Dysfunctionality of an Almost Human Mind

Benzene and hydrogen cyanide The kiss that never stops As I bathe in iodine May this be the one who mocks The sound of the crash course Unlimited unknowns Taken by the bloddy resource Through the path of broken bones Nothing has ever healed If the sticks don't quit the poke Perhaps the way to yeild Is to hold the weight and fold Words that never cared How heavy was the load Carrying dead bodies ahead In silence, they mourn Let the strings play my tune Dry the skin the devils harvest Open up that fucked up wound And may it rot in darkness This prejudice is real It reminds me what is what The little things I fear Are my demons staring back.

The level of stupid I must be has to be detailed in some of those books that claim to help others, or at least in one of those that teach them white-coats how to help others. Maybe I should be put in a white coat... one of those with really long sleaves and several belt buckles. And something tells me it won't be the last time, because I'm just that stupid... Maybe I shouldn't be so explicit, but that would be to deny life its own existence, because life is explicit, limitless, raw and uncensored. So it is only fair to pay it forward with the same coin. But life is also not fair, it has never been, so what was the expectation if not just the road to dissapointment..? The blame falls in my hands for putting myself out there, again. Being tired of not caring led to trying to care for something that was literally careless. Showing up for something that left a long time ago and didn't even care to say goodbye. The irony is strong with this one, for it was totally called for...

Si los cayos hablasen no hubiese forma de callarlos. Los caminos andados han traido tantas experiencias que resulta casi imposible no pensarlas. Experiencias que no se comparten con todos, pero que todos los que llegaron a viejos en algún momento experimentaron. Las personas, los sueños, las ojotas, los compañeros del viaje han sido buenos. Tanto, que serán parte del viaje aun cuando ya no estén a tu lado. Quejas no caben, pero no todo ha sido color de rosa, pues hasta las rosas traen espinas que penetran y beben la hemoglobina como jugo fresco en verano. Van dejando cicatrices para la posteridad que sirven de mapa en la lucha constante. Esas rayas de tigre que nos hacen fuertes, son las mismas que nos recuerdan que alguna vez fuimos frágiles. Como los pétalos de esa rosa que tanto nos enseñó. Permitirse reconocer el pasado da energía para no temer al pernoctar en el camino. La seguridad de la experiencia es la armadura que protege al chiquillo interior, curioso e inmortal. El haberse ...

As I reach the cusp of this mountain called change, anxiety hits. I am however, not putting bad connotations on the concept of anxiety, for I understand that in balance everything can be great and anything can be helpful. So I wait anxiously for the moment of truth to come and show me what I’m really up against. I fear. But fear is just a way to keep us awake in the wake of new horizons. Again, no bad connotations, only the truth behind the concept. I let my ego guide me, for without it I would not know my worth, because ego is knowing when and how to love yourself. No bad connotations, only truths to concepts. If I were to fall, it would be ok. It would not be the first nor the last time my face meets the floor, which can only mean that I’ve stood up everytime. I don’t pity the empty husks, but I sure don’t envy them either. And that makes me happy because it made me who I am. And who I am is different to what I am, just like where I am is far beyond when I am. And these concepts can ...

it's 4:35 in the morning. i look at people talking on a screen, trying to justify their actions. the delay is long, as i try to understand, to be in their shoes, but i feel nothing. looking into the past, laughter and smiles, moments to remember, feelings to embrace? but i feel nothing... the experiences lived show the world has a lot to offer. these experiences blur with the truth, my truth. i try to find myself and i get lost in grief. i force myself to love, to share love, to call out for love, to express love... but it's all forced. i feel nothing. i think of shinta. she loved me. she didn't judge me. she didn't try to take advantage of me. she felt my pain and offered love in return. i wish she was still with me. i open myself to the opportunities and the responses i get... i don't trust them. i gave myself away for a decade, and was discarded like the trash i've always been. my hands tremble and my strength lingers far like a star i try to grab. the hollow...

The newest short novel to join my portfolio is now live on amazon. After almost 2 years of working with it, along side the other projects and the general lack of time to actually work on it. But it is finally out. When you question what's real, old things become new with every step. This psychological suspense story plays with that concept and puts you in the shoes of a reformed schizophrenic trying to readjust to society. The reader is taken through a joyride in the mind of this disturbed individual, all in a fresh presentation and approach. This could be seen as a love letter to the journey of self-discovery, and though these concepts may share some similarities, it would be unwise to assume it as such. The creation of this book paralleled my personal recovery from a massive injury. The idea of "getting back out there" was very much hammering my thoughts. Through this short story I was able to channel that energy and focus on my recovery to astonishing results. Certainl...