Karl Kristian Flores Quotes

Our eyes see the future we desire
And if yearning is enough, turn blind entire
To any threats that challenge our hope.
Oh, how small indeed is Reality's scope.

Goodbye, but wave to me not! I cannot wallow seeing your hand unaccompanied, like an unclothed child deserving supplement.

I want to die because I love you.
I don't want to die because I love you.

I hate it when people say 'follow your heart.' That is not a morally sufficient reason for stalking.

Just because they write something In this font
And break apart their lines
To rhyme
To dramatize
To imitate
Doesn't make what they say true.
And quotations marks
Don't make sentences "life conclusions." A post, a page,
A billboard, or a wallpaper -
Let it swirl for a few
and if you want to spit it out,
V omit.
If you want to keep it,
Let it ride shotgun.
But argue with it first.
Debate.
Don't simply accept it
Because you may
By accident
Accept a monster
Disguised
As a poem.

There is more in front: a timid, desperate cub
Locked in a fickle case, wounded and incoherent.
We are all that youngling, together in this cosmic hub,
And we are not alone in the universe, we are it.
But beware the pavement makes us only see the peachy -
We care about the diapered: the children and the old,
And anyone in between is just an asshole species.
The challenge is to see the little child through their cold
For we don't grow at the same pace as our body.

When you see the extent to which people try, like the tremors of a ballet dancer, or the intensity of a pianist, or a mural containing the details of tiny little people making up the background-- you see the vulnerable extension of our private selves. There is an element inside us and it wavers between beauty and madness. You know it when you see it, like a hyperactive atom bouncing in a tube. It is like trying, really trying, and when we do, we are in our most honest forms. When we reach, we expose the contents of the human spirit. The more often we see it spill, the more encouraged we are to go further. And we can go further than others, in joyous competition. After all, it is called the human race, no?

Tickle me, stroke me, feed me, fuck me,
Overload my senses-- hug me, drug me.
It's hard, you see, to consider what's more,
When we hate to think and love the gin.
But until this pleasure dies, I will never live--
There has to be more to life than this.

Joy is a flower that pain grows best.

Are you in there? If not here, then where'd you go?
They say the living arena Earth and the dead are out,
But where are those trapped in-between high and low?
Where exactly are you wandering about?

Why would this happen to a human being?
I want to curse God and call him a fake,
But I am too desperate to risk ruining
The chance he may choose to help today.

There are seconds of remembering you throughout the day -- moments when my heart twitches. Moments when I am hell-bent on forgetting your heaven-sent scent.

Will this pain leave as quickly as you did?

She's like a sentence I never heard.

'Come again,' I said.

My affection for you is attached to whatever self I possess -- an inherent, eternal synchronization... an automatic response to living... transforming from hit to misses, from Ms. to Mrs...

We are not always someone else's half, but they can be ours. You'd think two halves make a whole, but some two halves make a hole.

Dear Alien,

Thank you for asking. Here on my earth, unlove is among the deepest loves to give a person. It touches us in a way no other pain could reach. For as long as breath comes, the possibility of heart correspondence may come too. For the rest of our lives, we are left with the unknown, sailing in a sea of doubt contaminated with hope - scattered and shattered over nothing that mattered. In the world of unlove, fire thrives from the cold.

After they've left, our brains speculate how that person is doing. Departure never really exists. It's almost like leaving a person ensures you'll always be with them. Hope I answered your question.

Mine for you: how is she?

Curiously,
KKF

I wish I hadn't met you in the rain: it comes every winter.
I wish you hadn't told me your favorite wine: I've become a drinker.
I wish I never showed you my hidden birthmark:
It looks back at me at night asking where you are.
I wish I hadn't read you my journal, all the pages praising you,
It's corrupted now that I can't tell if I write for me or you.
I wish I hadn't told you my daily routine: it's not mine anymore.
I can't enjoy 11:11, my favorite song, a birthday cake, or a concert tour.
I'm not afraid of the future, it's the past that takes a while.

Oh pillow, please continue to kiss my cheek round. I'll let you listen to my dreams to see the girl you'll never meet.