything’s fine only works every little bit 

Sometimes it’s even hard for us to figure out our mind 

Someone who’s really got their shit together is getting hard to find 

After all it’s all about when you’re on your own

The things you do when you’re on your grind or just out getting stoned 

It’s easy to get off track and overthink our misfortunes 

When it’s as if you’re sweating in desserts not swimming in oceans

But the musics always playing and the same beats on repeat

And at times its a repetition and you’re tempted to cheat

But just keep your goal set and be prepared to defeat

Because in the end in this life all you need is your mindset and two feet 

Intimacy

Intimacy

Both our greatest pleasure

yet biggest weakness

As humans we are inclined

to be vulnerable to the warm intimate presence

Susceptible merely to those compelling enough

To vault into our deepest precincts

and cloak in our obscurity

Its engrossing as much as it is mysterious

A combination of both, really

The moment we allow ourselves to be absorbed into this spellbinding intrigue

We have made a compromise between ourselves

Our thoughts

Our emotions

Our beliefs

and placed it in the hands of another soul

Trusting enough

To leave our very rectitude hanging from a silver string off the edge

One that simply cannot be defined

As even the most noble humans, have told a white lie

and even the most distrusting hearts have been let down

But we need this silver string

because as its holding on to our humanity on one end

We’re connected to the other

Its reflection of two silhouettes harmonizing into one

reminds us of the beauty

in human connection

and the beautiful ability we possess

to trust

We need this trust

This connection

Its our life balance

Its what makes us human

Inches closer

Missing you         

I was inches closer to forgetting how much I missed you.

Well, letting go of the thought of missing you, at the very least.

Its been days since your last fingerprints faded off my skin.

Yet, your footsteps keep leaving a mark

as the story of our last goodbye is retold in my mind,

over and over.

I’ve always been a fein,

always craved your touch.

I thought,

that maybe i could built up a tolerance,

and get used to the distance the further it got.

But your presence subdues any high.

And being my deepest inhale, I cant bear to simply exhale you out.

And i’ve tried,

But it doesn’t work when you keep leaving me astray of your presence,

and commend me to continue craving more at every break of dawn.

Besides, your kisses only last so long,

when they’re far gone every morning.

I was inches closer to to blurring the constant notice of your absence,

Inches closer to being detached from your withdrawal

and inches closer to numbing the thought of missing you.

Except,

I’m thousands of miles away and consequently, inches subside into centimeters

And to be honest, in the end,

being centimeters closer to letting go

might even be to soon

and my bodies not ready

to stop missing you.

Monday blues

Its been a while that i’ve written something.

Let me rephrase that,

Something meaningful,

aside from my frequent array of short excerpts and silly blogs.

Lately, it seems as if i’ve been hiding in all the wrong places

Engaging in the wrong activities.

I’ve recently found myself pondering on the idea

Of change

Not the good type of change, if there is such

But the type where you cant simply click an undo button

or rewind back to where you came from.

A loss of touch with my identity perhaps,

Where its come down to the ultimate question of who am I becoming

To where i want to go.

Its been a while since i’ve last felt this way

It could be the excessive quantity of alcohol

I’ve ingested the past couple of days,

Or the loss of brain cells due to the

amount of times I’ve been out past 3 am getting high.

I’ve been running,

But which direction?

It depends on who you’d ask.

My mother and father would simply answer south

My dealers, north

Way up high

My friends, North West, maybe East South

Whichever way our drunk minds will allow us to.

Sorry, didn’t mean to drive your brain in circles solving riddles.

The point is, someone knows

And soon, I will to

Wether i find the answer in the bottom of my next spirit over the rocks

Or inbetween the ashes of my rolled up spliff.

If I’m lucky, hopefully in my dreams

when i finally get some sleep.

Short love story

His physique was her perfect picture

His body, her canvas 

His mind arose something inside her

Something that most men couldn’t stir with fancy dinners or expensive cars 

The way his smile glistened in the cloud of smoke 

And his eyes beamed when he spoke of his writing

Enchanted her

She believed he was a million deep breaths

Yet to him, she was a silent sigh

Lost 

The fisherman who searched to be lostlived adrift in the greatest massiveness of Earth’s offers

He replaced his every worry with the flick of a pole,

Allowing the empty sea to feed off his sorrows

In the dark dismal emptiness

Completely unaware of the reality

of the eternal deepness

underlying his very own inconsequential presence

But he wasn’t alone

The company of an occasional whistle of a boat,

and the lighthouse blaze

Were his solemn reminders

of the beauty in the often unacknowledged

The ocean breathed his perpetual sublime

And the bracing wind craving his deliberation

At the verge of its every touch

Revived the fishermen’s most vivacious sensations

Reminding him of what it meant to feel alive

The salty aroma, his drug

And the invigorating breeze, his savior

The lone fisherman searched to be lost

And in that,

He was lost

And found himself

In his own presence

Power of the pen and the paper

Staring facedown at the blank pages screaming out for the writers cognitive endowments. Craving the relief that the slightest caress of his pen consigns as he transmutes his beliefs into eloquent black ink. Curing it’s vacuity,  transforming it’s barrenness into a prepossessing canvas. A canvas that will soon convey it’s very own endowments to those fortuitous enough to consume them. The canvas that feeds the hungry mind of the reader, curing their craving, their vacuity. It becomes a chain reaction caused by the mind of the writer to the pen, the pen to the paper, and the paper to the reader. Each stroke of the pen infuses a thought in the readers mind, overcoming it’s blankness. It is of no importance the handwriting, magnitude, or even organization of the work. Each fragment will implant a seed in the mind of whom is in front of the page. The boon of the selfish writer, documenting in the interests of his very own intention, is the impact his writing imposes on the reader. A selfish act unjustifiably condemned as altruistically advantageous to any soul it comes in contact with. As the pen continues to nourish the paper, it waters the implanted seed and the seed then disperses it’s newborn information to the mind of the reader. As a result, the reader becomes enlightened by the work of the writer. And thus, is the chain reaction of the knowledge of the writer, generating information into the world, and finally, to the mind of the reader. The unavoidable power of the pen and the paper.