Tag Archives: art

Sensum Cacoëthes

I don’t want your body, but I hate to think about you with somebody else
Our love has gone cold, you’re intertwining your soul with somebody else
I’m looking through you while you’re looking through your phone
And then leaving with somebody else; no, I don’t want your body
But I’m picturing your body with somebody else…

~*~

Your flesh does not impress me

The way it arcs against your bones

Or how soft your face must feel

To be pressed feverishly to my own

I dare not dream of fathoms, nor

Embraces on long nights, lukewarm

My fingertips don’t itch to wander

Searching for quicksand to sink into

.

Show me the inside of your mind

Guide me past its strange labyrinths

What makes it yours, lull me with

Candid words you sing in your sleep

And let me know you beyond you

Beneath skin and blood and starlight

Constellating an ephemeral body

Let me hold you beyond lusted disillusion.

~*~

Get someone you love?
Get someone you need?
Fuck that, get money
I can’t give you my soul
‘Cause we’re never alone…

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likha

anong ipapalit

para sa iyo,

aking likha?

kalikasan sa

aking dibdib, mga

ugat na walang

daloy, pusong

hindi napakikinggan

berdeng kumupas

sa kayumanggi

at napintasan

animo kahel

ang bawat hibla

ng iyong buhok at tila

nababahala, mga

matang napuno

na ng dagat

haranang nawala

alingawngaw na lamang

ang natira

o, kanilang saya!

sa aking kalumbayan

landas na napariwara

sumiklab na ang

kalangitan sa

tila ng hiyas na ulan

wala akong nasalo

bukod sa

karamdaman na

aking naipilit

para lamang sa iyo,

aking likha

what will be sacrificed

for you,

my creation?

nature in my

chest,

veins without

cascade, a heart

falling on deaf ears

veridian fading out

to brown

and affronted

akin oranges,

each single strand

of your hair and perhaps

worrying, those

eyes filled up with

the ocean

a lost serenade

only echoes

remain

oh, their jubilance!

at my melancholy

a fate straying away

the skies have

conflagrated with

the slowing of

the crystalline rain

and i have caught nothing

except for

a fever that i

have forced upon

only for you,

my creation

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Synapses

My head’s like loopy strings and rubber bands, I try my best to keep it running smoothly but it tangles and snaps and that kinda gives me a migraine something awful, so I just stick pins and needles in my scalp and hope it will at least sew up a nice little embroidery for my dreams to enjoy tonight, or maybe pluck me a song I haven’t heard though these stretchy things aren’t really made for music but still, that would be quite nice now, wouldn’t it?

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Filed under Prose

Solus

i miss the solitude of comfort

the breathless etudes that waltzed

around my bruised wrists and

made me think of distal vagaries—

beyond the thought of epiphany

none so vague, fallen anechoic sigh

brackish, your ocean salt, i elude

without objection, spinning starlings

and maxims that barely touched

the very tip of your aquiline outlines

nostalgia for months long passed

though, it seems centuries, impaling

my wit’s ends and ensconcing me

in linen funeral wear; wary sunshine

stains the blinds as my lungs take

a convulsive hiatus, scheming against

better company, scant afterglows

and that abstract sensation of leaving

the confines of my home after all

the stars had long burned out and the

city has long moved away from me,

from beckoning me, call my siren song

my swan song, epoch of resolution…

breathing, i miss the comfort of solitude.

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Shades of You

Grey, that’s all there is now.

I used to be the brightest iteration of alizarin crimson, and I wore my lustrous colours proudly on my chest to disguise the bloody cancer secretly tearing irreparable holes inside my slowly-withering system. So bold and reckless I was, that soon I found myself losing full control and suddenly careening headfirst onto your blue brick wall, and well…the collision was more violent, more radiant, more spectacular than you and I and anyone else could ever begin to imagine. No freshest shade of unhealing bruise nor deepest sour of aged wine could ever compare to the stunning explosion of blinding indigo we left on the scene of the accident, that day. The perfect way your incandescent glows and mine contrasted together and exquisitely showered the atmosphere, it was rather exhilarating.

But like everything that’s been left out under the sun just a little too long, the vibrant hues we initially adored and reverently shared started to quietly fade; akin to a rampant disease viciously working its way past our frail bodies, fingertips first. We could do naught but weep dull stardust as we held ourselves together in the tightest embrace, in the desperate yet ultimately futile hopes that we could still preserve our deteriorating youth—that if we hid away well enough, we could keep even just a sliver, even just a sleepless teardrop, of the resplendent spectrum we once thought we would carry along with the siren songs of this universe forever.

But in the end, it was all for nothing.

Soon enough, you had strangely turned into a serpentine shade of lucid green, and my hazy eyes began to see nothing else but charcoal wastelands and bleeding ash. Oh, how we’ve both drastically changed. And maybe not quite for the better. Still, I don’t wish to stain your newfound emerald gleam with my obscene tenebrescence, so as much as it caused a solemn ache to my soulful bones, I decided to completely detach myself and stay away from you for the time being. Instead, I’ll simply attempt to completely capture your eternal likeness onto pure cotton canvas—resolutely translating all of those clashing galaxies and kaleidoscopic tones into softer stencils and lifeless monochrome.

Perhaps someday, if I blink the awaiting future away and press on my eyelids hard enough, it might conjure back even a stray phantom of the forgotten iridescence that your dull, graphite-sketched countenance used to boast; gentle pastels warmly seeping in and bringing back the dusky ochre in your hair, the cloudless afternoon horizons back in your irises, perhaps even reviving the blushing cosmos of your clever lips, boyish and lazily smug as it twists into an elegant sunflower smile. The worst kind. The kind I somehow find myself missing the most these days.

But for now, grey is the only undertone I unfortunately possess. And it’s the only way I could captivate your ephemeral memory to return home within my gossamer dreams night after night after night, until my tiring lungs finally let go of my last saved breath and I inevitably coalesce into a sepulchral heaven—a bleak, distorted paradise where I’ll be doomed to roam with fellow spirits of black and white, for deathless infinities to come.

And after then, after then…who will be left to remember your name?

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Filed under Prose

hinged

unskilled hands

work brush

work strings

work pen

to bad results

.

uncreative mind

plain person

simply no good

art plus work but

it never works

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Dame en Rouge

Si seulement elle savait comment
Comment tu la regardais elle serait effrayée
Si seulement elle savait comment
Comment tu l’imaginais elle pourrait t’abîmer
Mais laisse, laisse le temps
Il pourrait vous donner une chance de vous retrouver…

~*~

Lady in red

Rousing my dreams

You caught me by the mouth

And never let go

Until I deigned for more

To be the girl that you adored

To be the safest place

Behind locked doors in an

Endless maze

When her darkness

Played for another chase

Sweet words came flirting out

As scarlet as the lips

Leaving marks all over my face

And I wore them

Like the battle scars

Even though you clearly won

Me over and over me

You always left but I’m too far gone

Gone into this cold revelry

To find myself seeking for thrills

In a bottle of sleeping pills

Just so I could have a chance

To sweep you over for

Our final macabre danse

And when we both snuck away

For a cigarette, and perhaps a date

I found myself unwilling

To keep ourselves waiting but

The shadow woman

Then dared to violently strike

Shrieking for a cold-blooded fight

Wanting to take you back

And all away from this

Heartless madness

Maroon as the hands we held

And nearly tore

To try to keep intruders out

All before you sacrificed yourself

To save me from further

Having to quell their doubts

Desperately begging

Tears a tornado angrily swelling

You walked into her shadows

She laughed victoriously

You whispered a final farewell

I called your name

And I awoke—

A silent scream

Abrupt lamentation

Pained position

A hypnogogic confusion

Still searching for those poison eyes

To cripple my veins and

The sordid taste of chemical dye

As crimson as the

Lady in red

The reckless lover I never had

But always lost

I still wonder how

Only in my deepest nightmares did

I matter to you the most.

~*~

Mais tu voudrais qu’elle soit ta reine ce soir
Même si deux reines c’est pas trop accepté
Mais tu voudrais qu’elle soit ta reine ce soir
Toi, les rois tu t’en fous, c’est pas ce qui te plaît…

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Edvard

hold me

like your

instability

cigarette

smoke

.

transparent

secrecy and

arrogance

all exhaled

in one choke

.

hold me

like your

humanity

pinstripes

and gold

.

contemporary

insanity, perhaps

another one of

society’s terrible

collective jokes.

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a cup of warm tea; and the aftertaste of trauma

Sometimes I feel cold, even paralyzed
My interior world needs to sanitize
I’ve got to step through or I’ll dissipate…

~*~

the bitter of tea, the tang of lemon—and that subtle hint of summertime sweetness, melting into my tongue in one drowsy haze.

paint-stained hands clutch at the warm mug for dear life, and i take tentative sips and let the aromatic seasons dance around my mouth a bit, as if this very dark liquid itself was my final tether to this plane of existence.

perhaps, in some ways, it quite is.

the effect of sleepiness arrives to swoop me back in sluggishly, allowing me to momentarily lean back and stare blankly at the faces on the wall, all eager teeth and pastel craft paper, curling and fading all the way to wandering oblivion; but only a single smile really captured my absent mind’s attention. i wryly picture how it would look against later impressions of dirty blonde and crystalline azure, peeking rather shyly behind deep laugh lines and a few animated freckles peppered across pale skin, endearingly elusive.

sinking in; and sinking still. the effervescent mania that violently grabs me by the shoulders and dares to push its reckless fingers right in the middle of my tender ribcage, refusing to cease digging around until it finally hits something vital. lung, artery—the unfortunate heart itself, perhaps?

but—as i am melancholically assuaged—i am sure it will find only a hollow cavity where a beating organ used to rest. disappointed? not really. i’m painfully aware that already long ago have i been deemed one of the young naivetes who willingly sold it away, to someone who didn’t even know they were searching for damaged antiques. i practically gave it away for nothing.

and yet, where is it now?

is it gathering cracks and dents in someone’s mantlepiece, within a dusty old bungalow? is it buried lost under a child’s messy closet, along with broken toys and past innocence and all their other outgrown things? perhaps, has it already been traded away by its secondhand owner without a brief hesitant thought or a pause of chagrin, in exchange of a better, prettier, newer one?

ah, no matter…no matter. i no longer feel it anymore, anyhow.

cosmic snapshots. a feline grey and glimmering yellow eyes. lilting snatches of an unwritten song dedicated to the moon. murky rain dripping rhythmically from the plastered holes on the ceiling. a perfect pink photograph more potent than any flavour of tea or dosage of coffee, keeping me up well into the witching hours and then some. just another wordless poet. just another tired pen.

your bitter blue. my summertime sadness. the promise of morning, and nothing else.

~*~

And you know
You’re a terrible sight
But you’ll be just fine…

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Filed under Prose

impulse, and devoid (t/w)

I’m coughing up my time
Each drag’s a drop of blood
A grain, a minute of my life
It’s all I’ve got just to stay down
Why the fuck am I still down?

~*~

slit slit slit slit slit slit

how many this time?

metal is far too small

not enough to hit bone

grab a pair of scissors

and cut away all of the

excess weight—maybe

would they like me now?

gaping at naked vultures

repulsed but fascinated

no, i don’t want to be this

i want to be just like them

.

slit slit slit slit slit slit

a little bit of fluid goes

a long way, maybe this

time i could count it out

everything counts, but all i

have is a bunch of ugly cells

with no ounce of self-control

fucking dragging me down

i’m exhausted, hungry, numb

huh, i really do wonder why

metal’s slowly getting dulled out

maybe this time it would work

~*~

I’m hoarding all that’s mine
Each time I let just one slip by
I’m wasting what is mine
Goodbye to you, goodbye to you
You’re taking up my time…

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Filed under Poetry