Kuroko's blog: "My Poetry and ranting and whatever"

Looking up, I see the sun,
And time stands still,
For only me.
Bones of ice, I cannot move.
You look at me, I feel my Death.
My heart is still, my skin is cold.
You breath my name, and I cannot.
Your smile is lightning.
Your laugh is God.
Please, don’t touch me.
I think I’ll die.

Angel girl, I wish for you.
A living wonder I never knew.
Ambrosia skin, of liquid Gold.
Diamond heart, or so I’m told.
Will you love a broken heart?
That without grace can never start

You’re in my dreams, my fluid tears.
An angel stone that doesn’t move.
Your hands alive, my greatest fears.
Which broken heart would angels choose?

You re divine, a mighty light.
A steel bear trap cut to the bone.
A sacrifice. I flee the right.
To hide in public, so alone.

A Bastille of love
With marble floors.
Chasing the Dove
Through a thousand doors.

Chasing the sun
Through burning sand.
An eternal run 
Through barren land.

Why my fear,
Controls my flight.
A single tear
Or terror light.

Arms of love,
And hearts ablaze.
I catch the Dove 
On lazy daze.

I’m sung to sleep.
Her spirit cries.
In dreams of plenty
My terror dies.

You are a vagabond, a drifter, a homeless person. You change your clothes every day but you can’t rid yourself of your handicap. You sleep next to the tracks. An invisible army, with you as another faceless automaton in the ranks of the destitute.
Nobody ever really sees you. Nobody ever really remembers. The smell of the street, at first, is thick in our nose. It is the smell of dirt and sweat. It is the smell of unwashed bodies and old and hopelessness. It is the smell of a dead-end. A never-ending cycle of non-productivity, idleness and Death.
Your clothes and your very skin absorb this stench of Death no matter how often you wash your clothes or yourself. The smell of trash becomes your smell until you become the trash itself. Because that’s what you are to the rest of the world. A piece of trash that nobody notices. They walk to and fro from their monotonous daily lives. Rats in a maze running by memory and habit. Thyey don’t see the world for how it truly is. The news talk about cruelty and death and they say “how terrible” and immediately forget. We, the invisible army, see the world in all it’s unclothed expanse. We, the ghosts in the world. The dead among the damned.

06/09/12

Two weeks prior to my appointment
And my heart begins to pound.
Is only days away, and I now feel fear.
I thought ignoring it would be a natural thing.
I now see that you cannot forget the Faces of Death.
Two days early, I am summoned and my heart stops.
I have prepared for this day & still I tremble.
My very soul is laid bare, and I know not peace.
My name is called, and I feel calm and yet
Upon entering the dreaded chamber, my soul turns to ice.
The faces of those that condemn e pierce me.
I feel them examining me as would a doctor.
I tense, rigid as stone, awaiting justice,
For vengeance is swift and unyielding.
Questions are asked of me & questions are answered.
I feel nothing but the anticipation of Death.
I am released, another day added to the tab.
My face as white as milk, my soul burned black with fear.
My torture is postponed another day.
Another day to face the faces of Death.
Another day for the parole board.

Once upon a time, fairy tales were real.
Princesses fell I love and live happy forever.
Evil held no permanent sway on anyone.
One upon a time, my fairy tale was real.

My mistake began when I began to build my castle.
I never swept the land.
The seeds of evil and hatred lay sleeping.
The fairy tale grew darker.

Vines of Devil Weed creep through the doors,
Strangling those who grew foolish.
The painted glass grew stained.
The cancer is spreading.

My wife sleeps in death. Is she truly?
Dormant is my light, but only just.
Fairy tales were real, are they still?
Even the smallest seed turns green in a burned world.
03/17/12

It would not take much to be a serial killer, or at least, a one or two time murderer. I am not a glutton for nor a liker of gratuitous gore; squeamish as I am. However there are some, to me, that seem to be a waste of human flesh. Who seem to be incapable of uttering a single word of positive and edifying context. They spill from their lips foul blasphemies against one another and against me. With great resistance, I resist the urgings of the dark tide, the whispers in the grey which bid me to viciously murder the transgressor who befouls my presence with his existence and accompanying words of excremental vernacular. To drive a pen tube through his throat so he will flop like a fish unable to breath. To be a socio-psycho-social-killer. It would be so simple. Choice. There is no difference between them and I. Choice. And enacted inherent or not value. I am compelled to seek personal justice. The Tyrant King. 
For any offense is an offense of death. OR at least a severe scourging. I, deeply under the murk, wish to resist the dark temptation. Grateful am I who was not given the power to wage punishment on others. For in the end, I would receive a judgment equal to or greater than my own waged punishment. I live in a world where I grasp at straws. Each pull, a short one. Wishing to pull the long strw which will bring happiness. My laziness and love of sin bring me to no fruition. I will burn. My path chosen. The snake wrapped around my spinal cord, the head and tongue breathing into the brain stem, it whispers dark deceit into my ears and I listen and obey. Why? The gate is wide and the road is easy. Too lazy to climb the mountain to seek the hidden gate where the sheep enter through the tiny door. But love, unquenchable fires of love, they whisper also. They beckon me to follow the voice of the maiden who will wrap tinny hands about my face and breathe the kiss of life into my lungs, the white wings of bliss unfolding from my back at her beck as I fly into sweet white oblivion. She will wrap me as a swaddling blanket about my heart and soul and I will be moved. Forever more. Or not. 
11/10/14

You’re beautiful
But you irritate me.
My patience is crap.
I make foolish decisions.
Naivety.
A youth and a man.
One mind.
The wind blows in smoother fashion.
My filter is set on over-drive.
Crippling tact that vomits on the table,
Word vomit.
Filter too much.
Or not at all.
Hateful snide.
Or crippling silence.
Broken brain.
Scarecrow
Love of beauty,
Golden smile.
Brain screams
Of Mr. Hyde.
Born into the serum
That bred a monster
And a broken brain.
My eyes
Aversion to yours.
Social cripple.
Within a filtered brain.
Hate people, love people.
The world too big,
The table too crowded,
Where do I go?
What do I say?
Why do I never hear?
Why must I always 
Live in a brain of fire?
Alien to only me.

I push my key into the lock of my door.
There is a strange sound within the house.
A strange whining.
It sounds like something that cannot wait.
I open the door to a small, brown furball.
It darts around the room screaming.
Removing its howling head would make
Little difference.
I sit down to comfort the small dog, the Yorkie.
In gratitude, it cannon balls the family jewels.
Now, I see nothing but the carpet.
It is screaming with the voice of a 
Neglected yorkie, while rainbow stars sing
Songs from a demented Disney movie.
05/27/12

I visited my mother once.
Mojo, the Shi-Tzu greeted me at the door.
He weighs, at most, three pounds.
He trod on my feet like piano pedals.
Like he couldn’t make it work.
His back end does a rumba.
His front end stands still.
He can barely see me through all that fur.
When he was small, I thought he was a rat.
He throws out his chest like the big man on campus.
Little stud. His name suits him.
It just goes to show you the smallest have the 
Most true of heart.

Sixty bucks, expensive fees
To run a mile through the trees.
Face the pit of mud and shock.
Be a fool and you will rock
In your boots. The Freezing dirt.
Ten thousand volts will surely hurt.
Cargo nets that block your way;
Lose your step and you will pay,
For the fool who jumps too fast
Will be the fool who comes in last.
Fire pits of crimson red,
Miss the mark, you’ll end up dead.
Giant men, they block your path.
Extend to them your might wrath.
Extend to them a successful fake,
If you lose, a lot’s at stake.
Complete the run and claim your prize.
Go back home with bragging rights.

06/08/12

This is how I see my future meshing, mingling,
One of many getting to know people who I know not.
I’m afraid to show too much. Terrified.
They will see all I’ve done; all I am.
Like standing naked in a crowded room.
I am petrified in terror. No one to take my hand.
No one to say “it’s okay” and lead me along.
Telling all my shyness. In truth, in prison, I am particularly open, outside, they are normal, regular honest citizens who I am afraid of
Putting myself on the line risking a shunning.
Sex offender, monster, freak, mutant, bastard.
Demon, un-person, un-anything. I am crippled inside. Inside I feel so terrified, I am so much
More than a wallflower. Never dance.
Want to cry in fright. Terror. I’ll make a fool of myself. Dig in your heels pray to be spoken to only. Awkward man with awkward self-esteem or lack of it. 
My past, my self, haunts me like a monster.
Whispering insidious things; “ugly, awkward”; 
Driving me deeper into the snow. I must be given light but through it all I feel the need to put a bullet in my brain. Social life, as much as I can bear, is a nightmare. I don’t want it. Bring me a discerning angel and rescue me from myself.