Tag Archives: breathe

Violator

My head is oversaturated

With pervasive thoughts of you

I want to trepanate myself

Just to wring out my heavy brain

Crack open a window at the

Side and ventilate out the smoke

Because the suffocating way

You breathe is driving me insane

.

My head is quite achromatic

With elusive thoughts of only you

I want to exsanguinate myself

Just to make my rabid heart stop

Shut the doors with deadbolts

And swallow the key so I’ll choke

Because the desensitising way

You laugh is fracturing me apart.

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Noontime Naps

After breakfast. Lukewarm coffee. Leftover splatters of gouache on the messy desk. Slow internet connection. Haunting melodies resonating from twisted headphones. A yawning kitten resting on a restless lap.

Pauses. Outside, a chirpy radio jingle. Wooden sticks hitting against billiard balls. Idle street chatter of unfamiliar passersby, falling against the grind of tyres on concrete. Drenched in drizzling showers, a hazy town on Sunday morn.

Breathing in. It’s okay, the afternoon promises you. It’s okay.

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take me away, sunray

you make me

feel so stupid

for a moment

i barely mind

.

painting all of

the memories in

my head and i

begin to unwind

.

you make me

feel okay—just

for a second

when i breathe

.

but darling,

that smile of yours

is gonna be the

fucking end of me.

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finish line

is it time

to let this

fall apart

i’ve gone

for months

now without

any spark

.

if my mind

has sunk

to the very

bottom, then

how can you

tell me to

simply hold on?

.

is it time

to let this

fall apart

i’ve played

my role, and

i’ve done all

my parts

.

if my mind

has sunk

so low, i

can’t reach

then how can

you tell me to

even breathe?

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23 – a lukewarm 4 a.m. shower (isn’t as bad as it sounds)

i hope i can wash it all out.

.

all the exhaustion and instability

the throat i screamed ragged

and my eyes drowning in red water

.

the hellish nightmares creeping into

the darkness when i forgot to turn on the light

.

when i was too tired to stand up

and make a better mess of myself

because no one else could do that for me

.

not the phone calls i’m avoiding

not the close friends i barely know anymore

not the faceless comfort typing on their

tiny glowing screens always telling me

.

i’ll be fucking alright, because i won’t

.

be there for them. instead, i’ll be sitting

in the middle of a cold-tiled floor, still trying

to wake myself up enough to breathe.

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L’exquise L’angoisse

Palpitating arteries eviscerate, a familiar taste that tastes like nothing

Frustrated art under his eyelids fading, clever words I’m never caught saying

Lost impressions leave deceptions, a tempestuous flood caught in the fray

Wish my headspace wasn’t suffocating the sun day after another day

.

Imagination stuttering, slowly dying, what are you trying to hide?

If hell’s your new phenomenon, I’m afraid it’s far too late to be described

Every broken bone that the restless audience throws back to your act

Refusing to feel right again, this time I know that I don’t know where to start

.

Don’t look at me. Don’t look at my deathwish. Nor my blinded existence.

I do not wish to breathe the same way you do. Do not bleed out of my presence.

My words are glass blades lodged under my bruised throat, so do not dare me to cough

The eclipse feels impossibly heavier without your weight to hold me down

And so I quietly submerge with only the sound of my empty thoughts.

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a fathomless void

a weight that can only be felt

by breathing in the wrong kind of ozone

in a desolate universe, unraveling into

rust and dirt and long-ago bleached bones

a single pair of footsteps walk

the path, beaten down by phantoms

and mysteries hanging on an unused crucifix

the rearview mirror beckons minds on

but….onto where? onto the myriad lies that

stumble and fall back into rubbles

bruising careless feet and leaving contrived

wishes of contrition and softer mumbles

and alone—alone the blackened eyes atone,

alone the bastard hair sheds like broken roses,

alone the body dances until imminent decomposition,

alone. the man seeks, but finds no symphony amid the empty chorus.

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Bluer Than Blue, Youer Than You

My empty head is so full of blue

Of bleeding skies and listless hues

Lonely petrichor in hidden dreams

Wish my heart wasn’t so evergreen

.

Hoping wasted hexes aren’t obscure

And the daylight stars are kismet pure

I blink, I wake, I sleep, I breathe, I die

With only pacific blue within my eyes

.

You’re efflorescent June, I’m wilting July

Perfume fragrance and perfume-scent lies

Morning coffee, morning hair, morning regret

Blue as bruises, blue menthol, blue until death

.

Gloom in charcoal and acrylic sighs

Rare as a black hole, losing fallen cries

Wearing cold blue like a feverish flu

Lucid repeat, my ocean angel, tidal you

.

My flooded head’s so full of midnight blue

Of pastel horizons coalescing xanthus hues

Raining embers until the hurricane sleeps again

Wish my empty heart wasn’t lacking aquamarine.

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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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Arsonist

It feels like there’s a raging fire within my chest—

And I want it to burn everything inside and out

.

My lungs, my heart, my throat; I want it to replace my breathing,

Escape the confines of my ribcage and devour my skin whole

.

Swallow my reckless body as if I was nothing, and spit it out in faded ashes

And finally burn out like a last word at the tip of my nonexistent tongue.

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