A Haiku for Edwin Carrillo-Bonilla
He tells his story but abstracts everything so no one can know him.


#dc comics#dc#batman#bruce wayne#dick grayson#batfam#tim drake#batfamily#dc fanart




seen from Canada

seen from Netherlands
seen from Netherlands
seen from Russia
seen from Canada
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Netherlands

seen from Germany
seen from Israel

seen from United Kingdom
seen from Netherlands

seen from Singapore
seen from Italy
seen from Syria
seen from United States

seen from Netherlands
seen from Netherlands
A Haiku for Edwin Carrillo-Bonilla
He tells his story but abstracts everything so no one can know him.
Slightly, Constantly.
Slightly, constantly. It shines and arises from the blacks of our eyes. The distant siren reminds me of things that we put in the back of our own minds, it's fine.
Slightly, constantly. It's not for the image, but only to erode... a little bit more, it's funny how distinct they seem; the cracks on the floor.
Slightly, constantly. You're not so exact, you're not so inviting. The setting, off-kilter, what a shame that they see you as strictly off-boundaries.
Slightly, constantly. It shines and the fumes are slowly killing you. Your face is numb so you know that it's working --- both vices are doing just what you paid them to.
Slightly, constantly. Maybe your idea of "god" died at age ten. A decade has passed and you still feel the same. Maybe the nightmares were right, the kind where your headaches were as vivacious as your crayola crafts.
Slightly, constantly. The trauma consumes as good times try and fight it. I'm afraid because I myself played Benedict to former. I ordered myself to be overrun by the spikes.
Slightly, constantly. At this point.. nothing seems to work anymore. The voices all seem to turn into blurs. Another, another until I find a voice of reason.
Slightly, constantly. Refill and refill until the insects stop biting. The marks are so clear that I can't help but remember..
Slightly, constantly. How many will it take for me to stop crying? Accept the knowing that there is no knowing, delight in the aftertaste of bright... cyanide.
Slightly, constantly. Even poetry can't express my wanting to die.
"Capillaries" - Karii Kariiyo
torn gloves soaked in kerosene on the day before this day of Spring
thinking about but clouded by shattered glass & motorbikes ice cream trucks & children crying beach bonfires & burning towns dreams backseat & slippery mounds coming in last & coming in first from ambulance to stylish hearse freeze tag by the cemetery remember me sincerely
still frame observations of the fetal flowers racing racing racing
die wilted in the dirt
soaked hands doused in kerosene on this day after the day of Spring
Sunshine 37
Prim & proper & awaiting the hounds to do me in this brutal vacancy
is tearing & eviscerating one can't help but to appreciate the utter banality of it all
Prim & proper & awaiting the riot outside expecting ferocity in wake
I feel cliché after-school play nothingness typical gloom masking the view fog dense powerful like I'm being led down a comfortable road to trauma oh my companion will fade into gray & the lust from her lips now a diminishing shade expect some cracks & stains in what was once a pious & holy place forever indicating a shift in empathy these words mean nothing now a delicate re-imagining of cliché after-school play nothingness
Buffalo '66
Karzo & Paquito.
I am a baby (in my universe)