My Love Lost Art

My Love Lost Art
I’m far from the state of euphoria.
My dream pebbles are crushed by boulders.
I am weakened by the visual memory of my lovers Victorian art.
I am trapped in my white padded box.
Hearing whispers of “she couldn’t cope I supposed”
I decided to write how I cope in the form of a sestina.

I am scratching until my fingers bleed trying to get out my mental box.
Suck thinking about crafting a watch made of razors to help me reach my state of euphoria.
That will speed up the recovery process I suppose.
Instead I decide to write how I think in the form of a sestina.
Popping bubbles of pain with warrants forced consumption of adoral boulders.
And I am painting a picture of my screams. I love art.

I decided to write what I see in the form of a sestina.
I see splattered smashed sausage spread generously on the wall is there idea of art.
The slowly walking zombies with feet heavier than boulders
Chatting about reaching their state of euphoria,
For they are able to survive in the airless box.
They have discovered a new way of breathing I suppose.

I can’t join them on the other side of euphoria.
My painting has yet to become fine art.
Maybe some time after I’m in a box
That’s when life is at its best I suppose.
I am capturing a picture of the effects of chased Tylenol with vodka in a sestina.
My health is crushed by dancing boulders.

I cant escape from my thoughts of ocean jumps with hands tied to boulders
So I am writing my thoughts in the form of a sestina.
Neck tied to the ceiling fan taking dives off of a big box,
That’s the last position I saw you in and it was as memorable as art.
Your thoughts are over, I suppose
Now you can send me letters from your euphoria

I scream from the pain of being crushed by loneliness’s boulder
So I tried to cope by writing you a letter in the form of a sestina.
Escape wasn’t meant for me I suppose
My naked body lies, cursing Pandora for opening that box.
But now I’m slowly reaching my euphoria
Memories burn in your mind like logs on an open fire: with pictures od blood splatters from bleeding ears, peeled off lips and scratched out eyes. I call it my Victorian art

Now go you damaged product and seek your state of euphoria
Create your own masterpiece of Victorian Art
And it will continue the cycle of death I suppose.

Welcome to the Darkside

Kisses as soft as pillows.
He inhales
As he breathes in the scent of my skin.
Just as sweet as a freshly bloomed flower, he says.

Like a God Angelically draped in his heavenly white,
I await my judgment’s fate
He loves me so. The greatest love of all.
He caresses my heart so easy to break.

What do I owe the faithful priest, that preaches
My Excellency.
Nothing he says and puts me in my purity bed.
And whispers welcome to the dark side.

BroKen SilenCe

Closed In
Boxed Freely
Controlled by what is expected of me
You’re not to scream
You’re a lady
Altered by what society has made me

Thoughts of your perceptions of me
Controlled my every move
Drop the wall you built all 24 years of your life
And let your imps shine through

Stripping off chains of bondage
Nursing wounds of judgments
Quick fast and in a hurry
I must make the adjustment.

Struggling to let go of who I am
In order to become who I should be
Not for the beauty of life
But for the sake of artistry

Breathe deep
Breathe deep
The voice I hear week after week
It’s alright It’s alright It’s alright
But when I open my eyes every
Fucking thing is the same outside

.This is not what I expected
This angry me I’ve neglected
The sensitivity in me I rejected
Building up barriers keep me protected.

My graces grew faces
Speeding pulse paces
And pasted
My life on insanity’s pages
Forced to deal with society’s persuasions
Mental invasions that builds blocks
Around my emotions:
GONE


What’s the point of having raw talent
With an infantile imagination?
Don’t seem to bother me as much
Imagining expressions on your faces.
I found privacy and in private I can be me
But I also found that even when I’m me
I can still be myself
Is a never ending saga
Life’s a soap opera
I don’t have to be a doctor to be a doctor

Imaginary circumstance
But must remain true
Crafting deep is a craft in itself
Make it ring meaningful for you
I learned to let my guard down to be real
Realizing that real eyes can realize real lies
She will know the deal.

Taking all things as seriously as the can possible be
Not letting a moment pass was so challenging
I dropped my defenses to let it all
HIT ME!

Yes I’m cured from defensiveness
No need to hide behind the fences
Can I do it?
Can it be done!?
Wait T Jae there’s still work to do
This is only Basic Acting One!