Thoughts.

Ambient thoughts. Hang about. Creeping smoke. In a stream. Floundering. Causing me. To get sick. Ambient thoughts. In scented form.

My Mind Too.

In my mind, a warm hand. I hold tightly. A great relief. Random shots. Video clips. Things we would do. Places to be. A warm hand.

My Mind.

In my mind, playing movies. Alternate realities. Other places imagining. A happier life. All the trappings required. Existing in my mind.

Regret.

Oh, old regrets repeatedly poke. Annoying jabs only to remind. Creating senseless scenarios playing. Imagining other lives. Old regrets.

Love.

"Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs."
It enters the senses creeping in silence.
Impregnating all with a subtle smell.
Inhaling freely;
gladly losing breath;
desperately wanting to choke.
Maddening presence filling empty places.
Taking over spaces unknown.

Shapes.

CarlosFSalgado (@CFSalgado) tweeted at 4:42 PM on Sun, Jul 14, 2013: I spin. I twist. In contorted #shapes I live. In swirls of #darkened tendrils does my feelings flow. A #hypnotizing pattern of signs odd. (https://twitter.com/CFSalgado/status/356574488663564288) Get the official Twitter app at https://twitter.com/download

Behind.

In the cusp do I realize/a franctic fact of desperation/I'm reaching deep inside/for dusty recollections. I look behind/failing to satisfy/my desperate need/The need for revelation. I look behind/sensing their presence; my long time failures settling in line for a procession.

Chill.

Black gloves with red spots,
reaching to touch the fading warmth.
Outstretched fingers coiled waiting.
In rigor pleading to let go.
Standing clear of falling leaves.
Little jagged edges lightly fluttering.
Innocence belays a bloody scene.
A crisp air in icy sting.

Last Gasp.

Grasping thinly weaved strands. Gasping on thinly available air. Clutching tightly with wilting hands. I turn my head towards falling earth. Blackening sky above. Feeling the empty fall. Dashing through space; breaking every bone. Tragic figure with a lost cause framed in cold.

Conflict.

Staggering mass conflict without thinking of possible ends. Wrapped in my own disaster wandering the fallow ways. Uncharted paths ahead. Candid sweetness failing in our conversation. Rancid word splotches cover the floor. Trying to score bitterness for pleasure; heaping scorn.

Terror.

Laughing in sharp teeth, tounge licking slick, you give a moment of terror deep. Hair waving tender tendrils sweet lightly touching me. Wrapped in rapture fierce, surrendering my restraint. Giving the moment an unique flavor, bitter straining quick letting me in. Eyes fixed. Sensory depraved lacking experience, taking advantage you move in. Silky hands as shackles bind leaving me in certain I will die.

Grandparents.

The grandmas in my youth lived in haunted homes smelling of dementia. They roamed their halls cursing their bones in regretful hair curls. The grandpa's lay in forgotten tombs with clenched teeth smiling. Laid down to rest away from wives roaming a maze of dark halls winding.

Thankless.

Laughing thankless sounds ringing in covered ears. Bringing tears welling up like rivers. Moments flashing bulb brief. Thanking leer. Laughing thankless sounds biting. Open in gruesome wound. Yelling in excellent harmony. Quiting after the full moon. Laughing thankless sounds buzzing. Swirling above my head. Maddening drone hacking. Deep probe diving. Reverbing end over end.

Sounds.

Laughing thankless sounds biting. Open in gruesome wound. Yelling in excellent harmony. Quiting after the full moon. Laughing thankless sounds ringing in covered ears. Bringing tears welling up like rivers. Moments flashing bulb brief. Thanking leer. Laughing thankless sounds buzzing. Swirling above my head. Maddening drone hacking. Deep probe diving into my brain. Reverbing end over end.

I hide.

I hide plainly for all to see. I hide openly, you can look at me. Desperate eyes searching for a miracle cure. A long suffering illness of the forbidden fruit. Original sin festers, itching for absolution.

Flying Man.

Flying man. Flying man. Dropping from heaven's height. Red streak rushing pushed in gravity's pull, bullish to make his ride. Dropping at sonic speed with death in tandem, which will land last.

Your Eyes.

You accuse me with your stare of crimes you've not seen. So sure of my sins that I am but a convict to punish at your feet. With your eyes. In a state of consternation, pregnant with a regret. Don't let blind torture drive the hand holding the cutting edge of our dysfunction. Come in close. The door, won't it beckon to flee, running with tears streaming digital tunes? Sad eyes playing to a blind headlong rush.

In Turmoil.

In life tossing and turning, I'm shaken awake by the furious action adrift. In my disintegrating lifeboat lit up red by dimming flares, the darkness beneath; showing glittering fangs, beckoning me to fall within. I hold on with a slippery grip. I shake with the cold wetness of the churning sea. The rations sustaining me dwindle and I look ahead to the scowling horizon pit. Where does it lie, the safe harbor fantasy?

Too much.

Too much of a sideshow
It's how much I let others know
About my feelings about you
Not much left to show.

I let my heart sit wet on my sleeve
I let too much leak off of inside of me
I give too much
I give too much away

Emotions riddle a landscape
Swollen streams rushing noisily
Feelings run unabated
The only sound: drip, drip, drip

I let my heart sit wet on my sleeve
I let too much leak off of inside of me
I give too much
I give too much away

I want you to see
How much I think
Your image haunts me
How much I yearn for it

I let my heart sit wet on my sleeve
I let too much leak off of inside of me
I give too much
I give too much away

But you never notice.

Little Death II.

I set out almost every day to find it. That quiet moment which is the loudest sound only I hear. A brief stretch lasting an eternal instant. It's a journey everlasting, enclosed within and sometimes failing. It's the little death.