Tag Archives: bored

Aeon +1

glass eyed

with a dulled reverie

waiting for

seconds of eternity

to pass by

and lose their bend

but time, it

just seems to extend.

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Filed under Poetry

Mütter

This hasn’t been your year. Matter of fact, not a single year in your forty plus years of living, minus a several tenths for when we didn’t exist yet, has been quite too fulfilling. And understandably, it’s been a rough ride. You’ve been flying this journey Lindbergh solo for five years and counting now, and you weren’t always locked and loaded, and the machinery was not always all systems go, and the weather was not always clear. We’ve been ungrateful bastards who act like sweet-smelling pink roses intertwining around you with pretty innocent smiles, and then we bury our lacerating thorns deep in your steel-plated chest until we hit flesh and you bleed. We’re irresponsible lazy creatures, we get that, we refuse the simplest of chores, saying no to refilling the water bottles after downing the entire one litre liquid in one gulp, or slam dunking our filthy dishes in the overflowing sink and then denying appraisal over doing the washing-up. We grate on your nerves at the worst time when they’re already stretched to their limits, and we pull at them until you snap. We’ve been disappointing and apathetic, and you can only scream and reprimand so much before your worn-out voice and the fingers you crossed breaks. We’re no good, and vexingly frustrating, and annoyingly juvenile, and seemingly hopeless and futile…just like any other stupid nose-picking kid out there who needs guidance and care in the gentle yet sturdy hands of a parent. You simply wanted the best for the worst, and some due indemnity and pride, and to set your wayward children on the proper path, not into the ocean horizon to drown in sovereign failure, but onwards beyond the sunset to discover the way and amass all the lights in the sky. Someday, that’s a promise to be fulfilled. But for now, we remain your stupid bumbling companions, building bridges to last longer than London Bridge and making memories on a photo album (or selfies, as the cool millennials say or whatever, since you seem to be more connected with my generation than I can ever be). I feel faintly terrible that after all that you did for us, for me alone, I wasn’t able to get you anything decently celebratory or did anything to make this one hell of a day, except for a greeting card written with a dying marker on used tissue that says ‘congration you done it’, an IOU written on paper ripped off carelessly on the side of a notebook that entitled you to an entire day of my silence (valid on May 14, 2017 only), and doing the aforementioned chores which I should be doing on a daily regular basis anyhow, so I can only offer with what I do best—getting drunk. Oh no wait, that’s a different thing innit, that’s rubbish. I meant to say writing (although the best is not even good, to be bluntly frank). You out of all people needed a cheer upper and a break, and I out of all people should be the one giving you such things. So, here it is. And despite you begrudgingly commenting it several times today, no, the universe does not always conspire against you. Sometimes it’s me who does.

I took the time to write all this down because (besides the fact that I am equal amounts bored and sleep-deprived, which is like 95% of the time, but whatever) despite all the bickering arguments and thermonuclear meltdowns and endless disputes we’ve rivalled against, we’ve also had amusing stories and extraordinary journeys together and silly banter over cups of freshly brewed coffee, and I would like you to know that there’s still someone who cares, that this anxiety-ridden, book hoarding, show obsessing, loud satanic music blasting, three AM screaming, rebellious blue-haired loser with the problem child attitude, a death stare and eyebags thicker than Billie Joe Armstrong and Gerard Way’s eyeliner combined, the general behaviour of a mental patient diagnosed with schizophrenia and severe ADHD, and having the irritating tendency to not reply unlike a complete rhetorical sarcastic twat without getting allergic to formalities, is, insert dramatic Psycho violin chord here, surprise surprise! A sentient being capable of being a sappy little bitch (you may proceed to gasp and wipe away your tears with my greeting card after scolding me for using an expletive). My particular thorn in question is a raging problem that has left a scar tissue in your heart more times than the other roses you’ve cultivated, and still you don’t water my roots with poison laden concoction and shear my stem off ruthlessly with my own disturbing scissor collection to off me and get rid of the nuisance; instead, you spritz my face with more fertiliser, tentatively remove the weeds that stunt my development as it chokes me, and you help me continue to grow. I’m beginning to stop making sense here, and this is getting too sentimentally personal, and you would most likely whale on me the next morning for staying up late because we have to go to school tomorrow to clean up or some crap, so I’m very sorry for all my tribulations and for a million sins (yes, the fact that I decided to tactlessly blast out Mama on full loudspeakers on such a particular day included, whoops), and a thank you, more genuine than pirate gold and your signatures in the excuse letters I forged, for being here all the while and being a total headstrong badass about it. Okay, no, I can’t say the god forbidding L word yet *shudders*, but maybe I’ll save that for a later, less awkward prospect (what is with all the excessive L words in that sentence though?!). Here’s me paying my side of the dice. Thank you for everything and a gazillion virtues, and then some.

Happy mother’s day.

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Filed under Prose

A Moral Travesty in the Local Cabaret

Girls love girls and boys
(Sophisticated, manipulated)
And never did I think that I
Would be caught in the way
You got me…

~*~

A most arrogant sophistication

Chins tilted to the moonlight gleam

A simpleminded denomination

Surrender control and nitroglycerine

Their fugitives dance and drown

Blue as the cold bodies on rivers red

Heaven catches your nightgown

Assembling philosophies you’ll wed

Harlequin boys applaud cavalier

Ordaining their Divine Interventions

Picasso girls wipe off their tears

On the cathedral altar manipulation

Burlesque drag queens on Maine

Tiptoe under blacklight streetlamps

Wipe your collar of lipstick stains

To a last full show, one night stands

Dignified heroes caress starlings

For you, I’ll shed skin on spotlight sets

This cabaret act is proving tiring

So darling, pray for passionate naïveté.

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Filed under Poetry

Wayside Grievances

Circumstances beyond the red parameter

Individualism cuts circulation and haters

Idiocy threw the first punch, hit ignorance

Coffee would’ve fixed this senseless dance

Poisonous loathing, and crass tongue sorry

What a waste of a perfectly good apology.

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Implicit Insignificance

I was once a liar, a demon, a heartless creature, rendered ash and rust

And you were but that magic trick, a pawn, a faint speckle of fairy dust

All eyes through the valley of betrayed angels, lost in a damaged haze

That we past resided in enraptured company, dear, remember those days?

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Southwestern Rose

Journeys on your ebony car

Energy of a million fair stars

Neverland awaits Peter Pan

Spirited Texas boy, have fun

Ebullient in bowlegged steps

Nexus of freckled smiley lips

Aspirations, within you it lies

Cherry soul and emerald eyes

Kindness of vivace perception

Love of life, ardent inspirations

Ever young at heart, Texas boy

Sage as you bring hope and joy.

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Filed under Poetry

Little Psycho

I get my kicks and I want to start a rager
I want to dance like I’m on the video
I got a fever for the violent behaviour
I’m sweating bullets like a modern Romeo…

~*~

Mummy’s little psycho, fears

Brought up inside a crib cage

Sustained by blood and tears

Fostered by loathing and rage

.

Daddy’s brave good soldier

Pulling quickly the soft trigger

Bang bang! His brain shatters

What a mess! Rusty splatters!

.

Pouring bleach down my throat

Cut the ropes of my own veins

Ha, what is love? What is hope?

Sharp knife to voice my disdain

.

Your dead brother with an axe

Every limbs have been hacked

He tripped, you explain sweetly

And we believe you, my dearie

.

A black hole in my coldest body

Where warm life had once been

Put some band-aid in it, baby

Here’s some whiskey to clean

.

Now dig that old grave deeper

For your dearly departed sister

Pins stick out of her burnt dolls

Needles stick out of her skull

.

Please set me free and let me be

Off this picture suburban family

It’s all too perfect, waste my time

And I’ll generate the perfect crime

.

Ignored, stored, and bored, so

I decided to play my own game

I’ll be this generation’s antihero

I’ll be a martyr feeding on fame

.

I’m mummy’s little psycho, gone

And I’m daddy’s brave good soldier

Though I have murdered everyone

At least now they’ll love me forever.

~*~

Bang Bang! Give me fame
Shoot me up to entertain
I am a semi-automatic lonely boy
You’re dead! I’m well fed
Give me death or give me head
Daddy’s little psycho and Mommy’s little soldier…

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Filed under Poetry

A Detective’s Ennui

Braindead from boredom
I’m lead to distraction
Scratching the surface of life…

~*~

Boring. Boring. Boring.

Nothing at all stimulating.

My mind is highly intricate and addled with explosives

This stalling planet is too small to contain the universe veering in my sleeves

.

All I hear from my violin is endless screeching noises

And all silence ever does is draw out the pretentious inside voices

Sitting idly and wasting time on frenzied sharks biting my head

A cup of tea won’t even calm me down as I tediously fill the walls with lead

.

I need another case or two or three or four right now

Why are murderers so awfully slow like molasses somehow?

The dullness of reality makes my perfect system crash

And can’t even be fixed easily with a nicotine patch

.

Where’s the fun? Where’s the thrill?

The feeling of not feeling anything but excitement and chills?

The game is afoot, and the madness begins

And yet I’m still sitting here, jaded, forced to count my sins

.

Boring. Boring. So much weariness, it’s mocking

In this mediocre, mind-numbing planet I’m left staring, left uncaring

Dropped off somewhere in the middle, with a mind so impossibly quick

But all their shaded static eyes ever see is a man so terribly sick

.

Boring. So boring. Why does it have to be so arid?

Humans with their minds so barely-used, straightforward, and placid

Hanging my head back to the end of another lacklustre colourless day

Maybe tomorrow the criminals will finally come out to play.

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Filed under Fandom Poetry, Poetry

Dwindling Existence

Glazed wan eyes

No stars in the sky

Worn-out smiles

Faux pas styles

Monochrome highways

Lacklustre days

Blank pasty faces

Useless races

Stiff robotic walk

Smaller hushed talk

Just passing by

Saying goodbye

Dropping all faith

Gaining archaic hate

More and more

Feels like horrorcore

Puppets on strings

False joy does it bring

Acting out a play

I wonder why they stay

Clockwork princess

Aren’t you just a mess?

Costumes and masks

Toxic liquid in flasks

Should I stay or go?

The answer hangs loosely so

I’ve got nothing to vie for

My soul’s rotting in bore

I hold the very key

To unlocking the chains and be free

Having the deadliest debate

Should this be my fate?

Glazed fluttering eyes

Mourning stars in the sky

One last wan smile

Before I completely say goodbye.

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