i told MYSELF why are you so little?
The inside of me grew angry.
“I know.” i said to that inner voice.
But we both know what you are.
That one who keeps some light out
of this traveling Soul. And so, it
knew. Then, well, it was all tears.
Just a torrential downfall of tears
that raged inside ‘me.’ Like I understand
what ‘me’ is or what, ‘it’ is or how or
anything about self-actualization.
So I told MYSELF: you really are not
that little.
You carry me.
❤
:: 11.16.2021 ::
KISSING her was like myself.
I enjoyed it thoroughly.
I enjoy myself too.
When I am alone.
Cold.
Aching.
Lonely.
So I kiss her
Even though it’s all within my own
private mind.
:: 11.16.2021 ::
NUMB(Land) came ashore near the boat house
where i last saw my precious kitty cat.
And upon the edge of sea and skies
i see a brewing storm and i fret for her.
How i want her and I need her although
she acts as though she never loved me.
i saw inside her eyes last night
that she cries all for me.
I stayed home all week and now the storm
past but my heart aches | i won’t forget her.
Today i found a soulless mouse next to my door.
How she breaks my heart because she shan’t
cry for no one any longer but I believe in her.
:: 11.16.2021 ::
MONSTER what will it be? Fire or Ice or someone
as me? Cold makes molecules slow but fire excites me |
so baby monster what shall it be?
You string along the streets (shadows) in ember ice
igniting night and me. You’re so clever as a dying
firefly (all inside of me).
ohDarkIshly ing-roundly-dis
tinct;check my skin____oh wonder Hotly-my eyes’ishly
on fire/my feet inside deep bluish ice:
always and mostly all times.
OH monster with crooked teeth if i told you
how much i fear myself more than you:
can we get married? Always near to
me my dear deepest fear called monster.
fear&solidLIkefire&ice all inside me!
Because I want you — tell me? YOU
want me? Cause i need my fear and pain
so I can feel everything everyday.
Yeah. I may not know what I need but
there’s one thing I know I want: fear.
and pain. My cute monster.
EAT ME from the inside out lest conster.
:: 11.16.2021 ::
i am crying for obsolete words
how they die without fanfare
and without a single statement:
strung together-wordsOfsomepompOus
poetCrying a vacant heart out.
We are the students
We are the vampires
without reflection
or friction = all zero
say prayers inside
dying flies
Share and shame
slay and color
the baby’s room
in clean shades of shame
in all madness and Kingdom of victims.
Oh, i never let go
Oh, i gave a shit
centuries ago when a good man was
nailed to a wooden cross
:: 11.16.2021 ::
i am crying for obsolete words
how they die without fanfare
and without a single statement:
strung together-wordsOfsomepompOus
poetCrying a vacant heart out.
We are the students
We are the vampires
without reflection
or friction = all zero
say prayers inside
dying flies
Share and shame
slay and color
the baby’s room
in clean shades of shame
in all madness
a Kingdom of victims.
Oh, i never let go
Oh, i gave a shit
centuries ago when a good man was
nailed to a wooden cross
so i cry for obsolete words.
:: 11.16.2021 ::
WAITING for electric mouth to memorize
the places making strange faces moving
spaceless inside my empty basement
It’s the light
It’s the sound
Its all around
Me — sleepless making prayers to go
without blinking and darkness all around
(and strange faces)
Can’t hide from machine that keeps a world
crumbling so somedays playful writing words
wishing we won’t let it through
This is the day and sound
this is the night and tears
we all live — life & ground
comes the war machine of life
This night — that sound here comes the war
machine oh such a warm machine of life
it tears apart the wishes sometimes playful
but leaves us all alone in the end inside our minds
This is the night of midnight knives stabbing hearts
:here the ground and beneath dirt we finally realize
we wish to live life.
Its all around. All around.
:: 11.15.2021 ::
impossible are the ones who love, that find emptiness
: ensuring love’s immortality.
:: 11.15.2021 ::
Love is delicious, the door ajar.
Life — a fame belonged to me.
The anterior life of personal
ecstatic experience. Mine.
:: 11.15.2021 ::
I am not the woman who makes nice
inside a kitchen nor without and
inside the bedroom. I do not like
the one with balls who squanders
family’s name for any sense of fame.
I prefer the soul who enjoys the
flame.
:: 11.15.2021 ::
 | EPRobles on OWL MILK AND INDIGO SMOKE |
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E.P. Robles | Poetry 
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