Tag Archives: awake

vanilla iced coffee (for archer.)

haze of rosy dusk

a quick afternoon nap

dreams about cake

a yawning drowsy cat

.

deeper lilac sprawling

to flood the sky with stars

sketch in colour pencil

now to finish and restart.

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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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Locked-In

Tell me, did your throat close up

When fingers wrapped around it like

Marionette strings, spindly and ready

To be pulled and consumed, or did

You get a final chance to scream?

.

Did your dear friends pick up your call

Or did your neighbours come a-knocking

When you showed up with purple bruises

On the underside of your crooked blank stare

Or your the therapist dismiss it as insomnia?

.

When the comatose finally began, and your

Rigid flesh contracted as if doused with ice

Water, as you didn’t even take a hot second

To shiver and whimper, dreaded rigor mortis

Taking over, did you try to wake yourself up?

.

Tell me, were your glassy eyes still open

When they stuffed you in that metal box

And the starving flames licked at your body

God’s merciful wrath your only sanctity, or

Were you lucky enough to blink just one last time?

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wake-up call

it’s 6 a.m.

i’m nursing

a three-day

migraine as

i clutch onto

my half-empty

coffee mug

afraid that i may

completely slip

out of sanity,

lest i keep hold;

on the messy

unfinished sketch

of the face i’ll

never get to

hold close to

mine, except for

these subtler

moments of

mourning—

when my

creased-up

forehead

lightly touches

against the

paper, beneath

the shaky table;

catatonically tired

from carrying

along the weight

of the world

that wasn’t mine

to ever exist in.

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Dumb Little Distractions

I can’t sleep.

And I don’t want to sleep.

Although dreams are

The best reality I have

Right now, it’s also easier

To delude and distract

Myself thinking that

Time will go by considerably

Slower, if I were to stay

Awake for the entire night,

And come next morning,

I’ll be too desensitised

And too tired to even worry

About the very things that

Plagued me to insomnia—

A perfect irony.

For now, I’ll laugh myself numb.

For now, I’ll sip cold coffee

And gorge myself on sugary

Treats and asinine videos

So that later today,

I could pretend that I’m still alive.

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nocturnes, numbers, nyctophilia

It meant nothing to him any longer, only a faint tinge of sadness—and somewhere within him, a drop of pain moving briefly and vanishing, like a raindrop on the glass of a window, its course in the shape of a question mark. ~Atlas Shrugged, Ayn Rand

~*~

i.) the jealous penmanship

clever words left tears forming in my brain

ones that i have to open up my healing bruises

just so i could let them out somewhere

somewhere my veins wouldn’t be affected severely

(it was late at night, and my stars called out from nowhere)

sensations poured out from every letter and departure,

as it entangled itself with my nerves and wore them down,

and wore them like a dirty dress, and wore them out to town

until they were worn-out; nothing but a few stray threads.

i burned half of my journals when i turned 16 and stopped trying

to imitate being an author, because writing for me isn’t an expectation–

it’s nothing but another puzzling lock without a skeleton key

and because the most delicate daydream wasn’t mine

because selfishness, to me, is not just another bland adjective

because my bones screamed with the weight of a black hole

because your reveries were enchanting. and mine were f a d e d

n o , i ‘ l l  n e v e r  b e  a s  g o o d  a s  y o u

~*~

ii.) softness, like his heart in the shape of a newborn galaxy

i faded into an ugly shade of something that’s neither monochrome nor coloured;

on the verge of collapsing onto the other side of the fence, threatening madly

but never quite having the contemplation to choose a losing side

as i fell down into the blue of a stranger’s wanderlust eyes.

someone else had taken most of that vibrant shade already, but i managed

to steal away just a sliver, a glimpse, an infinitesimal shiver

and it was the kind of lasting cold that froze summer hurricanes

and kept my breaths visibly foggy and crisply sharp with every inhale

(you never warned me. you don’t know me, but you knew me too well. and i never listen.)

i’ll always be an insignificant detail in the cyan tapestry you painted for yourself

and i’ve accepted that long ago when i said i loved you in my nightmares,

tossing and turning on the bed covered in plastic arrogance because

no other blanket felt warm and comfortable enough for my body to sleep on

until then, i could only sink deeper into the fathomless wish that this universe would end s o o n

i t  w a s  a  k i n d  o f  l o v e  t h a t  m a d e  s u i c i d e  s o u n d  l i k e  m u s i c

~*~

iii.) an abrupt goodbye/the guilty party often disappears first

i was mad at something. i didn’t know what it was, but it was foolish enough

for me to take it out onto the embracing autumn sky, on the taciturn smiles that

were supposed to hold me when tempestuous desolation grabbed at my twisted throat…

and on you. you never meant anything. you just wanted to talk, and so did i,

but my tongue was a spilling box of blades, and every time i opened my

wounded mouth to make you laugh, i always ended up cutting you by accident instead.

(friend, even if i said i’m sorry, can you ever forgive me for what i’ve done to you?)

it was an unreasonable apology, and i erased myself because of my own self-hatred,

but not before leaving footprints of a migraine in your head, which you will inadvertently step on,

slip at, and hurt yourself…fuck. i don’t know why i’m like this. i don’t know why i have

to push and pull apart the only semblance of logic in my life, the only anchor

that keeps me from towing away from the tides, the last person that still feels real to me

when everything else has blurred into an amalgamated indistinct static background;

i don’t know why i feel so smothered, when you’re the only attention i’ll ever have and need.

at this point, the only thing we have is each other’s problems, and the way we both

jeered at it, taunted it, and blocked it out with our own shared playlists until we felt better—

but now that summer was just a distant memory, and so was the scarlet artwork we made of it.

you also needed comfort. but did even try? no. i ran away from the colliding wreckage

as if it wasn’t my fault, and i numbed myself out because i couldn’t do the same for y o u

i ‘ m  s o r r y  i  m a d e  y o u  s a y  s o r r y  s o  m u c h . . .

i  d i d n ‘ t  m e a n  t o  d e s t r o y  e v e r y t h i n g

~*~

iv.) the midnight closes. the violent curtain falls.

the cold glow of my computer screen was rude and restless

and it made my fingers promise, crossed and uncrossed, that i would

stay with it until it slips into comatose. i have rinsed my mouth with lukewarm water

a hundred times to try to wash out the taste of stale coffee, but it never came out and now

i’m stuck with it until morning, until another astrological moon cycle, until i lose

myself in the chemical moments of something that’s so artificially natural.

i’m constantly starving myself, stuck between confidence and relapsing withdrawals of

my past life that i thought i discarded when i finally held on to my shooting star,

but it was always tethered tightly to me by a crimson string. and it always probably will be.

i’m alone. i’m friends with people that talk shit to me in the mirror, and when i bite

my chapped lips and draw blood by accident, it almost feels like atonement. almost.

(i got what i came for and i can’t try again. this is what i want…..isn’t it?)

i know that there are people out there making fun of me and rolling their eyes

petulantly as they bask in the trite, whimsical “perfection” of their storybook existence

but not everything has a happy ending, and not every sad story has to end badly.

i don’t know. i’ll never know. i’m tired and i have responsibilities that i’m not

built for, and every crack turns into a break, and a break into shattered p i e c e s

t o m o r r o w  i ‘ l l  d o  t h i s  o v e r  a g a i n  .  u n t i l  i  r u n  o u t  o f  t o m o r r o w s .

~*~

v.) nocturnes.

( a n d  i ‘ l l  s t a y  h e r e )

u n t i l  i  r u n  o u t  o f  n u m b e r s  t o  c o u n t ,

a n d  t h o u g h t s  t o  f e e l ,

a n d  n i g h t s  t o  s t a y  a w a k e .

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Nightlight

This headache could be ended right now

And not a naive soul would even notice it

Besides the bedroom walls that whispered

About the blunt blades and sharp knuckles

That passed by them when every midnight

Grew dim and solitary and far too mindless,

And the innocent child that held violence as

Their only form of staying awake to stay alive

Caused them pain over and over and over again.

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Colourblind Memory

And when I see you
I really see you upside-down
But my brain knows better
It picks you up and turns you around
Turns you around, turns you around
If you feel discouraged
That there’s a lack of color here…

~*~

It was an easy kind of self-destruction; the one I never had to beg for.

After a few nights of staying awake and listening to cheaply-constructed songs on the static radio, I was already haunted. Copper chain links that stabbed at the fictional horizon and left unstitched scars on the exposed wind. Shy vespertine flowers that bloomed in the most coruscant spectrums, but only when no weeping eye was there to witness their exquisite grandeur and compose concerto symphonies about it. An infinite, arrogant, wakeless kind of blue that rivaled every transatlantic and pacific direction that I chased; but, unlike the oceans of this planet so drenched and cold and jaded to the bone, no one is ever able to cross it, and no one ever will.

And violet. A damnable shade, akin to roses-not-reds and forget-me-nots, that violet. A bleeding, dirty kind of violet that left filthy, undecipherable Roschach stains everywhere. Splattering the bruises of my halted tongue, shading the asphyxiation of my untouched lips, violently overtaking the rock-steady sorry secret that was divulged and diluted all too late. It painted a tragedy that only the most damaged and paranoid artists could understand, and rending shreds of the purest agony down my colliding ribs that not even the most genius maestros and starving dilettantes could begin to dissect; for it was a foreign anatomy. A different unknown. A beyond the beyond. It was brutally twisted inside my veins and gauchely discarded somewhere in between sense and sanctuary, photographed and arrested in another postcard vintage lie. I could write graphite letters at the back all I want, but I’ll never swim away from the indigo waves in front. It was our holiday memory, drowning me again and again and again.

Absolutely useless. It couldn’t aid my breathing. It couldn’t save my sleeping. It was a disease that was highly susceptible only to my atrophied words and comatosed syllogisms—the same unfortunate ones that are now leaving my chafed fingers but never my wornout mind, like you, like you, like you.

Unrelenting. Unsuspending. Unending.

All my colours were inverted. And no one can turn it back the right way.

If there even was one.

~*~

Please don’t worry, lover
It’s really bursting at the seams
For absorbing everything
The spectrum’s A to Z
This is fact, not fiction
For the first time in years…

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Mister Misery

I stare at the world and see it as a miserable smile;

The kind that leaves taciturn strangers wondering whether it was genuine at all.

.

My eyes feel numb and sore from watching everything unfold like a labyrinth

But no matter how hard I try, I can’t close my eyes and dream again.

.

So I grasp at the lying nightmares constricting my throat and hope

That this time, I won’t have to choke on the truth anymore—

.

But the world’s still full of strangers with miserable smiles and numb eyes

Still wondering. Still awake. Still unable to breathe.

.

And I am one of them.

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I Don’t See It

Oh, I don’t forget every time you say
We’ll have the life that we pinned up on our wall
Can’t push the future back another day
‘Cause we been waiting for so long…

~*~

Give me a moment to burn

So I could learn to stay awake

If I had planets inside my lungs

I wouldn’t ever let them turn

.

And I’m making paper cranes

Out of magazines and yellow pages

Pushing back the future I thought

I’ve been building high for ages

.

The authenticity can grow tiring

And the static channels memerising

But I can only wait and wilt again

Feeling thorns wrap around my skin

.

So just show me what you meant

When the promise entered my brain

Like another bad syringe injection

But with a higher dose of pain

.

So I could stop burning dishonestly

For the sake of asking for bad company

If I had room for faith inside the sun

I’d keep it in the dark—that way, it’s more fun.

~*~

I’ll let you promise worlds to me
And you can take the lead, if you show me what you mean
We can build this life we dream of
I don’t wanna wait, making plans for yesterday…

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