Tag Archives: 10/12/19

Keep It Going, We’re Nearly Out

Least I’ve been looking
Real-faced on my side
Still don’t know how
To be all in the mind
All in my mind
It’s what you would want…

~*~

You’re bringing me down

But enough is enough

I’ve got some good rounds

Now I’ll call out your bluff

.

Spit a tooth and some lungs

Minutes before it’s all over

Say they call me high-strung

But I always blow my cover

.

Just to win their way to lose

Just to dance around the noose

Just to decorate another bruise

And leave the coroners confused

.

I’ll bring myself down now

It’s a game of its own entirely

You’ve had your sadistic fun, now

It’s time for that bland apology

.

Because it’s just only fair for us

To keep our busted bones locked

When it’s all over and overdone

There’d be no space left for a gun.

~*~

Looking real spaced in my eyes
I don’t know how to be
Here all the time
You know that I was
I was ready to be alone…

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Filed under Poetry

Transmogrify

They spit me out right through the teeth
I can’t pretend, ash in the wind
Won’t blow again, it was a breeze for you
These hurricanes inside of my brain
Let it rain, made it look easy
Can’t look away, you love the pain…

~*~

I’m sick of feeling happy like this.

Like a hollow happy, all fractured sticks and carved limestone facades and a mimicked genuine smile that does absolutely nothing to quell the bitter, devoid, pathetically-quivering feeling viscously building up in my throat. The desperate, acidic kind, the awful one I just want to violently throw back up but can’t. Fake-real happy.

Fuck that, why couldn’t I just be normal happy?

This dangerous selfishness, it’s like a howling werewolf without a full moon, and I’ll always fall immeasurably short of what I truly feel. I only provoke the worst kind of boiling rage frothing against my curled lips, a bloodstained rabid displeasure—but nothing more—at the fact that I’m happy for you, but not really happy to be so. Empty fucking threats. Instantly dying out short and flat. The synthetic skyline glimmers back to me in a derisive snarl; taunting,

What’s the matter, cat got your tongue?

I want it to tear apart my flimsy skin and reveal the perverse goddamned feral beast hibernating inside, I want my soggy eyes to glint a jaundiced yellow and my grotesquely-disfigured mind to lower its inhibitions and reset to a primal scream, my rewired guts are churning corrosively as they crash away at my torso and starve for some more guts, and my grin at this point only resembles a sinister bared sneer, all vicious teeth and reckless abuse.

If I can’t have it, then everyone else will.

I just finally want to shed off that repugnant, powerless, shaky lie I call my own farcical humanity and then completely let go. Of you. Of everything else. Of everyone else. Including myself. Especially myself.

Maybe then, I’ll truly be happy. Please. God, please.

~*~

I paid the cost, yeah, it’s all my fault
That I ain’t giving up my soul
It’s all my fault, watching me bleed
You cut me down on my knees
No matter what you believe
I think we both can agree
That you can’t blame it on me…

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Filed under Prose

colic

you are like

a bloom of cancer

in the pits of my

empty stomach

wide awake and half

meant for graves

and ingratitude

scarlet vindication

a twist of white lies

telling me everything is

alright, when i’ve got

one foot in your mouth

another decapitated

by the knife down

my back, nonetheless

but i’m coughing out

my veins anyway,

you reason—sad to

say that i see your point

and pray to it like it’s

my fucking gospel

like i’ll truly be saved by

your invisible god

because that’s all you

ever want me to do

you make me love feeling

like i’m far too weak

so i hope you’ll do me

one last favour and pull the

plug on me, just before

they find the miracle cure.

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Filed under Poetry

food for thought

my stomach’s

a cracked vase

you’re filling up

with casket nails

.

i plead that i’m

already full but

you pretend to

not be fooled

.

my mouth fills

up with blood

but at least i will

not be thirsty

.

i’m getting used

to the taste of ink

and the aftertaste

of coppertone rusty

.

my stomach’s

a cracked vase

and the flowers

have long died

.

but if you’re still

curious, then go

ahead and check

whatever’s left inside.

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Filed under Poetry