Tag Archives: anxiety

Dead To You

It starts as a simple thought
And grows, eats you alive
You choke and you spit
But you can’t get the taste
Out of your mouth
Don’t you know it’s with you
Until the end…

~*~

You hang my stretched guts up high on the rafters

But I love the crass style of this never-ever-after

The pink in my cheeks is from blood on the water

So go ahead and drag my corpse down the sewers

The rats will enjoy feasting on my faded colours

.

You string me quite taut with the sonic turnover

Mania shredding too fast, that I then begin to wonder

If I’m not just another victim which you won’t remember

But maybe that’s asking for far too much, loathsome bother

So I’ll go and fake my late autopsy just so you can sound clever.

~*~

You fight back with all you have
Denying your intellectual cell
It’s a race against time
It’s a fight you can’t win
You should know it is with you
Until the end…

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fine [print]

With me understand
These patterns
How can you live forced
Into parallel lines
All functioning under
The same mind?

~*~

i’m so tired

that my skin

is beginning

to drip off my

bones and pool

on the ground

and i think my

brain’s going bad

again, it’s curling

up in a corner and

it doesn’t want to

be found out now

.

the rushed high

felt fun, but it’s

quickly wearing off

and the usual numb

is back and oh, it’s

more numb than ever

i thought i was going

to be fine, and it’s staying

that way if i really tried—

but is that just another

one of my famous lies?

will life never feel alive?

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Jouska (pointless monologue)

Closed doors, locked in, no keys
Keeping my feelings hidden
There is no ease, I need it to stop
And I want to be able to open up but
My feelings are fatal…

~*~

This much, I know, we will never be alone together.

I couldn’t ever bring myself to attempt to catch up

With you; quietly fearing this trembling uncertainty of

Completely tiring myself down with the futile chase

Only to find out that I arrived in dead-set last place,

So I’ll just allow you to leave me behind instead, as it is.

It just feels like the more happiness you’re getting,

The less of you I could have for myself—and though

I can’t and won’t deprive you of the things you’ve fully

Well deserved for a long time, I also can’t stop

Myself from being such a selfish machine, stupidly

Begging for something far beyond my taut reach,

Inadvertently trapping myself and wailing in anguish

When I have to chew at my own leg just to get out of it—

I just can’t stop myself from giving a damn about you.

But I guess that’s fine. You will never find me out anyway, and

Even if short-lived and shortsighted, I still dearly cherish

What little euphoric glimpses I had of your attention, even

If it meant nothing, I only wish nothing but the very best for you,

And I could only hope that this teaches me a final lesson;

One last acrid pill to swallow, hope I don’t choke this time,

No more. I could only ever endure too much. Please. Not anymore.

The more you feel alive, the more I slowly wither away inside,

But I couldn’t hate you for that. I could never hate you at all…

It’s not your fault I keep fucking losing control of myself.

~*~

How many times must I keep it inside
I need to let go and I swear that I’ve tried
But opening up means trusting others
And that’s just too much, I don’t want to bother
So I’ll keep it inside and bury it deep
I know it’s not healthy, but you won’t hear a peep…

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Deathwatch

There’s no point in hiding the truth from a freak

She let her arms swell as he took a big bite, let it stick

So that the vessel ropes he could find a little easier

And all that remains would mean nothing else to her

.

Does it hurt this much to be okay? Am I all that will be gone?

Her questions were relentless, and his curt answers stung

All he could tell was that blood’s quite softer than water

And clorox swirls down the drain just a little bit slower

.

Don’t find me out yet, I’m still purging all of my guilt

Grey is just something when all these pills taste like filth

Her stomach emptied as his was filled, one more for the road

But pray don’t slip on the wet tiles, though comfortingly cold

.

Get out of that fucking phase! Are you just dying for style?

Well, I love you too mother dearest, you won’t be yelling for a while

An attention seeking bitch, just can’t be more like the others

You’re only ever good with your head submerged underwater

.

And so what if I am? Why, would I look bad in your final will?

Her spite crammed the walls and the shadows were thrilled

He stayed silent, quite cautious, let the anger be his chance

If it’s only to prove your point to me, then I know my own stance

.

Teethmarks stuck vicariously to the mould like their grotesque signature

His embrace was eternally automatic, and she was just a friendly reminder

Because really, what was the point? We’re just a bunch of deadweight freaks

But she made sure to stick out her arms and wear the truth on her sleeve.

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unwanted

Watching the wings cut through the clouds
Watching the raindrops blinking red and white
Thinking of you back on the ground
There with a fire burning in your eyes
I only halfway apologized…

~*~

all you ever do

is fuck things up

with your grating noise

and bleed them dry

with your social razors

and yet you wonder

why you’re always

the last choice?

leave your duct taped

smiles all over the

peeling wall, before

you complain they don’t

know you at all

and force your feet

to dance like mad blowflies

decaying under heat

they won’t notice it’s a lie

a sour abandonment

burns the roof of your mouth

does it hurt not to care?

or to be cared about?

scratching at your arms

like that would take it away

quiet redness blossoms

but the scars look okay

so when you pull out

a cold disappearing act

rest assured they’re all tired

and glad you’ve stopped

because you’re insufferable

all you ever do is fuck things up

so, what do you say?

won’t you do everyone a

favour and please go away?

they won’t need you.

they never needed you.

they don’t fucking need you.

go away. go away. g o . a w a y .

~*~

So I’ll be sorry for now
That I couldn’t be around
There are things we have to do
That we can’t stand
Oh, I’ll be sorry for now
That I couldn’t be around
There will be a day that
You will understand…

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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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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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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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Doubt Is Failure By Design

We’re born to fuck everything up, I guess.

No one asked for this. I’m like a festering scar on the dysfunctional mind of a starving shark who mercilessly shoved me overboard, and my flailing limbs are weighed down with rocks and paralysed with guilt, with shameful culpability, with the handed-down heirloom of a cursed name—a mere letter and punctuation away from completely unpronounceable—come now, black sheep, where’s your fucking wool?

Absolutely deplorable. Every success-story sycophant resolutely cringes away as if touched by the devil’s acid itself, their gold-plated stomachs turning at the mere mention of us, rolling diamond eyes watering viciously at the sight of our squalid hands reaching out to extinct stars and begging for a shred of respite, if any at all, overfed jesters laughing like relentless hyenas at the classic repertoire of victimised beggars choosing to be losers. No change. No mercy. Miserable. We asked for it, didn’t we?

I take a single step into the path I meticulously measured before finally deeming to be correct, and end up breaking somebody’s weak spine instead; clumsy foot easily slicing through vertebrae like a sharpened sword through snowfall. Another mistake. Another cautionary tale. I hear my dead ancestors wail a steady plangent caterwaul, as they eternally scream and admonish me from beyond the depths of inferno and then perhaps some—from where I shall soon be sharing their fate as I join in with their ever-familiar sickly cries. Another generation. Another bad blood. It’s almost comforting, now.

Oh, well. We fucking saw it coming and let it happen anyway, didn’t we?

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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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