Monthly Archives: July 2019

Hanging Gardens of Babylon

It’s the dead of the morning, and I just wish you would come out of

The woodwork, where you’ve been pushing pinecones and daisies

From under my skin. I let the seeds blossom into suffocating weeds,

When you once fervently promised me beautiful flowers and verdant

Foliage like no other kind—but only weak envy thrived within this

Nature, and we both craved the dirt like simpleminded earthworms

Crawling by the railroads just to get trampled on and ran over by

Speeding trains. Perhaps we could finally separate and grovel away

In different directions; maybe I can search for my greener pastures, as

You make your way back to the cemetery fields where you belong,

Wilting and decaying with your apologies in the dead of the night.

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Edvard

hold me

like your

instability

cigarette

smoke

.

transparent

secrecy and

arrogance

all exhaled

in one choke

.

hold me

like your

humanity

pinstripes

and gold

.

contemporary

insanity, perhaps

another one of

society’s terrible

collective jokes.

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Fallback

If I had another girl,

Would that fade you from my chest?

You are like a bad heartburn

Would she finally grant it some rest?

.

If I had another girl,

Would she love me the same way you’d have done?

Even though it hurts to think

Would she finally stop you from being the one?

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The Gods Must Be Crazy

quite the deceiver,

quite the believer

stacked to their knees

in soulless caprice

an empire of forgiveness

dying out in churchyard halls

.

quite the receiver,

quite the achiever

mouths of golden fleece

to hide the eternal abyss

holding hostage all the fearless

smiting saints in altar pitfalls.

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a cup of warm tea; and the aftertaste of trauma

Sometimes I feel cold, even paralyzed
My interior world needs to sanitize
I’ve got to step through or I’ll dissipate…

~*~

the bitter of tea, the tang of lemon—and that subtle hint of summertime sweetness, melting into my tongue in one drowsy haze.

paint-stained hands clutch at the warm mug for dear life, and i take tentative sips and let the aromatic seasons dance around my mouth a bit, as if this very dark liquid itself was my final tether to this plane of existence.

perhaps, in some ways, it quite is.

the effect of sleepiness arrives to swoop me back in sluggishly, allowing me to momentarily lean back and stare blankly at the faces on the wall, all eager teeth and pastel craft paper, curling and fading all the way to wandering oblivion; but only a single smile really captured my absent mind’s attention. i wryly picture how it would look against later impressions of dirty blonde and crystalline azure, peeking rather shyly behind deep laugh lines and a few animated freckles peppered across pale skin, endearingly elusive.

sinking in; and sinking still. the effervescent mania that violently grabs me by the shoulders and dares to push its reckless fingers right in the middle of my tender ribcage, refusing to cease digging around until it finally hits something vital. lung, artery—the unfortunate heart itself, perhaps?

but—as i am melancholically assuaged—i am sure it will find only a hollow cavity where a beating organ used to rest. disappointed? not really. i’m painfully aware that already long ago have i been deemed one of the young naivetes who willingly sold it away, to someone who didn’t even know they were searching for damaged antiques. i practically gave it away for nothing.

and yet, where is it now?

is it gathering cracks and dents in someone’s mantlepiece, within a dusty old bungalow? is it buried lost under a child’s messy closet, along with broken toys and past innocence and all their other outgrown things? perhaps, has it already been traded away by its secondhand owner without a brief hesitant thought or a pause of chagrin, in exchange of a better, prettier, newer one?

ah, no matter…no matter. i no longer feel it anymore, anyhow.

cosmic snapshots. a feline grey and glimmering yellow eyes. lilting snatches of an unwritten song dedicated to the moon. murky rain dripping rhythmically from the plastered holes on the ceiling. a perfect pink photograph more potent than any flavour of tea or dosage of coffee, keeping me up well into the witching hours and then some. just another wordless poet. just another tired pen.

your bitter blue. my summertime sadness. the promise of morning, and nothing else.

~*~

And you know
You’re a terrible sight
But you’ll be just fine…

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Filed under Prose

it’s on you, now

you’re in

the backseat

of my thoughts

as i grip the

steering wheel

with steady hands

.

but you’re still

in full control

of everything in me

and baby, i think

we’re about to

c̴̱̀ ̷̩̎r̴̮͈̭̈́͆ ̷̺̎̐̈-a̸͍̠͂̈ ̶͎̞̣̈́̔͝–s̶̛̩͊̇— ̴̱͙͍͘ẖ̷̣̱͋̏̍ ̴̯͇̐

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Scapegoat

Not lost, not blown away
Just irritated and quite hated
Self-control breaks down
Why’s everything so tame?
I like my life insane
I’m fabricating and debating
Who I’m gonna kick around…

~*~

Coat your catharsis

With repulsive medicine

Frustrated with tales

Where you’re not the victim

.

Your pity parade’s quite loud

But no one’s really listening

It was a laugh when it lasted

But now it’s three in the morning

.

And no one’s up for a fight

No one wants to see you lose

No one wants to admire your

Lips that quiver and bruise

.

So please keep it all for yourself

Or better yet, just keep it all away

Make sure to close the windows

And look after the wreck you made.

~*~

Right now, I feel it scratch inside
I want to slash and beat you
Right now, I rip apart the things
Inside that excite you
Right now, I can’t control myself
I fucking hate you…

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Are You Nasty?

…because this is what a deadbeat emo burnout’s Friday mornings are wasted on, apparently.

Is the audio quality crackly and absolutely shitty??? Do I invariably fuck up a lot??? Does my awful voice sound like I just came out of a raging three-day flu that nearly sent me back to my deathbed again??? (that part is true, at least.) Is there a constant background noise of crowing roosters and crashing plates and crying children outside??? Do I look like I’m still even sentient enough to give a damn??? Well, yes, yes, yes, yes, and no. This is a one-take thing I pretty much sped through just to pretend that I’m still a human thing that isn’t uselessly floating through in an endless void, so. Lesson of the story: never leave me all alone in the house before breakfast ever again, please. For my own sake and yours. And also the neighbour’s. Especially the neighbours.

Alright cool, I’m probably gonna get some unwanted but inevitable clout for this. Gotta go hate myself now, ja.

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Filed under Other stuff

i guess i still miss you

a rush

melting out

tapering

off into what

appears

to be another

addiction

.

but

.

i thought

i could’ve been

over you

past the fence

separating

common sense

and longing

.

but

.

here i am

again—trapped

inside the

tertiaries of why

angels don’t

exist in my mind

only your halo

.

but

.

even then, i know

that’s just a hellish lie.

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Filed under Poetry

impulse, and devoid (t/w)

I’m coughing up my time
Each drag’s a drop of blood
A grain, a minute of my life
It’s all I’ve got just to stay down
Why the fuck am I still down?

~*~

slit slit slit slit slit slit

how many this time?

metal is far too small

not enough to hit bone

grab a pair of scissors

and cut away all of the

excess weight—maybe

would they like me now?

gaping at naked vultures

repulsed but fascinated

no, i don’t want to be this

i want to be just like them

.

slit slit slit slit slit slit

a little bit of fluid goes

a long way, maybe this

time i could count it out

everything counts, but all i

have is a bunch of ugly cells

with no ounce of self-control

fucking dragging me down

i’m exhausted, hungry, numb

huh, i really do wonder why

metal’s slowly getting dulled out

maybe this time it would work

~*~

I’m hoarding all that’s mine
Each time I let just one slip by
I’m wasting what is mine
Goodbye to you, goodbye to you
You’re taking up my time…

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