demons, stigma, pills

I. the couple afar
you must admit, you do not
possibly know of
the tyrannical screaming
that has brought their walls to sand.

II. and you still persist
in these monologues, postgrads
bringing you to shame
for causes you can’t place one
thumb upon; likely, a sketch.

III. girl from that first job,
the one who dated your first,
a reed-like ideal
you had long sought to fulfill
with Vitamin C tablets.

IV. an odd fixation
your friend attributes to the
cycles of rage, blind rainstorms
emergency lights shone through.

V. he has left you, then
so surely the effort was
a waste in methods,
years snuck away, and never
did you grace Vogue’s bold pages.

VI. medias rojas.
I wear these to look pretty.
my mother slaps me
though unlike Claudio, she
peddles my song, not my rose.

VII. fantastic Lauren
has been the blessed, to earn
four years of study
while Mother will always break
what liberal arts relieves.

VIII. my shaking, my throat
the pipe where toads so madly
screech, an anthem to
critics and teachers alike,
tests I could fail for decades.

IX. gardenias fly,
reminders of your placid
ambitions asleep,
a vegetative movie
lacking captions to explain.

X. I rid myself of
mediums that aggravate,
infect this bandaged
open wound where gangrene speaks
slowly, nothing true to say.

XI. he turns to face me
and asks with authority,
“What if all you’ve told
yourself are Benjamins, fake?”
well, I guess I won’t spend them.

XII. but the illusion,
I suppose, can tempt young girls
into keeping them.
fragilities, in the end,
moan cautiously—dreams unchanged.

My friend, Monday

IMG_2193Life is like black tea
A whirlwind in white routines.
With honey, my friend.
Albeit rancid in heat
and rooms lit with the workday.

IMG_2197Letterhead gone blank.
Salutations sleeping, shy.
Oh, Ferris, he schemes
with a class I can’t capture
as I reel with meetings’ blur.

IMG_2203I hate electrics,
and water – dreary sewage.
One clips, Two swallows
the urge to bury deeper,
reaching towards my nightstand.

IMG_2207Imbeciles will crowd
and waves of bad music scream
like I do at eight.
Fabrication, I will try.
You laugh as I leave your floor.

with sentimental longing
for simplicities
and movies I always miss
to often enjoy again.