Tag Archives: 2 AM

Little Blue Boys

Little chubby blonde boy

And his big brother holding

A blue mini-soccer ball

Oh, here they come a’gigglin

Little chubby blonde boy

And his big brother grinning

In their olive-green trike

Oh, there they went a’ridin.

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ashen glances

don’t blink

or your

delicate

grey eyes

might sift

away with

the wind,

billowing

like dust

particles

that make

you cry,

coalescing

with empty

air breathing

oxygen,

and leaving

nothing

but a

stray tear

and your

lost memory.

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A Megalomaniac Megalopolis

″I make money, but fuck money we want love
Give me your heart and your hand and we can run…″

~*~

You missed the crooked target and slammed the painting on the fringe

Your trajectory was fucked-up from the beginning, but you didn’t cringe

It’s a syllogism logic, cold reanimation of glass memories and phantoms

You checked the list and the rearview mirror, but you skipped our column

It was a punch against the viscid honey, my plural interruption of hatred

Unauthorised to sell your bid against me, so you made my grave your bed

Don’t fall on your face love, that countenance is worth a bargain shop

And I’m a thief running semicircles in your grocery aisles until I drop

I’m affluent, but somehow always broke with mercury in my capillaries

I’ll die inhaling fumes but this shit just ain’t worth the expense of money

But I’ll be generous with my emotions, I’ll cash in my handshake on impulse

I’m a millionaire when it comes to stupidity, and I play casino for the fools

You’re the main grand event darling, I’m just the slipshod consolation prize

They cover me with cheap bouquets but this ribbon unravels from the lies

So three cheers for growing up too high, and one more of nepenthe for the road

Gusts of misery pushing you back, this is a tantrum of issues you can’t uphold

Don’t spend sedated backward glances, that mirror’s just screwing up your vision

If you came to bleed radiation and lust forget tonight, let me accomplish your mission.

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spoke[n.]

victims

of a witch

liplocked

with a

slow jinx

like lemonade

hearts

on a nickel

store’s stand

it’s too hot.

.

don’t laugh

at how absurd

it all feels

as i hanged,

faltering by the

edge, fulcrum

taking hold

of every sense

of each word

from a fall

kill the sunlight.

.

the apartment

doors are

closing, but

i’ll hold

the knob ajar

and cover

the peephole

against intruding

eyes and

hushed tones

i’ll warmly wait for soon.

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sleep-talk

the break

in your voice

is like a

heart attack

i can’t

fathom why

but it

woke me up.

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Mütter

This hasn’t been your year. Matter of fact, not a single year in your forty plus years of living, minus a several tenths for when we didn’t exist yet, has been quite too fulfilling. And understandably, it’s been a rough ride. You’ve been flying this journey Lindbergh solo for five years and counting now, and you weren’t always locked and loaded, and the machinery was not always all systems go, and the weather was not always clear. We’ve been ungrateful bastards who act like sweet-smelling pink roses intertwining around you with pretty innocent smiles, and then we bury our lacerating thorns deep in your steel-plated chest until we hit flesh and you bleed. We’re irresponsible lazy creatures, we get that, we refuse the simplest of chores, saying no to refilling the water bottles after downing the entire one litre liquid in one gulp, or slam dunking our filthy dishes in the overflowing sink and then denying appraisal over doing the washing-up. We grate on your nerves at the worst time when they’re already stretched to their limits, and we pull at them until you snap. We’ve been disappointing and apathetic, and you can only scream and reprimand so much before your worn-out voice and the fingers you crossed breaks. We’re no good, and vexingly frustrating, and annoyingly juvenile, and seemingly hopeless and futile…just like any other stupid nose-picking kid out there who needs guidance and care in the gentle yet sturdy hands of a parent. You simply wanted the best for the worst, and some due indemnity and pride, and to set your wayward children on the proper path, not into the ocean horizon to drown in sovereign failure, but onwards beyond the sunset to discover the way and amass all the lights in the sky. Someday, that’s a promise to be fulfilled. But for now, we remain your stupid bumbling companions, building bridges to last longer than London Bridge and making memories on a photo album (or selfies, as the cool millennials say or whatever, since you seem to be more connected with my generation than I can ever be). I feel faintly terrible that after all that you did for us, for me alone, I wasn’t able to get you anything decently celebratory or did anything to make this one hell of a day, except for a greeting card written with a dying marker on used tissue that says ‘congration you done it’, an IOU written on paper ripped off carelessly on the side of a notebook that entitled you to an entire day of my silence (valid on May 14, 2017 only), and doing the aforementioned chores which I should be doing on a daily regular basis anyhow, so I can only offer with what I do best—getting drunk. Oh no wait, that’s a different thing innit, that’s rubbish. I meant to say writing (although the best is not even good, to be bluntly frank). You out of all people needed a cheer upper and a break, and I out of all people should be the one giving you such things. So, here it is. And despite you begrudgingly commenting it several times today, no, the universe does not always conspire against you. Sometimes it’s me who does.

I took the time to write all this down because (besides the fact that I am equal amounts bored and sleep-deprived, which is like 95% of the time, but whatever) despite all the bickering arguments and thermonuclear meltdowns and endless disputes we’ve rivalled against, we’ve also had amusing stories and extraordinary journeys together and silly banter over cups of freshly brewed coffee, and I would like you to know that there’s still someone who cares, that this anxiety-ridden, book hoarding, show obsessing, loud satanic music blasting, three AM screaming, rebellious blue-haired loser with the problem child attitude, a death stare and eyebags thicker than Billie Joe Armstrong and Gerard Way’s eyeliner combined, the general behaviour of a mental patient diagnosed with schizophrenia and severe ADHD, and having the irritating tendency to not reply unlike a complete rhetorical sarcastic twat without getting allergic to formalities, is, insert dramatic Psycho violin chord here, surprise surprise! A sentient being capable of being a sappy little bitch (you may proceed to gasp and wipe away your tears with my greeting card after scolding me for using an expletive). My particular thorn in question is a raging problem that has left a scar tissue in your heart more times than the other roses you’ve cultivated, and still you don’t water my roots with poison laden concoction and shear my stem off ruthlessly with my own disturbing scissor collection to off me and get rid of the nuisance; instead, you spritz my face with more fertiliser, tentatively remove the weeds that stunt my development as it chokes me, and you help me continue to grow. I’m beginning to stop making sense here, and this is getting too sentimentally personal, and you would most likely whale on me the next morning for staying up late because we have to go to school tomorrow to clean up or some crap, so I’m very sorry for all my tribulations and for a million sins (yes, the fact that I decided to tactlessly blast out Mama on full loudspeakers on such a particular day included, whoops), and a thank you, more genuine than pirate gold and your signatures in the excuse letters I forged, for being here all the while and being a total headstrong badass about it. Okay, no, I can’t say the god forbidding L word yet *shudders*, but maybe I’ll save that for a later, less awkward prospect (what is with all the excessive L words in that sentence though?!). Here’s me paying my side of the dice. Thank you for everything and a gazillion virtues, and then some.

Happy mother’s day.

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