My Irreparable Sense of Humor

Sting said;

Sometimes in life you feel the fight is over
But after this fight, I feel my life is over

After so many drunk-dials gone wrong, I promised to stay sober

No more shall I go through such abyss, no sir

That was last Christmas, now even my promises don’t know where my hopes are

I stayed strong as I could, but within me was a poser
Still kept that photo in my wallet, my beloved poster

I shot my soul, with a weapon from my own holster

Too much whisky, yes, too much mimosa
Every night, my therapist and I became closer

As I search for an elevator with a lean posture
I remember I left my keys in her Range Rover

Now my brain hovers

Another drunk-dial? Another what? No sir
I’d rather not ride that same roller coaster

So I’ll sleep in the lobby, the couch’s my new lover

Can I help you? Said the concierge. No sir
You look like your life’s over

I reply, That’s what Sting said. Haha

Good thing I still have my irreparable sense of humor

– Andreá Feliini

Rated R…

They were once two peas in the same pod
Two devices, charged with same chord

Two getaways, locked in the same room
Two strands of fireworks, same boom!

Their story was too good to be true, almost deceptive
When their worlds collided, t’was definitely eclectic

Every romance wished for the same story
Same walk, stroll and runs of the same hurry

They loved the same things, even drank from the same bar
Two versions of the same story, same scar

Together they felt called, so they marched on the same road
Same signs and posters, burdened by the same load

Two bodies, with beats from the same heart
Two pairs of boobs, cupped in the same bra

They made love like two epileptic-squirrels
She became Hermione, and she became her Weasel

Holly holly, dolly dolly, wobble wobble
Two Monsters going at it on a Full Throttle

From the same fountain came sounds of the same whistle
Same groans, moans with the same tickle

Two streams of hot lava, pouring from one volcano
Two birds of the same squirt, one falsetto

But college was over, and their lineage was torn apart
They had to return to different worlds, and pretend they didn’t forget their hearts

For all the world saw was just two roomies, girls of the same par

But indoors behind the veils of karma sutra, their love was Rated R

Andreá Fellini *2012*Copyright!

art: november by justiv

My Cirque Du Soleil

If I could watch you for a moment
Yes, only watching
Moments of perfect contours
Give rise to my Venusian

A goddess, even to the mirror
A Kodak moment, ever so clearer
At dawn I rise, just to catch you exit the shower

There she is
With a neckline so sensitive

Strut with legs, like pillars of sphinx
A waist. Lined with rhythm, describing my jinx

My gaze is lost on the appeal of your nipples
Perfectly crafted with a saxophonic sizzle

Your spine-line falls, two dots, I see Bahamas
Bless the soul that nurtured your mama’s

My eyes follows the drip, down to your groomed vegetation,
Furry wall

So tender, like a new born guitar
Begging for melodies from a protegé

O, I will return on all I believe, and declare today
Yes, there is a God

For no man could have molded such
God only

I could live like this forever
For my bitter eyes have found solace on her

Her body
Is my Cirque du Soleil

Andreá Fellini *2012*Copyright!

Silly Me

Silly me

Silly me, I should have seen it coming
Silly me, I used to know those signs

O how I wish I was running Running Away from the lies

The lies that capsized our boat
That drowned our float
That choked our toast

Silly me, I should never have boast

Boast of you and I forever
Boast of us, any-wherever

My friends, Silly as me, but they saw clearer

I squint my eyes, to focus on you clearer
But nothing is ever that clearer

Only clarity is the fact, you’ll never be nearer

Not today at least
Not today

Goodbyes are adequate
But silly me, I can’t relate

Can’t relate to loosing
Can’t relate to giving up

Can’t relate to infidelity
Can’t even relate, to a blind, silly, me.

Silly me.

Goodbye Hollywood

O, how much I’ve toiled
O, how much I’ve scrapped your soil

How much of my sweat have you trickled
Days, nights, til my cells go sickle

O, How much of me have you whisked away
My dreams left at every audition stair

O, how much my sincerity has cost me
How so, my clouds have remain frosty

All of my Meryl have been Streeped for you
All of my ego, crushed

Every line rehearsed, just to lip for you
But no chance, my blue eyes, flushed.

How many times have I yelled in frustration,
How much bills have I paid,

How many lines have I refused participation,
How much beds I refuse to lay.

It’s clear you never saw me, even though you are all I see
It’s clear this wasn’t my shine, even though I whitened my teeth

It’s now I summon my courage, to return home to Kansas
For you have sucked all my zodiac, only left, is cancer.

O Hollywood

I wish you did,
I wish you done,
I wish you do.
I wish you will someday remember me.

Until then,

Be at least decent enough to kiss me ‘goodbye’.

The Revolution will not be Televised.

If I go to bed tonight, what will I wake up to. If I slide away into a world of dreams, which step will i shoe.

The changes we seek, the paths we lay, the contrast of meek, the wraths our way, which pore shall lead us astray.

If we decide on what tomorrow shall become, so fast. Then we’ve lost the essence of what life is worth.

Every stone, every grain of sand, shifts. Shifts to form what we call our earth. Same way our sweat, strength and weaknesses, form our worth.

No war is won without strategy. No life forgoes tragedy. Rise and fall, to and fro, we guide our own fallacy.

We have to be meticulous in every plan. We have to be indigenous in every thought. Or else, we ignorantly execute every man. We void every fought.

The ratio of rationale that beckons our intellect, is only summoned by the hosts of our regret.

We once saw, so now we yearn. We once grew, now we groan. Those exploits of Alexander have not left a scar deep enough to tingle our spine. That’s why we don’t think, our concern is mainly ‘yours’ and ‘mine’.

If manuals like Mein Kampf have taught us nothing, then we are not fit to label progress. For even the most vicious, knew that planning, equates progress.

So now, we plan.

Return to our boards, seeks our architectural souls, and reconstruct. Pursue ignorance, with tiny drops of knowledge. Until it’s soaked in the ocean of Luther’s dream.

Man, is originally tribal. So this new wave, this new world order of togetherness, is something we have to puzzle on.

Bit, by bit.

The revolt is never televised, only the aftermath. Egypt wasn’t built, it was a dream of pharaohs. Greece was a careful spill from the glass of Ceasars.

If we are to be accomplished, on one accord, then we need to return to the one true base of integrity.

Learn.

Nevertheless, beware. Be thou aware, that the same letters that spell ‘silent’ and ‘listen’, also accomodate ‘tinsel’.

Beware, or the efforts of revolt would have been for nought.

Dry Pen.

Through all the sweat, the scare

The heaves of breath, the feat

The Nausea, the pain

Dear Lord, guide my hands,

So I can write again.

********

The Cold.

A view of the motherland’s bosom cannot be faltered.

Irreparable, are the expanses of her contours.

In a world where the wind owns our Marilyns, how dare we leave virgins outside for the prowl.

Inch by inch, we alter life as we know it.

And then we ponder why blisters are forged from our unknown.

Perfection was not to be our destiny.

Progress, the only target we should harbor.

Fears of fortitude, pronounced more by uncertainties.

History, the only Bible we have refused to read.

From my wishes to return to the ink that gave me breathe, to my curse that makes me run from the thoughts in my head.

How dare I blame the house that I bought with hard earned Shillings.

For covering me craftily, with my grudge and despair.

You never choose to be writer, you just are.

Wish me another destiny, I just can’t.

Man’s nature, by design, is to retreat, if he hath no spear in hand.

We’re inclined to dominate with tools, of a chosen kind.

Mine, a pen, a pad, and a thought.

As the pen bleeds its ink, the cloud of thoughts propel into a cathedral.

Behold! The manner sent from man’s brain, may sometimes stumble the feet of Angels.

More so, we remain more powerful than they could ever be, and we could ever know.

But the slightest prick and we retreat so far that it bulldozes our faint strength.

We, I, are so scared of losing so we don’t even try.

Though the afternoon sun comes to clear the horizon, our morning fog endeavors to shield the wonder.

No wonder.

No wonder our strongest, our perseverest, our champions, have all got a gloom.

Stevie lost his eyes, Basquiat lost his head, Cobain lost his life.

The more we lose, the more humanity gains.

What a cold.

Step by Step. Flaw by Floor.

With every step you take.
In every room you enter.

Poetry ( the girl that took my soul ).

It was supposed to be a prayer, but there’s a lot more at stake.
That’s why I’m not kneeling, we’re talking face to face.
You could sit if you want, this might take a minute.
But you’re timeless right? So what the hell is a minute.

For every cringe in my timid, and every dent on my civic
For every thought process or shade patterns that I diminish
Every spark that I livid, and in every dark that I ribbit
Here’s my heart on my sleeves, they carry all that I exhibit

You came to me as a blank cheque. I was wowed with awesome ideas
At the same time, filled my pen with ink of tears
So with every signanture I broke away a piece of my heart
Even though I want to, I just couldn’t completely tear you apart

You’ve been everything I adore, and all that I fear
Every milestone of conquers, and every renewed fear
Every star, and all the galaxies I envision
At the same time, the loophole in those visions

You’ve put me out there for too long that I need to exfoliate
Whatever the deal was, we need to renegotiate
Dear God, you gave the girl that took my soul
Now I ask you, can I at least ”gain the world?”

Andreá Fellini *2013*Copyright!