Best 21 quotes of Brandon Villasenor on MyQuotes

Always let the smoke linger long enough for you to remember it's sharp perky charm in-between two set of nervous arms. Darling, I've lost underneath these sunless skies where connection hangs perfectly where your spit splits in two mid air and obsessed with death, workout after workout; eyes glued to hyper space, revealing your lace and mind altering vivid pace.

Caught in duality poetry poverty spinning poles and laughing native folks who only wish to see me grow cold in their sublime storylines like the last of us were in the trenches making sense of where this all goes, somewhere far only the free will ever see maybe. I can't focus on your sunken sea eyes anymore than I belong to the same Cali streets in which I reach forward only to be met in the show, not of myself like I've always known. Facing the smoke and mirrors at once on point and out numbered.

Don't be surprised when you open your crying eyes to the world before our heavenly sunrise, and it closes, shines those shut lids, blinds become eclipse realms I feel overwhelmed by what a surprise the final sunset looks like deep inside your eyes closing the line between hidden and revealed in the ink dripped seal

I miss her | & not the type of missing when you’re alone, not the type when you’re broken down half drunk, not even the type when you know she’s the one. I’m talking about the kind of missing that when you’re full of happiness…you wish they were there to enjoy it. I don’t care if we’re not together, I don’t care if I never see her again. All that I will every know is I’m here smiling & I know how much she’d like to see that.

Imitation nation by nation, the simple means of communication and conflict. Stranger than fiction, always has been this way. In the heart of Rome, I never wanted this Halloween season to end, sweet dreams of dark love and wild west wide nights the universe was inside all along. The mystic river beyond metaphysical questions, I can't believe these pink walls anymore, can't remember the names of every street corner I lost my mind to every kind of street art sensual experience. Sunrise rooftops, all the make-up in the world couldn't heal the wounds from the false words in the every day scene of the fiery red lips predicting a gone future puff by single breath. Seeing my skin peel off the city lights.

I've barely survived inside a world that took too long to ring it's song. The poet simply becomes the the last line of his greatest poem he never wrote.

My eyes so stuck in night vision I watch the decaying praised come back from the afterlife. By far, purple seed dreams redeem the faith among the lit palm trees, as each section settles in, wiping out my future with a comet sent by your divine lips forgotten by the teeming atmospheric dark age I now dwell in encrypting the awakening language gone up in sweet smoke, teasing stretched heels in the midnight air.

Or, so I thought it could all make sense if I felt it all the way through, no matter which direction or sense of purpose. What started me on this insane path to begin with? Women, death or luck; perhaps all three. I knew that much, this nuke dream filled with silver wet screens. California was on fire, my heart was racing and I thought it was still about to make sense at any moment until I saw a rouge tidal wave of matrix information approaching the beach I stood upon and prayed to every phantom near to save me from myself on this full moon wine and instructions .

Or, so I thought it could all make sense if I felt it all the way through, no matter which direction or sense of purpose. What started me on this insane path to begin with? Women, death or luck; perhaps all three I knew that much, this nuke dream filled with silver wet screens. California was on fire, my heart was racing and I thought it was still about to make sense at any moment until I was a tidal wave of matrix information approaching the beach I stood upon.

Oversimplifying the cosmos just for a transaction of currency and holy spit, those heartless fucks with time to spare, with conceptual frameworks within the word becoming flesh once again upon remote islands our soul could never escape. So my question lies with my Spanish tongue, exploring the pitch black labyrinth where you listen to the deepest drums; hung on a single string wrapping up my skin in dead languages. Oversimplifying the 21st century with a single search, the awakening hatred boiling the oceans and cities; diving below the surface, witnessing underwater queens and goddesses drenched in my lovers scent and deadly sex untouched by any depth.

Resonating the first half of the highest quality material known to man. Previously worked out, I embraced the back story never told but retold as practical reality. All I ask and bleed, there's nothing more to be felt as a man anymore. Most rebuild to be included, invoking the awakening stages of beautiful death; resonating with frozen lakes, dirty films we made and seven million pounds of sorrow disguised as drifting smoke that showed me the path out the final frame of reference.

Second driven nature I was always a mad drunken sailor. Once nature is denied, we were whispers over graveyards, operating on every level, more touched by destiny, left you a mess underneath higher poems, you tasted like mystery; and our role was to appreciate the relationship with the dying world you brought into calm waves, and her poems were stranger than I can suppose. Your hot pink mist rose, unrecognizable, and this world mutes the poetry waving through your pure hair, mathematics all in my mind deciding statements in your name. My eyes become the picture of life, not the shadow of my flesh your visible glance made drip endlessly against the golden California streets.

She was faint by passing the terrible things art has done countless times over, why believe in put down theories and books her eyes constantly told me without lower lengths of ultraviolet new beams pouring from an endless waterfall toward the center of every center. I've emerged my skin in years of Roman romance only to find cosmic rays from a different perspective and on that note perception expanded all the truthful parts of myself. I was merely deadly alone in a sunlit gaze trying to hold my organs inside long enough to finish the next book, to wrap the defensive cloak of life before the moon rose from the red sea eons ago, casting the net of creation where no man has ever been.

She was the reason I started to write but her beauty is kept me writing.

Take things into your own hands, first off your hypnotic mind gazing back at all that's happened. Unlearn, speak up and your will is on the line every lifetime. Don't intrust authority, even your own.

The journey of a thousand miles doesn't begin with a single step but a revolting ambient ancient trance; and your soul has no chance to formulate the known within all touch free forms drifting islands of taste spring from your blood lips before Venus and Jupiter close in a blink.

There's a marble bed completely different from what the dust and reflection saids, reserving and resurrecting all the genuine moments that collided without a second to spear in all the overwhelming despair casted out like a net of dead dreams. You are somewhere in-between your eyes and off the brim of our solar system. Going into a pulse from another worldy mind, feeling the involuntary serpents tongue; agonizing the astounding words left unsaid on that marble bed made of reflection beyond any idea or soul; encapsulated by ivy bridges and weightless exotic phrases, escaping out of a strange world I never had a hand in making.

Theres a metaphor beyond the fallen paradise in the circumstance most intellectuals find themselves in the maze they tried every waking second trying to escape. For a poet, deranged and in love with plants and planets, there is no time for thinking so let us scream truth beyond the fall all over again. Internally rising if impossible to have full faith in, the flow could crash us back into disappearance.

Tonight, I decided to take a stroll down to my local liquor store. Maybe I’ll find a refreshment to wash down this full moon. I hate showing up & the clerk fucking knows my name, perhaps because I’m a regular. Anyways got my shit, left…barely covering the tax. Took the long way home; to get away from that haunting typewriter. Sat down at some park bench, as I started to open my poison; A memory rushed into me. A empty bottle of Jack Daniel’s under the Christmas tree. I thought my dad would want another drink, so started to pour my bottle into the dirt & cried.

Vividly mortal on the verge of outrageous ideals blending in with the flowing concept of a caged singing bird longing for the final chaos only the wind will ever bring, undergoing the slow progress of the third wave of the futuristic trance. Analyze the crux of new age black holes characterizing your mind with mine, never fall in love while you're dead asleep at the wheel; turning degrees higher than the circling star above the golden ceiling, and despite the rough hard intellect one poem by accident or purpose will bring any being to their knees, cutting off your tongue for her motherly instinct outside any language, and further than any classic realm reborn of dying art forgotten of by beautiful deceptions and silver screens dreams.

You ask me why there are so many worlds infrastructures constricting my mind choking my windpipe from sunrise toward the darkest abyss of lost hours. You ask me to never sip another drop and wish my lungs could breath freely. My infinite hues invisible, and they swell with distant tomorrows and ancient sorrow. I stand where the salty sea breaks with my sweet sense within my spine, dying from shallow poetry, demeaning music and walking strangers with little to no soul left to create finer art than our peeling skin can reveal, and ultimately transcendence bleeds into vivid streams you drink from my lower lip.