Monthly Archives: December 2019

Impossible Year: Haze

The eventide stars, Spencer Smith decided, were more beautiful when their iridescent light coalesced softly against the glimmering snowfall.

Holding a freshly-bought cup of coffee to warm his hands, he wrapped the scarf around his pallid face a bit tighter, his cheeks already a pleasant shade of pastel red from the cold. Finding a nearby park bench to rest on, he placed his bag on it and gingerly sat down to stretch his weary legs.

It had been a long day.

The dim sodium lights above his head overhead flickered once, twice, before completely blazing bright, gradiating his shadow farther and making the darkness seem a little less lonelier than it was.

Lonely little life…

Intricate whorls of vapour escaped from his mouth in a lost sigh. He gazed thoughtfully into his untouched drink, languid mind turning to reminiscing as it replayed old memories like damaged black and white film reels, visions rolling through his half-closed eyes like a fast fading dream.

He thought about his best friend, the clever idiot. Spencer hadn’t seen him in…years? Had it been years? Most likely. He already stopped counting, and he was pretty sure they had done the same, as well. They’ve all been separated for a while and doing their own things now, after all. That was just a part of growing up.

But suddenly remembering those old moments of madness and melancholy alike; the dumb interviews spent joshing each other around and the absurd-looking costumes they put together with thrifted clothes and dollar store supplies, the way they constantly joked around together and made crazy music that left a lasting legacy to always be proud of, the hell-high youth that intoxicated them and, for one moment, made everything feel deathless—it all came crashing back to him and made him feel rather blindly exposed. The frigid breeze suddenly started to pick up as it blew past his rusty bones, making made him shiver slightly.

Best friends, huh…

He hugged his jacket a little tighter towards him as he felt a slower chill run past his skin again. This time, he wasn’t quite entirely sure if it was still from the cold weather.

Spencer smiled dolefully, ignoring the quiet pang of ache that made its way under his ribs. He was happy for his old friend, he really was. That man had helped him through so much, carrying him throughout his worst relapses and his painful withdrawals and even the most hopeless moments of his life, god, they’ve been through so much together. But it couldn’t always be a fairy tale ending for all of them. Sometimes clocks simply stop, and cogs simply fall apart, and after everything that’s happened, time couldn’t ever be turned back and everything has to go on. Happily ever after wasn’t ground zero, it was simply another fork in the road.

But it’s alright. That’s just life. And it was fun while it lasted.

Despite himself, he still can’t help but badly miss everyone. He wondered if they also missed him, as well.

Spencer sat by the very corner of that fragile cardboard town for quite a long time, resting beneath the sinking lavender haze of the early winter afterglow as he let frail snowflakes blanket his tired body; waiting for answers he knew will never come to him.

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Filed under Prose

Beyond The Pale

Pull the trigger tight and watch our distances explode
If Texas is forever, where’s your home sweet home?
If anything should happen to me, I want you to know
I’ve loved you since ever since then…

~*~

Up there, where the sky looks a little less blue and a little more like the love we used to have

That’s where I’ll be headed now darling, that’s where all the stars go to die

Five thousand years and a minute wasn’t enough to make you stay for the night, so I’ve

Set my sights for the southern lights, but won’t you at least say goodbye?

.

The cold in my hands are getting worse with each passing sunset I wasted on your breath

The diurnal dreams and burning cash, the handmade kisses stippling your shirt

Expect me to return before the moon forgets I wasn’t there, and my shadow falls into debt

With the tear stains on your bedroom wall, did you really think it wouldn’t hurt?

.

Like cigarettes and patron saints, I’ll always come back to haunt the corners of your lungs

Like aching sighs and floral lace, your promises falling on another eternity

Like half-opened novels abandoned facedown on the coffee table, like the last calls left unsung

Like the bullet on my throat you placed as you knew you couldn’t leave me

.

Down here, where the ground looks softer, but only before the final crash starts to strike

Where will you be headed now darling, did you ever ask the stars to lie?

Five million years and minute more, and I would have made you stay for the rest of your life

So set your mind, take the northern lights, I won’t be there to say goodbye.

~*~

Don’t dance around me, I know what it means
No communication cannot be received
But I’m such a sucker for the rain…

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Filed under Poetry

In Moratorium


[ ∅ . ]

“ᴄᴀᴍᴇ ᴀ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏ sᴛᴀʀғᴀʟʟ
ʙʀᴏᴜɢʜᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴏ ᴛᴇᴀʀs ᴀɢᴀɪɴ
ᴡᴇ ᴀʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴠᴇʀʏ ʜᴜʀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ sᴏʟᴅ
ᴀɴᴅ ᴡʜᴀᴛ’s ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀsᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ
ғʀᴏᴍ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ʙʀᴇᴀᴋ
ᴀɴᴅ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ʙʟᴀᴅᴇ ʏᴏᴜ sᴛᴀɪɴ
ᴡᴇʟʟ, ɪ’ᴠᴇ ʙᴇᴇɴ ʜᴏʟᴅɪɴɢ ᴏɴ ᴛᴏɴɪɢʜᴛ…”


[ I . ]

You are arcane desire, and influential mania, and the sweetly vulgar taste of expired novocaine hanging above my quivering tongue like eden’s forbidden fruit. You are the contagious, infected swelling beneath the base of my throat that I madly vain to scratch away with both trembling hands, that I constantly want to carve out with a blunt scalpel in a resolute fit of psychosis. You are the deliberate misspelling of a foreign name that sounds frustratingly familiar, but only ever-so vaguely. Not close to a centimetre, teasingly grazing tiptoed silver slippers and half-buried memories. But not quite there yet.

ARE YOU LISTENING?


[ I I . ]

The resonating scream beneath my temples is starting to taper off into a sound akin to the mewling of a crippled fox; gunpowder and bullet hole smouldering in one leg, a rather patient hunter quietly praying by its burrow, steady fingers clasped tightly to the trigger as it sets up the final triumph with a whispered amen. It might just be from the severe blood loss, but my darling hunter, your gentle trilling call sounds almost alluringly enticing to me now. Me, a clever, cunning fox. You, a foolish, bumbling hunter. And yet you always seem to victoriously capture your kill in the end. Am I your final trophy head to be displayed in your cabin with the grandest fanfare, or shall my carcass simply be ferociously gutted and the scrapped remains fed to your rabid, starving dogs?

WHICH ONE SHALL IT BE?


[ I I I . ]

You are convoluted ecstasy and LSD and heroin in its rawest form, a most potent kind of prescription drug that instantly presses through my arm like hot steel and directly flows into my veins—though the hypodermic needle is missing and the vigil candle has completely melted away into stained tears hours, perhaps even weeks ago. But it is incredibly easy to lose track time with you, is it not? Every inch of the rampant hallucinogens traces highways back and forth on my scarred flesh and all over the wrinkles and grey matter of my deliquescent brain, smoothening out track marks and neurons alike as it gradually transforms me into an obedient porcelain mannequin. Just for you, I’ll forget to exhale, so let your guilt swirl through my charred lungs for all it’s worth, and I won’t suffocate. I promise.

DO YOU?


[ I V . ]

There is a new emotion blustering within me as you speak; something that feels like crudely sewing obscure adjectives on the underside of my clavicle, something that I don’t think anyone else with four chambers in their heart is supposed to ever feel; lest one of it inevitably clogs up and withers into paralysis. It renders every paranoid afterthought blindly unresponsive to the rest of my starving body, and sleeps right next to the nerve that could send me straight to comatose if pressed the wrong way. It takes the tiny spots from below your right cheek and collides it together into an explosive myriad constellation, an overwhelming universe that barely begins to abstract the way your unfathomable soul works. It is you: ad infinitum, deathless, enraptured. And me stumblingly trapped in the middle of it all, mere insensible creature hysterically perplexed by your stark impossibility. Dare I ask…dare I ask you why…why this is and should never be? And if I do—god help me if I do—

WOULD IT EVEN MATTER TO HAVE EXISTED AT ALL?


[ Π. ]

“ᴡʜᴀᴛ’s ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀsᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪ ᴄᴀɴ sᴀʏ?
ᴛʜɪɴɢs ᴀʀᴇ ʙᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ ɪғ ɪ sᴛᴀʏ
sᴏ ʟᴏɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ɢᴏᴏᴅɴɪɢʜᴛ
sᴏ ʟᴏɴɢ ɴᴏᴛ ɢᴏᴏᴅɴɪɢʜᴛ
ᴄᴀɴ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴇᴀʀ ᴍᴇ? ᴀʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ɴᴇᴀʀ ᴍᴇ?
ᴄᴀɴ ᴡᴇ ᴘʀᴇᴛᴇɴᴅ ᴛᴏ ʟᴇᴀᴠᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇɴ
ᴡᴇ’ʟʟ ᴍᴇᴇᴛ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ ᴡʜᴇɴ ʙᴏᴛʜ ᴏᴜʀ ᴄᴀʀs ᴄᴏʟʟɪᴅᴇ…”


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Filed under Prose

lamag-lamag (the chase)

habo ko na.

masakiton magparalamag

saimo—an sapatos ko

ralabot asin raraot na

an kaherak na bitis ko puros

na sana lugad, dawa an

baga ko nagkukurulog

asin magabaton nang

marhay, tapos habo mo

man sana akong tawanan

ning hinangos pag ika

nadakop ko na tulos

.

habo ko na.

napapagal na akong marhay

an sakuyang mapapasaon na

tulang, dikit na sana mababari na

gabos—ta paghuna ko baga

pangiturogan sana ini, pero tano ta

nakamuklat pa an sakuyang mga mata?

dawa anong gibuhon ko, ika man

sana an pirming manggagana

sa kahaluyan kong pagparadalagan

nalingawan ko na kung tano ta ika hinahanap

siring ta ika mayo man sakong

maitataong kamurawayan.

i don’t want this anymore.

it’s so difficult to chase

after you—my shoes are

full of holes and damaged,

my poor feet riddled with

wounds, even my chest aches

and is weighed down heavily

and yet you refuse to allow me

some breaths, when i finally

manage to quickly catch you

.

i don’t want this anymore.

i’m getting severely exhausted

my fragile bones are close to

fracturing completely—i thought

that this was just a dream, but then

why are my eyes still wide open?

no matter what i do, you will always

end up winning, and i’ve been running

for so long that i’ve already forgotten

why i’m searching for you

when you will provide me no triumph.

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Filed under Poetry

Stagehand

It’s almost exquisite now,

The way chewed nails drag

Softly behind the curtain

As if a total nervous wreck

Before the ultimate show begins

.

And the encore is just

A fake bloody kiss, and the

Applause is rather hit or miss

And the trained actors are stiffer

Than all the cardboard props

.

But when the rusty spotlight

Comes around, and the lines

Are mimicked badly, they will

Graciously go save you a fromt

Row seat for the entire family

.

Leave behind a single rose

Plucked from a severed tooth

And twist the fingers of every last

Dying enemy, for the end of yet

Another successful blasphemy.

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Filed under Poetry

santa’s not real (but you might be)

Wrap me up like a present
And put me away
And when it gets cold, I’ll be yours
Let the bells ring on a fool’s holiday
I swear that I’m more than just
Broken promises…

~*~

i will find you

in wine coolers

and silent carols

and hallmark films

that we both hate

.

your tinsel smirk

in a mistletoe twist

red and green and

stupid clichés on

pink candy cane lips

.

we can stay away

from rude relatives

bland after-dinners

pull the sweater over

our eyes just to hide

.

don’t wake me up

when the fireside’s

snuffed-out, and this

hangover feels like

a feverish nevermind

.

wrap up the year

a humourless cheer

the star fell off the

tree, and the cat stole

half the ornaments

.

but i will find you

in crystal snowdrops

and visiting ghosts

for you’re the childish

wonder that i once lost.

~*~

Decorations can change
Like tinsel and ribbon so
Do not open ’til you’ve got
Forever to spend with me
On a fool’s holiday.

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Filed under Poetry

Festive Dissociation

Everything’s just

Loud noises and

Abrasive strangers

And complacency

Take a fake apology

Dripping dead grins

Photographs taken

Just after the screams

And numbness, their

Madness, look happy

Forcibly, and pretend to

Be the perfect family

When everything’s just

Another bad memory

With noisy strangers

In a throwaway insanity.

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Filed under Poetry

h[a]unt

feel the

haunt

don’t

open up

kill the

blinds

to hide

your find

.

feel the

haunt

don’t keep

it shut

kill the

mind to

see what’s

inside.

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Filed under Poetry

Play Fetch Then, Motherfucker

Lash out for the sake of acting cute, the vulgar words you spout

Do you kiss your fucking boyfriend with that twisted mouth?

Stick the knife to his side and try to play it nice, well bully for him

We’re too used to it, so you let yourself bite some unmarred skin

.

Black out for the sake of being modest, when virtue’s such a whore

Do you defend your boyfriend when he’s nothing but a fucking bore?

Bleed his mind and bark for him, but don’t put your poor dog down

And trample us, ’cause we’re all you have left to smear on your holy ground.

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Filed under Poetry

black mold

the clock strikes five, and then there was one.

bathroom floor. feels cold. unnaturally perfect. comforting. alone.

fingers pointing to every tile—faded pink against mouldy lavender

grimly counting the grimy walls peddling for some peace of mind

mindless indulgence, please don’t run out, pleaseplease…but it does

148 tiles. not mine. five sleeping bodies outside, blissfully unaware

five dreams i struggle not to rudely wake up with my silent screams

one. one face. hounding the very verge of my panicked wiles

melting me into an incomprehensible mess. maddening, blaming

the perpetrator of the crime. blue. perfect blue. haunting blue

angel blue with cumulous hair, have you ever seen golden clouds

before? sweet and dimpled, stifle back a sour laugh, i’m falling before

i realise that i can’t fly, oh shit oh god, i can’t fucking fly—!

pulled back. 148 tiles. small cube. no sky. hell below. my shivering hands

prayer. tired kind of mantra, no don’t want this anymore, please i

just want to be okay, please i just want it all to stop stop stop stoppp

numb but hurt, reduced to fine shreds on 28 of the 148 dirty tiles

five unconscious bodies, enviously euphorically ignorant, another storm

but not from outside, it’s too chilly for that, my eyes blur as they fog over but

better than sorry little pissbaby tears trickling, i have to face this now anyway

there’s no proper decorum for dismantled fools like me. only life. only life.

light flickers shut. 148 tiles hide beneath the shadows. five bodies toss fitfully. one.

the clock strikes six, and then there were none.

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Filed under Poetry