Tag Archives: blue

rusty mailbox

you’ve got that

american blue in the very pits

of your iris,

and sometimes it feels

almost electric

but i know i’ll just end up

with a black eye if i

keep on staring

i’m not usually this brand of rude

but i can’t help it

if i’m cliché suckered

by that beach-at-early-gentle-dusk

kind of blond,

figure i could still taste

sea salt in my throat if i inhaled

hard enough

maybe you’re afloat

waiting for

a false breakwater romance

drowning siren song

with a hateful kinda endearment

and speaking of

you hate sports and my visual arts

but you like virtuous

green heroes

and staying up for 38 hours

and i like monochrome serial shows

and the number of

sweets i could still spell out

if i threw your full name

in an anagram machine and let it

run wild, here’s one:

cotton candy

maybe that’s no fun for you

don’t worry, it’s no fun

for me either

but it’s always fun to dream a bit

afternoon stargazing

spitting grey fur

overthinking about it some more

buttercup, that’s not one

but i quite like it pinned on your hair

if you won’t mind

i don’t live near a garden

but we could always find some way

or another

to quote a reference

for something

you probably don’t listen to—or do you?—

i’m never gonna see it

all in bloom

because now

it’s almost late spring

(summer ’round my axis)

and not fantasy football season

and i think i love you

all the same

so maybe i’ll just stretch

out my stiff spine

write a generic letter with no

return address

and turn the unplugged television on

just to see how it all

pans out.

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anglerfish

tiny anchors around my soft waist

pull me under—it was all my

fault, for i’d swallowed them whole

.

the bottom of the ocean holds

great pressure, and strange creatures

constructed of paper and bones

.

poking, prodding, peeking out

beyond their weary calcium sneers

yet they look so fascinating to me

.

whilst the absence of sun has long

bleached their complexion to a

ghastly paleness, the kind i would

.

literally die for, and only the barest

hints of trembling oxygen occasionally

bubble out of their thin blue lips

.

perhaps their anchors had long dissolved

and they’ll rise to the surface soon—maybe

if i embraced the cold, i’ll finally be one of them.

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wanderlust

you are

raindrops

trickling into

my blood

.

the sight of

the new world

after a long

tiring voyage

.

rusty chain links

rattling against

the street youth’s

scuffed shoes

.

five thousand

ways to say

maybe i like

the way you are

.

warm sunset

trapped in

a mason jar

and buried

.

an innocent

kind of swear

the one that

draws a blush

.

the humming

at the back of

a sad song

in b flat minor

.

a ticklish

kind of green

sticky clumps

of feline fur

.

the start of

a good movie

a back-alley

kind of kiss

.

a saturday

forgotten

a leap year

birthday blues

.

argonaut dreams

and cosmic hail

and candle wax

and old poetry

.

you are all

these things

and more, but

you are not

.

h e r e

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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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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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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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Mirage

Alright. Alright.

Let’s keep it simple. Let’s dissolve the convoluted hyperboles with a dose of sedating fentanyl and simply look the problem straight in its eyes.

Blue.

Not just pastel or skylight or marine or brilliant or midnight or cobalt or baby blue, no. But the kind of blue that makes any other shade of blue look lifelessly grey. The kind of blue you left me with watery gazes and sinkholes, when you left your thoughts to fester unstoppably in mine. The very kind of blue I never thought I’d hate to love.

Until now.

Sometimes, it faintly tastes of the tranquil oceanic breeze, and I could rest easy by the lonely bayside as I let my wandering thoughts ponder cautiously. Tiptoes clumsily traipsing against curious hope and lukewarm sand, fallen horizons blushing a pallid sunset orange, caught smiling unaware whenever I chance upon the nuanced way you adored every delicate brushstroke on the canvas I painstakingly laid out for you; an artist cursed to draw the same portrait forever.

Sweet. Bitter. Nothing.

Sometimes, it’s destructive blizzards all at once; mental violence haphazardly spitting ammunition directly into my targeted chest, turning me into a tattered tapestry of miserable fury—barely fit to be called human. My mind wails and shrieks as it rakes its bladed nails down my spine, coming undone at the uncontrollable paranoia that the very same paintings which brought your attention to my existence would now cause you to draw loathing deep into my skin; an artist blessed to despise their own creations forever.

Tantrums. Bloody. Everything.

My convictions are constantly wavering, my tessellated identity shattering into stagnant fractals if I even so much shed a sliver of you off of my armour, and the overgrown thorns that once quietly infected my lungs sting a whole lot worse when I try to pull them out. So I lie between my gritted chemical teeth and pretend it’s for the best, but no amount of feigned reassurance will ever quell the tormented pangs writhing inside of me, wrenching badly-stitched arteries apart again and crushing my fragile bones to silver dust. Irreparable.

Useless. Helpless. Hopeless.

And still, that blue—god, that damned kind of blue—so vividly engraved behind my closed eyelids like a restless epitaph. Keeping me wide awake and screaming silently in the cramped jail cell I call my home as it softly lulls me off into perpetual sleep. Far away from the echoes of the observable universe, and everyone else, and nothing else. Your inimitable shade of blue.

The kind I hate I love.

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blizzards

it’s 3 a.m.

why does it

still hurt

everywhere

nowhere

now here—

months don’t

fade like

you do,

like your

blue so vivid

sweet oh sweet

oh no…oh.

why do i

do this when

i know it’ll

only deprive

me of oxygen

bruised skin

lost in your

aether, cold

forever

and ever

and ever

and never.

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Filed under Poetry

Don’t Let Your Destiny Escape You

These hands hold up nothing but scars underneath
From swimming these oceans and learning to breathe
So often I tell them, so often they listen to me
So make me strong, there’s blood on my hands
But the killer’s not my enemy, it’s all for the sake of love, it’s all for you…

~*~

You spoke to me like an avalanche

That buried me in rocky trysts and throes

And cut my palms, you held so tight

I wished my numb hands could let you know

.

How much it meant, how much the cost

The blanketed statements against the snow

Stained with pure crimson from my lips

It was more than a hazy hurricane of bliss

.

So I’ll open up to the skies every night

Letting lucky coincidences guide the light

A thousand miles, right into your dreams

Though the hope tears my heart at the seams

.

Now destiny prays, though we both lost faith

Was it worth it, when I forgot how to breathe?

Life’s just too short, you mumbled to heaven

It was worth it for me, but would you wait again?

.

So let’s do everything later and remember it now

I’m willing to pay the price to make it out somehow

Please keep your embrace wrapped tight around me

All before you fade away into this hollow obscurity

.

As I crash beyond the cliff and my body breaks

Into a million pieces built up of all our mistakes

I don’t mind the ocean, submerged in your blue

My thoughts will sink under, falling still for you.

~*~

I can feel your hands on my fingertips
I’m seeing oh-so clear, I know it’s for you
When all we know is falling, I’ll save something
For you, you who are all alone
When everything is beautiful, when everything’s okay
Even if it’s not okay, I’ll say, “it’s all for you”…

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Cloud District

Soft thrums of raindrops

Against scarlet canvas

Crushed flower petals

Bleeding out pink on

Oceans of grey puddles

Pooling on the asphalt.

.

Shorter days, lonelier nights

Blue shoes over fresh graves

Cracks on the warm concrete,

Forgotten in the solstice midst

And a song stuck between silence

Of a boy lost under his umbrella.

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Filed under Poetry