Poetry

Poem: Joy in Death

I don't count seconds and I don't count joy.

I count this life that has gone from the inside the soul

that is ripe and torn from the boy

who used to live only save by The Son.



Of sin and despair in the final hour

wishing he lived no more, dreamed no more.

To finalize the tower of bitterness while sour

by the thorn, by the sorrow and bore.



Take away this sanity,

save me from myself.

flavor away this agony

from the time when I'm dead.

 

Poetry

When everything isn’t enough.
And the pain breaks you inside.
Though I feel I can’t go on,
I still cannot not even try.

It doesn’t matter that I can’t feel,
cause this torment won’t let go.
As everyone ignores my soul,
and heaven is flipped upside down.

What is this in my head,
wish I at least knew its name.
cause it knows me well,
knows me well too much.

I forgot who I used to be.
I don’t think I am anymore.
I can’t understand how I can breath.
Or am I breathing at all.

blog

Blog: Moving From Texas to California [Homeless]

SanDiego_Skyline_JohnBahu_1280x642_downsized   It takes a sip of alcohol for some people to say they are ‘drunk‘. I can drink a whole six-pack of strong beer in one sit and still not even close to being drunk. It’s the same with medication, example for sleep , I need the highest dose possible for it to have an effect on me. And in this case, I will talk about moving away from home to a city I’ve never been to, and don’t know anyone in it. So yes, I will be homeless, and the moving will take place the day after tomorrow. It’s just so exciting, it will be pure adventure. I can tell you right now that there will be hardships, but the adventure will not leave any time soon.

I will be moving to California from Texas, which is an awesome place by the way. I have lived here for 3 years now and the adventure side of it has kind of slipped off by now. I need a new environment, new people, new air, new everything. It just doesn’t matter much to me where to travel to as long as it’s somewhere else and far. I’ve been feeling butterflies in my belly since I made this decision.

The reason why I’m writing this, is because I wanna keep a journal of what I deal with on a regular basis as a homeless who doesn’t know anyone in a one thousand mile radius. I have my cameras ready, I have my clothes ready, I have my luggage ready. I know exactly where I’m gonna go as soon as I get there. By the way, did I mention recreational marijuana is legal in California now? KUDOS. I’m so getting wasted when I get there. Just to celebrate me moving, and also just to smoke a joint with zero paranoia of getting caught and being thrown in jail for it, it’ll be sweet!

I need more than just a roller-coaster to feel the adrenaline, as I need more than a beer to get drunk. I need some big, big as moving somewhere you never been to and don’t know anyone there either! People who know me are being very supportive and they all compliment me on how brave I am. But that’s cause they think I’m using strength to do this, but I’m not. Doing this puts a smile on my face, and a huge one. I’ll be using passion, instead of strength to do this. And I’d have to be paid not to do it.

My only concern is my mother, she becomes very concerned when I do this. But I can’t just stop following my passions and dreams just cause my family don’t understand the way I think, and the way I am. They think I’m just crazy and make crazy decisions all the time, and that I don’t know what I’m doing. And it may all be true, but I don’t feel it’s true. I know I can take care of myself and that I can face anything. I do what I feel fills me up and makes me feel real and very alive.

Look at this video, this is where I’ll be moving to in two days. 🙂

Poetry

Poem: White Noise

White Noise

The cat tied to my tongue, now he plays a silent tune
of sorrow and regret, no money, none coming anytime soon.
I’m slamming into walls that I, myself, have built.
I grabbed the sharpened blade when aiming for the hilt.

White noise between my ears, a pen without a pulse
nothing sounds like me at all; the scribbles of impulse.
Perhaps this isn’t me, perhaps these words are true
refusing to spill out, the self-imprisoned muse.

Surprise, surprise, he’s gone, my one and only friend.
A cursed, punished tongue, keeps silent til the end.
Perhaps it is because the ground quivers as I walk
Or maybe it is the way my face gives way to gawk.

I’m not old, I’m only twenty-one
But all these thoughts that steal my bed til up comes the sun
they push and pull me every which way but never force a movement
Not a twitch, not a wiggle, not a step towards improvement

Poetry

Hopelessly Human

Hopelessly human are we, little more than flesh and blood, a mere mortal being. Large enough to exist, though small enough to never know why. Hopelessly human are we, crowded into one place, gazing at the same vast sky, occupying the same space for the same allotment of time. Hopelessly human are we, living on one suffocating planet, while other worlds tower above us, throwing off light and harboring mystery. Hopelessly human are we, existing for the sole purpose of enduring the unknown, from birth until death, only to end up in the same sized hole, with the same amount of regret. Hopelessly human are we, for this will always be our fate, from the warm comfort of a mothers womb, to the cold stillness of a darkened grave.

Poetry

Epileptic Trance

In an epileptic trance watch the sick man dance, as he preforms for a howling crowd. Twitching in despair, as he foams from a slack and contorted mouth, viewing the onlookers from distorted eyes that only hold a stare. In an epileptic trance watch the sick man fall, collapsing steadily into a huddled mass, as before cruel faces he begins to shake and crawl. In an epileptic trance watch the sick man weep, reaching out with helpless hands, convulsing as he gasps for air and struggles to breathe. In an epileptic trance watch the sick man die, strangling on vomit as he begins to turn blue, and fight against his stolen mind. In an epileptic trance watch the sick man dance, as you entertain yourself with his luckless fate, starring intently with your thieving eyes, While on the center stage the sick man lies fighting for his life. In his epileptic trance the sick man danced.