Nirvana

(Nirvana means freedom from pain, and suffering, and from the external world.)

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Unbind the candles off this shallow pathway.
Take some illuminated bones from your broken phalanges.
Arrange them in sadness, and a structured manner.
Don't forget to stain your blood for a head turner.
And wait,
Wait until the innkeeper comes out and break your neck
Into ten million yellow butterflies.
Floating through the midnight mist, and karmic clouds.
You are a ghost of your infection.
Nauseating bridges over this red ocean of soul.

Shout, shout, shout, shout.

Try to push your luck by opening my sewn
Eyes, and your sealed
Mouth.
You are the open book,
And I,
The charmed dagger that will murder your pages of war.

Awakening

I remember drifting across the ocean of indifferences.
Rushing into an indigo wave of strangers.
I used to close my eyes before the fiery flame.
Counting the next suffocation, and mortification.
His name was Ares, and so did he.
I remember dying in a grandiose tube of crimson rose.
Velvet blue eyes, and horned stems of lilac bush.
You crossed your anti-choking breath in front of my winged palms.
Not today,
I am not ready to be awaken

Deserted Eyes

Guinean sunset,
Let me see your face again on
My wicked outlets.
I have seen the damages of her forgotten lords, and regrets.
But nobody smiles as bright as your Guinean heartache.
Drive the two wheeled device off the raw gold desert,
Help the children of the otherworldly universe.
I am the hoping hands from the eastern Summer.
You are the barricade leader of the midwest flower.
Shimmering bright like an armoured devil of heaven.
They owe you life, sunrise.
I owe you, bless.

Studies

Daring snow of the grand London town.
It's so nice to hear the cricket sings a desperate goodbye.
Like a growing childhood, and eternal liberation.
They shed a tear or two when their scapula goes away.
I shed a glass, and a skipped breath when it happens to me.
Bring it back to December, bring it back to the week of infinite streams of falling starlight.
Take it back to the deity's island, take it back to the one way trip.
I remember drawing a tree's blood beneath your cranium.
Between your mind, and your inked soul.
As your turpentine warmth gazes on the summer mist.
Our bonded spirit, our vowed skeleton bracelets, and infernal tales.
The forest has granted our momentum.
The first drop of snow in Winter will be waiting for us.
We'll be walking together even when we're apart.

Lotus

I have wiped the brush all over your beautiful face.
It was red, red with anxious.
I dotted a crimson line between the inferior of your ribcage, and your sanity.
And then it ran, ran to the middle of your shoreline arms.
It was yellow, yellow with tenderness. Your padma heart, and icy soul brought my patience to the floor.
I was not a human being at all.
Your marble eyes gazed upon the starry night.
"What am I doing? What if I'm dead?"
The violet paste dripped to the end of your foot, your root.
The elegance of a lean inked man. The closure of his beating heart, and glassy lungs.
Consider themselves lucky for seeing you.
The stem grows from your ground, pushing through your mortal body to your fulfilled head.
We are one, the universe is us, child.

Fog

Drown my spirit under the gleaming lake of the misty mountains.
Lay my head under this solitary temple.
My heart under the dusty river.
Forgive my mortality, and my natality.
Won't the dying stars take it all back from me?
There's no momentum left to be stunned -
By the withering flowers, and
The dying powers.
There's no dignity left for the heartache -
Of the sacred anatomy.

Their cloudy minds, and stiff bones.
Pushing deep through my soulless crowns.

Swept

Hands held high.
You are the winter of my summer, the reason for these fireflies to come over.
The nauseous spell of the shimmery black sands, and the forested pearls.
I am the roots of all demonic events.
The shadow master of their slavery acts.
The last option of her last summer.
Oh, you're my drowning victim.
My final spectrum.
(Nobody knows your winter flakes as much as my cerebellum).

Cancellation

I thought my phone was not going to work. So, no hiatus, since I am able to post my writings during this trip.

Say hi to Guns.

Guns / Flood / Dreams

It was the air and the fire, and the whole city breathing under water.

(It was you and I, and our epitaph of last summer).

It was the raging flame, and the unfinished drawings of her flower.

(It was our eternity, and how the sunset started a wildfire.)

It was the flooded city, and the everlasting storm in Jupiter.

(It was her promise, and our silence that bursted into laughter.)

Sirena

I've harvested the raindrops,
Sirens's tears are now safe in -
My glass heart,
The locked jar of Neptune's solitary shell.
I've broke down their dry fins,
And their anemone weapons into -
Pots of marigold, and opium.
If the sea started to call his sirens again,
Drench me in my made up memories, and his jacket,
And drown me in the pit of Bermuda

So much love!

We started to feel like heavy metal hippies or something.

Heatwave

I've set my fire on the alarming sunrise.
Let the blood red skies devouring its radiance of violence.
The dying dandelion, patience.

I've set my fire on the innocent crescent moon.
Let the dark blue ocean dripping its coldness and static motion.
The dreamy mountains, combustion.

I've set my fire on the beautiful evening star.
Let the yellow grass breathing its glow, and its acceptance.
The blurry fungi, remembrance.

I've set my fire on the world.
Let the mankind haunting their deeds, and fertility.
The broken canvas, serenity.

Kid

A glass house of lungs,
Your fabricated eyes are
Gazing through the rain forest
Manifesting the light of the day.

The stories behind your pierced
Fingers, and holed shoes are
Gushing behind my ears
Did I misplace our sanity?

Your inked hands reaching
Towards the finest raw diamonds
In the lucy bright sky
Blue trees, and red grounds.

I can't keep my hands
Off the railway, off the edge
Of a cliff, and waterfalls
You're going to stay.

Through the rainy Aquarians,
Until the very end of time
Nobody will be able to tell us
How to fight.

Indifferences

We're running with our hands
Intertwined together through the thunderstorms.
Pretending that we're the only survivals of the apocalypse.
The first witnesses of the biblical words of the end of time.

(Open your eyes. We're not the only one)

We're walking hand in hand.
Through the monumental mountains.
Just to feel as if we're the tallest beings alive.
One way ticket to their Asgardian souls.

(We're surrounded. 'Tis not a dream.)

We're sitting arms to arms.
Through the misty clouds.
Watching the whole world collides into a shattered ashes.
Twirling Poseidon's waves in our hands.
This is our fate.

(We're fully alive. At last.)

Constant Infernal

Been working on this project since like forever. Coming soon!

Infernal

Ah you're dazzling sane.
The only cure to my longing pain.
As beautiful as the falling rain.
Nobody knows how much bodies you have drained.

Burial

Islands floating in the distance.
Rain clouds are compiling
Their armies to stream
Down the empty waterfall

Thin oxygen are filling
My lungs,
My cerebellum,
And my liver,
(They're starting to make a small expulsion.)

I can see nothing but
The white storm
Closing my sight
To the nearest water

My gravity defying hands,
And the dark blue skies
Made a promise
To never fall down.

Islands floating in the distance.
Rain clouds are compiling
Around my freely flying soul
Pushing my astral
My mental
Back to the
Shattered grounds.

Poeta

The wind is still whistling in this forested balcony.
It is whispering a never ending story from the land of the gods.

Your hand is buried in mine,
And all your warmth.
And you're still drawing lines between
My white lies, and my unspoken frights.

I keep forgetting how much you have saved me
From the ants of the metropolis .

The broken chakras,
And the growing hearts.
You're still speaking in vowels,
And cards.

Shoreline

The restless ocean.
The sacred haven of all the mythological heroes.
These waves are pulling my sewn hands to the endless shoreline.
Minerals dripping away its own particles.
(And the stormy rain blowing my heavy eyes)
Seagulls dropping their feathers to my ribcage.
Down to my invisible fins.
As the angry ocean dragging my body into immaculate pieces of unfortunate wishes.

Ocean

Legs more fluid that the static waves.
Sacred waters,
And breathing particles injected the pores of spring.
Living stones, and sands bursted this wandering soul.
I drown my whole existence to the bottom of the sea.
I was empty.
I smoked the thin oxygen deep into my made up gills.
I was fully filled again.

Nirvana

Observed.
The water splashes beneath their arms.
In godesses's dungeon of eternity.
The clouds move faster than the first chapter.
They flow through the river of sorrow, and joy.
Bulletproof rebellion of the eastern sunset.
Aves are hymning in a secret rhythm of their meditative minds.
Bliss.
They have put me in peace.

Neruda. Love.

Thank you, Guns!

Dweller

I was born under a different kind of spell.
In a twisted fate, and a bitter reality.
Cut the sparkling cage of my ulna,
And the meteorite marks of my sternum.
The water lilies gave birth to my cerebellum.
Raised by the tigers in a pitch black Atlantis.
My vowels speak of spectrums of belladonna's breath, and cigarette smokes.
The crusty bouquet of roses, and my lies are buried deep in a sickening ashes.
The brightest luna is lighting my way up every single dusk.
(and her faint smile, burning the metal ground).
And I dwell in my constantly changing taroc pack within the illuminated hours.

Update

I've moved all of my personal (random) posts to a new private blog which can only be seen by my closest friends and relatives. I will keep this one for proses/poems and inspirations only since my friends actually texted me telling me that they like my poetry and they want me to keep this blog!
I've also made a new blog for my artworks/portfolio.
That's all.

Stories from a mountaintop

I don't know how did I get here.
Or what brought me here.
For all I know that we, all of us are intertwined in some particular uncertainties.
I saw a golden lion roar in the middle of my conversation with the soul inside the reflective glass.
It was enormously harsh, it shattered my whole weak drums.
The little girl in the old photo smiled back at me.
Telling me that everything is going to be just fine.
The sharpest roses bound her arms into an esoteric geometry.
(and her lies into a crypt of ashes)
The silent walls behind me, and the whispering trees above me are weeping through the coldness of the war.
The unfinished vengeance of the nymphs of the shore.
I was not alone, I was surrounded.
I was surrounded by the dying spark of humanity, and the shattered hopes of morality.
Every single thing was in between.
I could even place myself in the middle of the battleground.
For I could find their faces in the middle of the armoured veins.
From the lover to the devil.
The drowning victim of the glorious battle.
I thanked the empty skies for my family.
I thanked the universe for my childhood sidekick.
I thanked the devil for my enemies.
Here, I brought my weapons of my future war.
My personal war with myself, and the screaming crowds.
My war with the city lights, and endless dynamites.
My war with uncertainties, and the pressure of the societies.
My war in the madness of the neverending stories.
And through all the madness, I found peace.
Here, in the arms of the forested raindrops.
Here, in front of the blank canvas.
Here, drifting in his velvety voice, and silver strums.
Here, where I have no capital nor electricity.
I am free.

(Written in the middle of nowhere last week.
PS: I've been thinking to close all of my online accounts, and just get back to the old fashioned way.)

Picture

To be reminded of those sleepless nights.
Symbol carving on a pine tree; breaking the outer dermal of her pierced veil.
Burial grounds beneath her thick black hair, and the mystic of her gazing eyes.
Your leather studded guitar strings in my pocket; strumming my morning lullaby.
The hollow shelter of Evangeline, and the sacred temple of Neptune.
I was cursed with her vivid nature, and twisted minds.
From under the burnt soil, they're reaching up to the textual violence.

Blue Dot

She was grounded and stiff.
In an indigo shield,
Green patterned scarves.
Dehumanised with reasons, and theories.
Buried with her old enemies.

Her magnificent children, crushed the pore of her dermal.
Pierced the wooden nail through he thumb.
Her blood scattered over the air
Like violence
Her bohemian silk stolen
Ripped, and shredded to denials.

She cried ten thousand streams of pacific coast.
Vines, and thorns grew from her shoulder bone.
(And lies, and beliefs, and wars)
She wandered in circle, in a static motion of destruction.

Her borealis eyes are getting tired.
Her ozone breath, fastened.
Her fluid soul, dried.
Dusted in her own lungs.

And still,
None of the offsprings wipe up her scars.

Atlas

Her words
My ego
Her unspoken fiction
Well behaved knotted futures
Whispered lies, and a bag of lullaby
Tears on my left handed cheek
Blood on my paint stained hand
I drew a silver lining between her hair
And my thoughts
Between her eyes
And my voice
She was only a teen
With a different spin
Ten thousand road maps are spread before us
Jotting words, and lies, and secrets, and fights
Her small figure, and her constant nosebleed
Are the keys to the locked portal
White wings attached to her back
She blurted it out
Inks, and winks
Pain, and trains
I chewed the bullet out
She was standing before me
Like a child
Asking to flee.

Wednesday

From space to space
after you went off
I sat a while
Not more than an hour
I heard a house lizard ticking
The paintings are not yet finished
The ceilings are composed of bricks
And some tricks
I have killed
The time
I have read
The leftover trash
I have worn
Your spiked jacket
With my slippers on
And Zeppelin, Doors, and a glass of champagne
I have drink my thoughts
No stars outside
It is silent
In the middle of downtown
I have no idea
My brain was composed of million dust
I have watched the entire city dying
I was not flattered, I was just assuming
All dusk
I think of your inks
Your bloodstained picks, and steaming wheels
In the crowded street
The wind was
Quietly flowing in pieces
Frantic
Like a glitter of seas
Or sea of glitters
On to her perfectly long blown hair
Her red dress
Her innocence
Her statuesque shadows
I did not see her flaws from where I was standing
Beauty queen
I have drank the remains of the day
Your voice
Inside my head
Your painted skull
In my beating heart
When these beauties broke all the mirrors
Off the walls
The walls
The walls
And your paintings chatted
Through my holed walls
We could never hear other noises
But our voices
Beneath the dark blue skies
If they blame us
Whenever they hate us
It must be
It will always be
For our delusional presence
And surreal actions.

Recollections

For Anna.
Ink and Charcoal on paper.

2013

The dead crater is the silent witness of our exaggeration.
Count the pins backwards from their ribcage.
Where did I misplace my sanity?
The white sand, your dignity.
These thorns are bugging her brainless head.
Lullaby.
Death sentence.
Vineyard in the middle of drylands.
Empty. Empty. Empty.
3,
2,
1,
Boom, as you fists the empty air.
Glimmering eyes.
Permanent paintings just came to life.
We are the lions, and the monstrous vultures.
We feast on our lives.
Our nest.
Our soul.