Tag Archives: 5 AM

tipsy musical notes

So I take the long road to think and wonder
Why I can’t sleep with all this sunlight
If there’s still evidence of us
Why can’t that be enough?

~*~

five a.m. serenades

with a smile that’s built

on the colour of dawn

and a soul that’s stabbed

with voodoo needles

crying blood in the distance

screaming out the name

that it shall nevermore have

annihilating love begging

please, please, please

darling bring me back all

my quagmire stars and

never leave me stranded at

the back of your head

oh darling, please stay away

and fucking come closer

.

five a.m. serenades torturing

spinning the rotary arteries

nonreciprocal delusions

hurting me so fucking much

the cyanide in my tongue

begging please, please, p l e a s e

drown me in the madness

murder the blue moon again

to make me lust for more of dusk

and darling, oh please, please

please don’t depart this brainsick heart

without a final limerent requiem

ending with our mishap beginnings

and shove sunlight in my lungs

to keep me barely breathing

so i could feel your pain some more.

~*~

I’m guiding your chin to my lips
Using only my fingertips
All we have are parking lots and nowhere to go
If you love me, then show me more…

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Verse End Chorus

“But it’s gone too far, your butane mouth will spit me into flames
Sorry ’bout it, I can’t help it, I’m an anarchist in love…”

~*~

just how much do

i admire every

verse and chorus?

darling, it’s lethal

like the catalyst

to a stained disease

and intruders

leaving footsteps

all over my red arteries

distractions of

the remedy dangling

behind the knives

at the very edge

of all my fingertips

dislocating broken bones

hurting me madly

yet i suffer jubilantly

if only for sedition.

and i do not lust

for tactless fantasies

it’s just far too artificial

and segmented

and drawling cliché

for me to take in earnest;

the scissors bite

deeper within my veins

and my blood is far

more crimson than pale

for such contrivance.

this adoration of mine

is unconditional

and a cold withdrawal

and it is sempiternal

as their mercurial eyes

taint my clouds

and crash them again,

affecting a hazier

fog in my ponderings,

painting my day with gold,

disturbing my nights

with daydreams.

though; i do not seek

superficiality, nor

the obscenity, nor

an intravenous

palette of emotions

to fulfill my sorrows,

contradict confrontations,

and substitute for

my own subconscious.

i’m too wasted to

be sober on the lights

of a reluctant soul

i’m intoxicated again…

i stray from orbital passion

yet i am drawn into

each unspoken reverie

and my limerence

is quite liquid and lithe

as it paints the lettered canvas

for their blank horizon.

and dear, i can simply hope

to sell all of my stars to

remain in the cheap seats

wishing that someday,

your songs will stretch

past the universe of infinity

and reach my eyes—

and i’m fervently faithful that

in another eternal dawn,

i shall gather enough sturdy rungs

in my concatenated ladder

to finally reach my melancholy

darling blue moon.

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metal & skin (xxiv.)

one cut

a weaker beginning, but you’re just starting

three cuts

that’s the charm, as searing pain is settling

five cuts

is that all you can take? is that all you can take?

seven cuts

how much, how much more can you make?

ten cuts

easy, over, and out, it’s like riding a bike now

fifteen cuts

it’s all a distant, tranquilising blur somehow

twenty cuts

you have reached your own personal record

twenty-two cuts

and went past it; dare you break the accord?

twenty-six cuts

it’s a complete mess of blood and medicine

thirty cuts

too numb to give a fuck, you ceased caring

thirty-three cuts

your arm’s as pale as your cotton blanket

thirty-eight cuts

maybe you’ve crossed the line, but screw it

forty cuts

so indulged, and you just can’t fucking stop

forty-four cuts

because you know it will never be enough

forty-nine cuts

for it’s not really the quantity that matters

fifty cuts

but just how fucking far you dare to go deeper.

fifty-one cuts and counting…

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happy thoughts, happy thoughts, happy thoughts…

i also want

to write about

positive things

and happy thoughts

and dainty memories

full of floral words

and eloquent hearts

dripping like pastel

raindrops off my mouth,

but how can one do so

if all he has is a black pen

piercing the chambers of

his black-bled heart?

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I wanna be the tattoo ink that swims down through the needle in your skin

I wish I was poisonous
Like a bottomless sound
Like a violent drug
Do you remember the knife I kept?
The sharper it got, the more
You wanted me to use it…

~*~

The night sings in slow motion, a stagnant riot of a melancholy latin church chorus resonating past the intricate stained glass windows, the flourishing finale guitar lick of a spanish melody that makes one’s heart leap past the curtains of complete composure. It was a rare opportunity to pause from life and a welcoming silence to embrace, and I was taciturn and brooding as I rested leisurely by the window ledge, smoking a Cuban cigar and contemplating panoply discussions rather thoughtfully. The breeze pushed past my weaning figure roughly like an impatient passerby, and for a moment, I appeared to teeter like a child on a seesaw, yet the fall at the other end never arrives to weigh down and elevate me back into several tangible seconds of an innocent bliss. There was no avoirdupois balance to bring my poised dangling toes back to touching the soft cool earth, apart from my own sanity, which always felt to me as gossamer as Arachne’s bone-white sumptuous silken hair.

And that’s all it takes for me to fall.

You weren’t there. You were never there. Last night you awoke in a disgusting bathroom stall on the underground tube, heaving your guts out to the non-too-catchy tune of the robotic announcer’s grumbles of ″Mind the gap.″ blaring through ancient dusty static speakers. Today you clutched a lock of your chewed trichobezoar hair along with a half-full bottle of Smirnoff and fell asleep under the kitchen table, next to the cupboards containing the jar of my uningested sleeping pills and your used ammonia and muriatic acid. But I was there. I was always there. I was the one who drove all night to find you and ran through four red lights to get you to the emergency room, and I was the one who spent several nights in a filthy cell at the police precinct, and paid in cash for both hospital bill and bail alike. Tonight, I’m the one who delicately carried you up a flight of spiral stairs and tucked you in meticulously on the cool bed that I fixed, and cleaned up the mess you made on the checkered linoleum tiles downstairs. You wrecked, I repaired. We cancelled each other out.

Just another usual midnight scene in this household.

I took a long drag and blew a sophisticated whorl of hazy plumes in spiced smoke, as the stars behind their screen of fumes appeared to shimmer a faltering skeletal grey, like a waning spectral hallucination. I always pondered dear, why our tongues, once a tangled and byzantine affair wherewithal, akin to the finest spool of golden thread, are now mondegreen against silver blades, screeching as it collides with the other, unpleasant and tinnitus-inducing. I was a halcyon sun. You were a hedonistic black hole. Prayers against passion, felicity to furtive, love over lust, gambol or glamour, inspiring despotically versus indulging decadently. It was always imbrications of forbearance, an insalubrious provocation of two people on the opposite side of the boxing ring, fists clenched, knuckles raised, prepared to throw the first punch with a ring of the bell. I wondered why I was so attracted to a dangerous force. I wonder now if I am a magnet, repelled by the same force, gravitating towards my polar opposite, difficult to leave once it pulls me into its charms and mysterious allures.

…No more shall I be fettered to you.

With a lassitude I wasn’t quite aware I possessed, I senselessly bit down on the tattoo of your flowery name embedded into my dermis, tearing with crooked dull stares onto the unflinching moon and gnashed dull teeth tearing numbly at the surface. I kept at the insane task until all that’s left are rancid shreds of muscle and skin, a rusty stormed bleeding out of oxidised scarlet dissolving against indelible black, the wound gaping wide like a mouth frozen in a scream. I didn’t flinch nor whimper, neither yelled nor reacted, throughout the immense pain of it all. I may have cried, but only because the winds were getting pervasive against my trophy eyes, and every droplet of tears that fell on the raw savaged cut stung badly like the astringent words you slurred to me before you passed out. With every bite I tore out of my maimed arm, it felt like an absolution, the atonement of your sins on my understudy role. My redolence was always an envious fragrance, but somehow your alcohol breath and sultry sweat manages to linger chokingly, stubbornly sticking in my skin like this godforsaken tattoo. It was all for you, all for you and more, do you understand?

But not everything is permanent, sweetheart. Not this night, not your name writ in pain…not my blinded sentiments for you.

I finally ceased with my thermonuclear breakdown, quit rending myself apart, physically and emotionally-wise. It was no use, yet I felt strangely cathartic. The effect was a chill down my spine that jolted lightning and candy-coloured breaths through my frosted oxygen, a shudder of a bittersweet one-night stand under the deathless Vegas lights, a morbid fascination of an angel standing solemnly in the morgue. The searing pain began to settle tauntingly in my tattered nerves, and it seethed as I wiped the blood off my lips, quite familiar to the taste of it all, reverting the vibrant colour of my mouth into its usual sickly pale pallor, creating an eerie Rorschach test of a splattered heart imprinted on my ivory-washed sleeves. These wounds I inflicted on myself shall heal. This ragged white shirt you bought for me on my birthday two years ago, I can drown in chlorine and detergent to get rid of the stains. The scar tissue that will be left, I can learn to tolerate, to ignore, to simply accept and live with. I am, at the best of the optimistic prospects despite my elsewhere wayward actions, free.

So why does the thought of you still fucking hurt?

But no. You were still resting in my bed, corporeal and very much concatenated to reality, and I can’t erase you like I did so to your inked name ever so brutally. You looked so goddamn beautiful as you slept through everything cozily, soundly dreaming of a million raining halo lights of neon glow in oblivion; and I was bloodied, jaded, and sunken as I watched the remaining shards of my waxen mutilated skin flutter downwards like grotesque snowflakes in dessication. I leaned in closer for a better view, almost losing my hold on the ledge and falling, as the scintilla pieces of a fractal violence and shorn sadism began billowing downwards elegantly and dispersed murmurously into the open salty breeze. Soon it shall waft out and travel farther than I’ve ever been, to a faraway fantasy land where some foolish child will stick their quivering tongue out and catch the puzzle pieces of the letters of your name between their grinning teeth, a poetic crassness. Fragments of you, that’s all that remains.

And that’s all that’s sempiternal.

~*~

I was lying to you
But you were lying too
So what’s left to do, what’s left to say?
Stop making friends, just us
I’ll decompose with you…

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Se Faire Jour

This is the dawn

That will take the night

A somnolence

For the halogen lights

Liquor breaths

And purpling day sight

This is the dawn

That will take my life.

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Civ and Cent

I’m so deluded

By your mirror

In the stones

When I met

You, suddenly

I was alone

Wit that stabs

Souls in and

The corner wall

Words that glow

Coalesced as

It quaintly falls

The stars will

Be yours for

The taking

You look sick

But I thought

You’re faking

Floral shirts

Faded trousers

And fixed hair

What happened

To the cap boy

Without a care?

But somehow

The bloodstains

Appear better

Than your silver

Nosering and

Black sweater

A voice as soft

As linen and

Cotton pillows

You change

The pulse that

The wind billows

On blurs of

Bowling balls and

Pinball machines

Waltzing girls

That knock you

Like bowling pins

You drive me

Off the cliff and

Onto the sun

The boy with

Misadventures

And on you stun.

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Theriaca

It spread like a virus

As potent as poison

As deadly as venom

Touch contamination

It spread like plague

And hurt me like hell

But it worked a charm

Healed me like a miracle.

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PvP

One wrong move at the dice

Two players with severe damage

Exacerbated with cold lies

They began tearing at the page

And the slight infection grew

Into a poisonous hatred deep

Infesting within the heartstrings

Until hardened were both to keep

But siphon off all the bad blood

With a white plastic spoon

Though I’m not saying it’s okay

Or gone any time or any soon

But perhaps the colliding friction

That clashed, made sparks

And burned off the connections

Leaving black scorch marks

My house of sand thus crumbled

When your foundations fell

I drowned in my own misanthropy

As wind kicked around shrapnel

And crying eyes that were hit

Viewed the world through a slit

This self-destructive nature of I

Collateral damage increased high

But there’s a chance at the point

And resuscitations of helium

To unfog the coalescing parties

Of dislike and transient delirium

Overturned chessboards cleared

And they reinstated parcheesi

Things seem to be in some order

So I’ll find an opponent, maybe

It’s 5 AM and I’m stupidly stuporic

And intoxicated with caffeine

But hell, what sober me would do

For another turn at our game.

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