Bitter Loud Mouth (2024)



Your salty taste lingers down the back of my throat,

Dark brown hair strands tugging at my second molars,

I pull my teeth and I keep eating, 

My father did say I wasn’t the satiated type,

That my appetite for sorrows only gets bigger, more violent,

The pupils of your soft eyes melt and tickle my uvula,

They taste lukewarm and brown,

sweet despair of the soul, I keep eating,

I take your long frail fingers and cut open the corners of my lips,

I use your lips to dry the blood,

Did you ever think we would kiss one last time?

Your lips taste weak,

Your lips taste bitter,

This one tastes like the rattling of subway rails leading away, like goodbyes,

This one tastes like funny business and mean tricks, like unsaid words,

Your lips taste so familiar.



Altar Of Shame (2024)




The morning light seeps through the curtains,

I lay bare in a pool of my own sweat and blood,

The cold cloth weighs heavy on my forehead and the air on my chest,

I pick at my scabs and pull the hair from my legs,

I’ve gotten used to the familiar ringing in my ears,

I am at the altar of shame and my sanity is the grand offering,

The clock is ticking,

There is a hand brushing up against my thigh,

Fingers parading my flesh and caressing my joints, 

I give in

The clock is ticking,

Who do I open these god-awful eyes for? 

 I rummage around the corners of my mind for an answer,

I tremble, I stutter at the hand’s sudden graze,

All but juvenile convulsive movements that reek of innocence,

The clock ticks one last time,

The sharpness of crushed glass, my mother’s sobs, 

Years and years entangle at a frightening speed,

Once,

And then, twice,

Will God ever find it in himself to forgive me?




UNTITLED POEM N°1 (2023)




Hot to the touch, gun to the head.

dreams of mint-flavored antipsychotics.

your protruding pale bottom lip is bleeding

have i ever told you you’ve got your fathers’ shoulders?

burdened by a weight no one ever asked you to carry


UNTITLED POEM N°2  (2022)




Distorted realities and confused minds,

The paring knife is cold to the touch yet sends shivers down your spine,

Frail discolored arms revealing deep crimson lines,

You take a deep breath,

Inhale

Exhale

You’ve got to a point where your thoughts resurface when drowned,

Whether in vodka or when you feed your insides to the neighborhood hounds

The naked bodies you’ve piled up on your bed start to take form,

A swarm of harm,

Broken social norms,

And a shit ton of you-s you’ve sworn to mourn,

Your body festers and betrays itself,

You’ve gotten used to fingering the wounds finding god in the way you let the worms consume you,

Remember, atrocities are what your mother promised you,

You repeatedly smash your forehead on the bathroom floor, blood, sweat, and sperm make it all ironic and the stench calms your thoughts.

Apostasy of the senses.

The fist clenches, the thirst quenches and you put your uniform back on,

You down fistfuls of your grandmother’s ashes and jerk off with her old ring,

Death is nothing but a rival,

Fear is nothing but a catalyst, and you are nothing but a collection of the holes you’ve punched through walls.
 


Mother’s Touch (2025)





Your soft pale fingers move swiftly across your hair as I tug on your ear;

You smile and call me a liar;

I smile and call me a liar;

I lock my fingers with yours as you lovingly watch me regurgitate my words;

Your giggles echo through as you pick up a couple crumbs of the kaâb ghzal;

Scalding rust brown tea spilled on the couch;

My mother’s palm would’ve kissed my cheek;

Would it have been the stain or the boy?

Would it have killed her? Or have we already killed her?


The scent of incense hangs heavy, the white smoke weighing it down,

Our cheap vinyl record spins endlessly, mimicking our own movements

You stand up in a huff, look out the window at the bustling street down below

Children screaming, dogs barking, cars honking

You smile at the idea of life moving on indifferent to your cynical quietness

I reach for the towel, the crumbs still scattered, the stain darkening 

You turn back, your eyes catch mine and you bite the corners of your lips

You concede 

I win 

You lose.






Mediterranean Man (2015)





Over the oak trees’ incomprehensible lethargies, over this unwholesome place,

A body aching, arms crossed, earnest, filled with endeavors;

I speak of a man with slow hands and a soft tremor, such clumsy melancholy and sorrowful childhood,

The uneasy aroma of tobacco and cologne riling up and invading the surrounding space;  

His vague marble eyes reflecting the prismatic skies,

A smile stapled on his lips, quick, subtle and innocent;

Hiding a deep longing for the Mediterranean waves and the silver shore,

Broken vows, unkept promises and wrathful vengeful lies;  

The lull of his comrades’ chanties now rocks him to sleep,

To an isle bathed in God’s luminous sun;

Breeds of trees unseen and fruits with colors joyful and bright,

Exhaled savors and fragrances of far-kept roses heap;  

Constantly reminded of what was once his and his sole as he plunges down dark abysses and pathways obscure,

Finis coronat opus.

The unwavering faith of a sailor’s heart,

Which brings calm and peace to his brutish coarse soul;  

‘Tis the fate of such inaccessible phantom man,  

A beast who yet feels and suffers still,

Mourns the loss of his spirit, its resilience and the eternal flame,

That once burned bright before his counted days even began.