Parleyed inks.


“Since when did u tried composition on me?”

said the white paper to ticonderoga.

“I tried so hard to tell him, at least he knows your value.”

ticonderoga replied.

“I am cheaper, expendable and please do remember his love before and after.”

Both white paper and the pencil glared too hard at that filler paper, and both in unison shouted.

“You will die, if you dont shut up.”


© oliver a. melendez.

© all artworks and poetry by ohms / @rstydhude

@Vb 48




The dream is this,

when i am awake that is,

and where i am sedated by my eyes,

then and there i am awake by my tenses.


© oliver a. melendez.

© all artworks and poetry by ohms / @rstydhude

@Vb 71



A poem lives in a poet which pen his/hers life in a punch drunken life,

that does not but has little maybe even a percent of a fractioned,

swag, and does ther intersections of the intercourse midway between,

life and loves.


© oliver a. melendez

@Vb 130. b2.40 / Dhudles

Judged not juri3d


There i will find a place to be understood,

as to understand all that which has no bearing,

on u or me,

that means nothing to anyone.


© oliver a. melendez

@Vb 131. b2.41 / Dhudles

A quick quirk.


That which relates,

can be revealed,

not of revelations that take hold of

relations that utter3d

relativity upon each other’s gravity.

© oliver a. melendez

@Vb 132. b2.42 / Dhudles

What about you?


of myself

by myself

to of the soul

to take another

that cannot and there be no other

then there would be no other,

but rather nothing alas

it is no other,

but myself.


© oliver a. melendez

@Vb 133. b2.43 / Dhudles


Why compare tommorow’s wishes

when the past remains the same today.

When do we break those chains,

when I can’t even stop drinking caffeine.


© oliver a. melendez

@Vb 134. b2.44 / Dhudles