I fell deep into thought
about life, death, love,
I thought about it all.
I’ve always know I wanted
to be a writer when I grew up,
that was after failed hopes of
being a mermaid or a princess,
so I stuck with being a writer.
I wrote every day, each moment
inspiration lifted my heart, and
my mind was overwhelmed with
the most beautiful words,
magnificent dreams that I had
to get them down on paper,
I didn’t know any other way.
But when can I call myself a writer?
That’s what erases each thought
from my mind, sucks each breath
from my moist, trembling lips.
Am I a writer when I’ve studied
the art of prose and structure
for years, confined to a florescent
room among strangers?
Or am I a writer when my books
are sold out in every store, where
I get bombarded on the street
corners, just to sign the jacket?
I don’t think I need either
of those things to consider
myself to be a writer.
I have a hunger for words,
for beauty, aesthetics, love.
I possess a thirst for the
embodiment of emotions and
I have a strange way of
composing words that relate
to other people.
I call myself a writer
because it’s passion in
my heart and soul, and
my biggest nightmare
is never picking up a pen,
and pouring my soul out again.
That’s how I know, I’m a writer.
Posts tagged death
I have scorch marks on my arms from trying to hold
The boy with the sputtering flame for a soul.
He named me Yesterday.
Carving the words into my skin with his smile.
Fingers already entwined with those
Of his new Today
A new Tomorrow.
So similar to the girl he named Eternity
A day too late
As her parents tucked her in to sleep
Six feet underground.
Collar high to hide
Love bites of a home-made noose.
His Bethany no more.
He buried his heart there
In the dirt over Bethany’s grave.
In summer white heads of dandelions bloom
Seeds of wishes never wished. Seeds of wishes never coming true.
He ran his fingers over old stone
Her name so deep Time could never wear it away.
Then he stood. Wiped fresh dirt from his knees
And walked away.
No one would ever add up to Bethany.
But I came close.
When the lights were out he could almost believe she was me.
Shadows revealing the face he longed to see.
This is what it comes to.
The waters rising over the high roads,
the clouds going purple, and the sky a dirty yellow.
Everyone can die, everyone will live
but my heart only beats so long as yours does.
I’ll stand here and wait, and silence can befriend me.
But with four hundred miles, between the sun and my sea,
I’d imagine myself becoming miracles
walking on clear water,
and dead in the instant I stepped on land and drowned.
Gravity speaks in deathly whispers,
and calls to the wind to break it, kill it off before the pain takes it over.
We’re tearing ourselves apart,
and wallowing in dust,
but in a day we’ll all fly, or dig in deep within our souls.
Under a starless sky,
My body lays on frozen grass,
its cold touch soak my clothes,
as my eyes lose their light.
Their warm welcoming smile,
and their soft splendor,
take me further.
Into the vast void of death,
Time moves aimlessly,
it dances, and sings,
and my memories are lost
to the endless bliss.
A painful scream.
Her voice fills me,
my being, my mind, my purpose.
Air and water,
fill my lungs once more,
and, with a deep breath,
my eyes stumble upon hers once more.
If only loving her, was as easy as dying.
- Alejandro Bonfil
Hatred doth ring, from silent moans,
When speech does lack from feeble bones.
From clouded flesh comes lucid tones,
A diaphanous corpse, upped as alms.
A soul accepted by death himself,
A toll unrequited, to fuel his wealth.
As the last breath is freed,
Towards morbid health:
Forgive the angelic, forgive yourself.
Tonight I drink to the Texas girls
and the men they married
He was rich
and her other husband
had been a deadbeat
who never held a job
This second man had money enough
to buy her breast implants
take her to parties to show them off
and once he got her addicted to drugs
he had enough money to make sure
she had an endless supply
With the money came an image
and the need to save face
in front of his rich family
So he covered up her overdose
two weeks before
and told no one
it rang no warning bells
in the world of the elite
so back home in the sticks we knew nothing
He didn’t buy her the gun though
That came from her grandfather
the only man she felt ever loved her
and she put on Pearl Jam and
pulled the trigger
two handsome sons
a big house in Travis county
a family 500 miles away who loved her,
and being on everyone’s invite list,
life had lost all meaning.
The money train stopped
when it came time to pay
for the funeral and the tombstone
That, he left to her poor,
grief stricken, divorced parents
In Austin they held a benefit
concert for the burial
He was twenty years older
and she was so flattered
that he chose her
and took her away from
her freshman year at A & M
put her to work in his mom’s motel
while he worked as a security guard
He wasn’t even good looking
He was just a 40 year old man
dating my 20 year old best friend.
No one approved
but it was the one and only
rebellious thing she had done in her life.
His vast knowledge of the world
must have fallen just short of birth control;
the first time they slept together
she got pregnant.
The hasty wedding followed,
the last time I saw her alive.
I was just a friend
and he was her husband
and he knew best after all
He knew it all
I wonder what he thought
watching her die while giving birth
to her son
I wonder if in those final moments
she looked down at the blood and
dreamed of red and black pom poms,
cheering on the Red Raiders
and waiting for me to
drive up from Big Spring
to bring her whiskey.
Oh my Texas girls
dying 15 years apart
at the hands of Texas men
you loved and trusted
the Texas men who killed you.
She is born of sea-foam, stepping
from shallow waves that do gently
lap the fine, white sands of these
fine, white shores. Can a man be
blamed for the way he finds his
eyes drawn to her face, drawn in
the image of all things pretty and
innocent, down to her breasts,
covered only by her thick cascade
of loose curls — should a man not be
forgiven for the way he is persuaded
to listen as she sings, as if the
empire of music had bequeathed to
her the gift of song personally —
Can a man be faulted for falling
in love with the shine of her
eyes, the curve of her smile,
and even more the curve of her
buxom hips and thighs?
Should a man be mourned
after he is lost to a sea
he chose to love?
I’m waiting on a miracle
It’s taking an eternity
I’ll be buried deep in sorrows soil
Before it finally reaches me
through my veins
Give up and give in
Let the poison drip
down the back of your throat
Candy Coated Cigarettes
Exploding inside your lungs
Transform the night
a party that goes for days
I am sick of viewing life
through a drug distorted haze.
I saw you on television last night
You told me I have a problem
As the videotape rolled
and the cameras flashed
I laughed at the irony
You who bangs behind locked doors
Between your toes as not to cause a scene
I wear my T shirts without sleeves
So everyone can see my disease.
On a collision course
my life and the reaper
white hot are my senses
experiences at the peak of sensation
every moment lived
is a lifetime to someone else
fast paced, drag race
breath taking free fall
walking the high wire
no safety net
trying to catch my breath
it’s at cheetah speed
living Houdini, Copperfield, and Angel
and the reaper is hot on my tail
before the stroke of midnight
I will live and I will love
facing the inevitable like a heavyweight
The corruption ran rampant among the streets
Stealing away values like a thief in the night
The cries and wails from the righteous muffled
Muffled by curses and gunfire
No lights burned in the city anymore
All extinguished by the night to conquer the light
So shadows could roam free
All there was left was death and disease now
All who were survived, were oblivious to the black
More a part of the problem then the cure
“If you are not part of the solution, you are part of the problem”
There are a few things I always seem to write about: death, water, and angels. It never fails that someone dies or they pass on through a body of water to see millions of other souls doing the same, or there is an angel in disguise. There is something wholly entrancing about the idea of death and what happens afterwards. At the same time, the raw power of water seems suitable for carrying a newly released soul from their earthly cage. And there is always the possibility that we are entertaining angels though with our lowly eyes we only see their beastial and human forms. It is the unknown that has always seemed to hold the greatest grasp on the human mind, be it wonder, fear, or even a light understanding.
I saw my funeral today,
And I wondered why
Everyone was in tears,
When I was finally at peace.
One more step
To the top of the city
It’s lonely at the top
I wish you were with me
But I know you’d try to stop me
And I need to do this properly
One more glance around
The land of the living
Before I cast off my life
And transcend its limits
I leave you this note
In the hope that
It will reach your hand
That one day
In some way
You will understand
As I write this
Six feet from
The top of the city
When you find this
Six feet from
The top of the earth
One more step
To the top of the city
I’m just a little boy
Who got tired of living
I don’t know if you still love me or not
Or what you’ll think about it
But we shouldn’t have to suffer
So I made it stop
At the top of the city.