Tag Archives: calm

fac[ad]e

hold it

together

and keep a

straight face

and just

remember

to set the

right pace

keep yourself

calm and

promise that

you’re sober

and maybe

soon enough

it will all

be over.

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scar tissues

Baby, pour over, tell me, are we concrete?
What would you do without
My perfect company to your undressed spine?
And I can hear you drag behind my car by your broken legs
(Swallowing stitches in her sleep as she)
Stole my only view, may I never blink…

~*~

i am your bare bones

and the words that can fracture it

a faked death, disappearance

in the lonely asphalt ash

so undress my bad memories

take off that pretty, pretty, pink dress

and show me the lacerations

the lingering bruises on my spine

of your decayed entertainment

modern anxiety at its brutality finest

and tell me again how bad

all of my imminent injuries were

until i can feel enough

until i am enough

don’t hesitate on backburners

simply make me believe

that the chemicals in my open veins

serotonin, endorphins, tryptophan—

are not just a lie you made up…

like the raised welts on

my broken, praying wrists

nor the unrecoverable night i came to you,

sobbing and begging for gravity

to come drag me under

underwater, underground,

because i was desperate for it to be over

but we crashed in abstract strokes

only one pair of lungs breathed again;

a sordid altercation.

you’re a lucid dreamer, love

and i have an eidetic memory

and this damn world has selective hearing

over gasoline and sunshine

and the difference that it makes

when you light the aphotic city on fire

like a paradox under my skin.

this is my mass hysteria

although i’m calm at the altar veneer

and absent blank, my mind is an

apocalyptic wasteland

and i’m the sole survivor.

so surround my lavender hands

and black out the soft sodium streetlights

and patch up these obscene bones

and simply say the words

to make me forget.

~*~

Listen, I’m the one who made you
I’ll be the one who brings you down
But this will be the last time…

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Cyclones

make me rewind

the words that i said

as retreating tides

crashed in my head

.

the coastlines swear

the salt breeze screams

tsunamis screeching

this maelstrom deemed

.

but all that’s left

after the angry storm

is a calm darkness

and i drenched in scorn.

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The Vale

From beneath the vale where ghouls adore

What lay beyond euphonious sounds of terror

The skins that writhe, the pestilence feeds

Yet a place so mythic, souls dare not bleed

.

Might thine fearful mind be born and torn?

Might these hands exist only to pray?

Might thine fearful mind be born and shorn?

Might this heart pulsate only today?

.

From beneath the vale where sinners sleep

What lay beyond such calm rather deep

The skins that writhe, the persistence needs

In a place so mythic, souls dare not bleed

.

Might thine fearful eyes seek only the truth?

And yet the blindness be overcome?

Might thine fearful lips speak only the truth?

And yet bitter falsehood be undergone?

.

From beneath the vale where I may scale

What lay beyond deathly silence pale

The skins that writhe, my persephone heeds

Thee to that place so mythic, souls dare not bleed.

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i know something you don’t know

Hold on, don’t look back
You know we’re better, we’re better than that
Lost and thrown away
You know we’re better, we’re better than that
We are the strays…

~*~

lips twisted in

orange sour and

bitter secrets,

indulging unseemly

stories under the

brink of clearwater stars

sweet as frosting and

dripping in sap as

caramel words,

these strange stories

no one would

dare to listen to.

the moon might not

come out tonight,

but tongues open fire

and in that

naked horizon

of calming darkness—

everything else

comes to light.

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Stressed or Sad (and Turn Out the Lights)

I brought a knife to a gunfight
I brought my words to a fistfight
I brought my hell to you
And now the boys are back
The boys are sad…

~*~

Let’s talk it it out and let’s talk too loud

And spare our breakdowns for the times it’s not allowed

Deprived of oxygen and choked off to sleep

But I’ll stay awake with you, I guess it’s what we need

‘Cause I may not be the best company but I know a thing or two

About being selfish and pretending to be a happy blue

The clever words and rhetorics make us laugh half to death

Drowning our worries in coffee until it’s dangerous to our health

Because it’s times like these when bitter tastes best

And the yonder moonlight is too delicate to get any deeper rest

But I’ll draw some stars and you can paint them in embers

With what’s left of the sky, we’ll write about what we can remember

We’ll scream about our addictions like loose patients in an asylum

Of the southern boys and houston beats until we’re both tired and dumb

I’ll sing a song out of tune, and your echoes fade to shadows

This is the art of somniphobia, we’re good as we are not tomorrow

Tonight we’ll starve the nighthawks and dehydrate the nadirs of melancholy

Until the petulant sunrise glowers at us for being too damn noisy

We were never meant to stay high in a world that’s not designed for the broken

But let calming music glow in your bones, we’ll be entertained until then.

~*~

You’re so cold
I’ve got to know what made you so
Scared to be alone?
I’ve got to know who chilled your bones
That wasn’t me…

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somniloquy

pastel laughter, petals of umber

lip-gloss stains and sweet december

.

brick wall steps, stepping stones

withering glares, i contemplate alone

.

seven mysteries i don’t dare speak

magicians fleet in magic tricks

.

intervals lead to cyanide infinity

trapped in a loop of tangible vanity

.

tasting alcohol and numbing smiles

maybe i’ll stay here for a while

.

midnight calm and oceans deep

i’ll keep my thoughts in the morning

and talk in my sleep.

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Opioid Daydreams and Narcotic Nightmares

Maybe I could swim into your thoughts like your drugs do
Paralyze your body, sick and tired of waking up to
Burning eyes and cigarettes, I’m falling through the couch like
A suicide mission tonight, my god, here comes the downside…

~*~

The fumes I breathed in

Are as delicate as my polluted lungs

As frail as my state of mind

.

I look for a way into the dark

And step on cigarette ashes

Unaware of the inferno I might find

.

Crushing acetylene with two fingers

And heating the water a hundred degrees

To boil away this senseless rut

.

Inhaling, exhaling, once…twice…thrice…

And one more drag for the long run

Calm until the first punch hits my guts

.

My throbbing heart goes a’creeping

Into my trembling hands comes a’knocking

Painting butterfly psychedelia

.

I’m waiting at the foot of my deathbed

Staring at my lethargic lucid corpse

Tasting a million shades of phantasmic deliria

.

Anesthesised until I no longer feel myself

I no longer feel my broken bones

I no longer feel the pain like the ashes

.

Blowflies turned to pretty birds

Concrete floor turned to rainbows and raindrops

Until paradise wears off and slowly passes

.

But despite the exclamation points

Scribbled all over the blank walls, I won’t

No no no no no, I won’t ever ever panic

.

The blood and oxygen flow

Falling and reversing until my system

Is senescent retrograde and manic

.

And I’m hanging upside-down

On a cross, crucified by my lighter

Flesh pinned with syringes

.

Scourged and castigated

By angels and roman hallucinations

For my sins and perpetual binges

.

But I won’t die tonight, no I won’t

I won’t die yet…die yet, I think

And I’ll exalt those whorls of smoke

.

Submerged in a tempestuous sea of euphoria

Until I sink deeper and deeper into the hazy currents

And I begin to choke.

~*~

Trigger my nightmare once again!
And it’s fucking loaded in hand!
And we’ll let the fire rage
The smoke and the drowning flames
My bedroom computer light is the only
Menace to my new faux wooden blinds…

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Static Sessions

And you can’t fight the tears that ain’t coming
Or the moment of truth in your lies
When everything feels like the movies
Yeah you bleed just to know you’re alive…

~*~

It’s rather strange and desensitisingly nerve-wracking, standing up there with shivering knees, under the judgment of glaring spotlights and hanging magenta lamps, and past the scrutinising pupils of a million watching stars. I do not feel like my own concrete entity, merely a disheveled apparition trapped in a foreign body. The amp screeches—jeeringly, it seems. I momentarily blanch. What the hell am I doing?

Perspiring profusely, trembling hands holding the gibberish lyrics to an unfamiliar forgotten song and an impatient crackling microphone, the beginning intro of the acoustic guitar sounds like a banshee’s scream that’s prompting my knotted larynx to begin making even an inkling of a noise. Quivering, quivering, quivering; dreadful hesitation and a near-death anxiety that wrings the delirious butterflies out of my stomach in an icy-cold freeze. An infinitesimal moment of silence. A skip of a heartbeat. A suffocating breath held until it coagulates. A spill of acherontic reluctance spilled down catatonic spines before one jolts and realises in shock that, surprise surprise, my parched mouth is actually producing sound!

Thus the song proceeds, with or without me. It’s up to me to chase after it’s vivacious footsteps. My voice is no longer my own, simply a phantom illusion; I barely feel it rising up and down, strumming the musical bars to the best of its abilities. Everything tastes like stereo static; clapping and cheering amid guitar and tambourine amid the anxious symphonies I relayed. The quaint scenario tangibly intensifies into a steady culmination, vertical horizons alighting into spontaneous combustion. Steadfast certainty underhandedly replaces the oscillating nervousness within me, pastel assurance slowly seeping in my ticking aegan-washed bones and strengthening every fibre of my abandoned sensibilities.

I find myself closing my eyes and loosening my grip, my driftwood soul getting pulled in the undertows of the euphoric moment. I can barely hear my own voice anymore, and I do not hear the crowd at all. Soprano, baritone, octaves, trebles, notes and rhythms and senselessness and song, they’re all that envelops me right now, my solitary company in this madness of a world. Raging fire burns in my emotions, thawing the glaciated blood in my veins, warming up the frostbitten angels barely holding my terse heartstrings together, bringing oxygen back to my perforating pulmonary flow; and nothing else matters anymore, only me and the music, the music and I.

The interlude swells into a deafening crescendo, and my frizzling neurons go off like fourth of July fireworks, showering the sky with brilliant sparks. It’s infinity on repeat, infinity in my teeth, infinity rushing low, infinity on an all-time high. This feels fucking amazing. What was there to be afraid of? Why had I been terrified all this time of such a ludicrous notion? Perhaps if I had steeled myself sooner, my brillo-pad songs would be less abrasive, and the ticking clock would’ve been on my side. But no matter, for I shall not dwell on the resentment of the past that keeps me embrangled within incarcerating doubt and merciless agony. Rather, I will focus on the now. This is me, doing what I never dared to do, doing what I’ve always wanted to do. I’m doing this for them, my beautiful divine motivations, though more importantly, I’m doing this for me, and for me alone.

The set comes to a slowing halt, the prospect tinging me with hints of sorrowful melancholy, and the audience bursts into polite applause, but the enraptured sensations linger still; and as I amble off the stage, I still find a soft lone melody humming whimsically at the back of my mellowing incandescent mind. It’s over, I sigh out to my palpitating lungs, to my shaky footing, to my disbelieving mind, attempting to calm my frantic pulse back into a metronome lullaby. But it will never be quite over, wouldn’t it? I ponder with a secret smile. I finally found my voice. I only hope I don’t lose it again. And I can only hope so hard it hurts that I don’t keep it to myself anymore.

~*~

And I don’t want the world to see me
‘Cause I don’t think that they’d understand
When everything’s meant to be broken
I just want you to know who I am…

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Weekend Hymns

“If you call me at all, don’t tell me that I’m ordinary, ’cause I won’t be passing you, please don’t leave…” serenades the familiar strains of a soothing voice, interlacing delicately with the quaint glassy chords of a softly-strummed guitar, and dissipating behind the skeletal mist of the hazy whorled coffee smoke. Spongy traces of a cold jelly roll melt and shiver in my tongue, leaving traces of a sweet sensation to tease these anticipating taste buds of mine. On my right side lays a Fantastic Beasts colouring book opened on a page of Newt Scamander’s luggage, abandoned coloured pencils scattered everywhere, and a half-finished unwritten postcard with vibrant pastel shades complimenting each other in mild, careful strokes; and on my left side a battered notebook overstuffed with scribbled papers and a slightly-chewed black pen, waiting patiently to bleed words into blank parchment.

Turn off these lights, call my name. Don’t talk, just drive… Another potent vocal joins in with the tranquil music, rhythmic acoustic strains and deep baritone timbre sending quiet shivers pleasantly down my spinal column. The rain has come to a cradlesong refrain, and, time being, has ceased from thrumming a metronomic pitter-patter against the fogged-up windows. I pause, place a cat bookmark on page 12 of John Steinback’s Of Mice and Men, and take another sip of my tepid milky drink and huddle further underneath my delicate blue blanket, starry night socks rubbing against the creaky bed mattress as I do so. After partaking in such a short interlude, I indulge zealously in my awaiting literature once more, losing myself against the mollifying song and letting my imagination run away and be caught between George and Lennie’s frolicsome bickering and humbler conversations.

“Red and blue and green rabbits, Lennie. Millions of ’em.” George concluded drowsily as the chapter came to a finish, synchronously alongside Jonny Craig’s flourished crescendo of And baby, honestly these teeth won’t let you go…”, and I thumbed down on the page and set down the book once again, lost in a silent reverie. This day seems to be nothing but a lucid woolgathering, and in a momentary splinter from reality, I am quite unsure which is a fact, and which is nothing more than a mere dream anymore. It left me slightly confused whether I had actually been chasing musicians through a cornfield full of bedraggled zombies in Southern California, or if my grandmother had actually been confined in the hospital after an unfortunate slip and needs three months of bed rest to recover, or whether any of those were even real, not just derogated fantasies of an inured mind in dire need of a proper rest. Perhaps I’m simply tired. I had, after all, been looking for my exuberant nephews for a good part of the afternoon. But this is a good tired, unlike the draining emptiness of a tired stress that I have been beleaguered with the entire week. And this time around, I’ll sleep not to forget the memories. Rather, I’ll sleep to remember them.

“If you call me at all, oh if you call me at all…” The mellisonant sincerity of his lilting assurances envelopes my weary and aching bones tangibly, as if the xanthous stars had personally touched down from the lavender-blotched sky and given me a synesthetic embrace from the gentle cosmos. The final coda of the song falters and fades against the distant monsoon, washing away every worry, every qualm, every cynical thought and nightmarish daydream of mine, washing me away under the horizon’s encore performance of dying sunshine and inchoate moonbeams alike. I breathe deeply and finally close my eyes, listening to the hymn of the rainy weather and halcyon weekend continue to play around me. I’ll be alright. For now, at least…I’m alright.

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