This is a collection of poems mostly from my early 20’s that I referred to in my blog post (This blood inside these veins), some of it is mature.


Nameless Faceless

Fairies and mermaids, only words in tales.
Dragons and noble men, only pictures of porcelain.
Phantoms and spirits, only whispers in her ears.
Giants and gods, only reflections in ponds.

Stories filling her head, forever there, and they’ll be dead.
Dreams bending their bars, coming out from all of her scars.
Visions coloring themselves, becoming papers on her shelves.

Patches and eyes, no men only mice.
Cracked skulls and shattered bones, only memories carved in stones.
Punishment following crime, only motion in space called time.

Words before the last ones will be spoken; only then their binds will be broken.


A Tribute to the World

Anorexia, bulimia,
choose your diet phenomena,
babies puppies,
pick your accessories,
religions, mickey mouses,
fastfood for the masses,
homicide, genocide,
eliminate the parasite,
faceless, nameless,
ignore the homeless,
heroin, cocaine,
use whatever makes you feel holier than profane.
Mr Gandhi where’s our sight?

We’ve officially gone blind.


Guidebook to Capitalist Freedom

1. Have complete control of the masses,
(If they don’t follow,
spray them with toxic gases.)

2. Take their bread and butter,
(If they want it back,
beat them to the gutter.)

3. Teach them what they may,
(If they learn how to read,
keep their dreams safe at Guantanamo Bay.)

4. Inflict a little pain,
(If they fight to tolerate,
shock them with full force back to Asylum Pathologically

5. Give the power to Misses Corporation and Mister Military,
(If they want a vote,
pound it to their heads that’s the new way of equality.)

6. Convince the world of free and fair capitalist trade,
(If they ask for a living wage,
tell them it’s better to believe what the Chicago Boys said:)

If you don’t have a Choice anymore tomorrow or today,
it’s okay,
we’ll give you our Conditions on living,
it doesn’t matter if you will be suffering.

If you don’t learn the Rules of profitable for only a few – economy,
it’s okay,
we’ll wipe you out,
then you will have no future to worry about.

If you don’t bow to our new Holy Trinity,
it’s okay,
we’ll kill you in the name of money,
after all,
it’s only the new order of our capitalist democracy


In This Valley of Darkness

In this valley of darkness I loudly intend to live,
From nothing I aggressively fight to give,
Beneath their watching eyes in the shadows I observe,
How for ownership they target us behind our backs with MIRVs.

Through this land of tyranny I walk,
From the gutters I hear the whispers of the suppressed talk,
Under their watchdogs’ noses I give my weary hand,
From ashes and dust I rise but together as a raging fire we will stand.

Hand in hand out of the shadows of death we come,
And no more will we to their control blindly succumb,
For my brother and sister are with me I fear no evil,
It is time for this beaten down world to rise in upheaval.


The Union of God and the Devil

What if the world we live in
(Filled with light and shadows)
Is a marriage of Heaven and Hell?

What if the people are the battlefield
(Torn between life and death)
Of a couple in a quarrel?

What if He banned His brightest star
(Who fell from His heavenly grace)
After a lover’s fight taken too far?

What if the Fallen Angel only denied his Counterpart
(Who rose from his earthly embrace)
After having his heart torn apart?


A Roundabout

To understand,
Is to appreciate,

To appreciate,
Is not to like nor dislike.

To like or dislike
Is to declare taste.

To taste
Is to cultivate

To cultivate
Is to elevate.

To elevate
Is to understand.


To Have Mastered a Skill

I shall have mastered my skill,
When I let the ink dry on my quill.

I shall have conquered the Beast within,
When I let these words to be held in.

I shall have read the Unwritten Doctrine,
When I let go of the Philosopher’s Sin.


Philosopher’s Triangle

I’m sure
we can all agree,

That Plato.

Was a smart little cookie.

I’m sure
we can say,

That he.

Was a smart ass to Aristotle of a varying rank of a rookie.

I’m unsure
if it’s fair to believe,

That Plato.

Might have been an asshole to Socrates in the time of pederasty.


Body Art


The sheets be the canvas,
blood, sweat and cum the paint.

Our bodies the brushes,
the movement the strokes.

The screams and moans the manifest,
neighborhood and busy streets the audience.


Fool’s Gold

Carve these words
As guidance onto my soul,
As I keep walking
In search of a fool’s gold.

Only to finally find

…That in the end…

There is no answer.

But a question visible
Only to the blind,
In day’s and night’s
Plain sight.

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