Tag Archives: change

Royal Beggars

Check marks and alibis

The price they pay for teeth

Promises and allegories

Pray for change inside defeat

.

And so to speak and spell

And to charm this hell

Bleed greed and then well

Hope the pigs won’t tell

.

Now talk is dirt cheap but

It does the dirty job done

So just simper and dance

And hold them by the gun

.

Kick back your cold fame

They know the long game

Throne for your lost cause

And mud for your lackeys

.

Sell them out, sell it out

What’s a little bit of treason?

Cut the ropes on the boat

Future’s just an open prison

.

Money screams, ears are deaf

Found the corruption in-depth

Screw the poor, feign defence

Hide under oncoming violence

.

Pockmarks and lullabies

The price you pay just for a seat

It’s all lies, they’re all lies

Isn’t this wasteland such a treat?

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Filed under Poetry

Rumours on Red Tapes

I do not know why I would go
In front of you and hide my soul
‘Cause you’re the only one who knows it
Yeah, you’re the only one who knows it
And I will hide behind my pride
Don’t know why I think I could lie
‘Cause there’s a screen on my chest…

~*~

Call it a conversation, or another bad decision

Talk is cheap, but you’re costing me more than you’re worth

The casualties counted, words set to ignition

But I’ll salvage what I can and I’ll try to keep my insults curt

.

You’re searching for a purpose, I’m looking for a reason

Differences aside, you can’t stay clever if you’re wrong

Listen carefully now, don’t make me repeat myself twice

Because I don’t really want you to misunderstand my lies

.

Pay attention, this can’t go on, go find another friend to ruin

With your pitiful convictions—or better yet, simply stay alone

Sober is your middle name, but your vision keeps on spinning

Ignorance can’t be your bliss if all you ever do is mumble and groan

.

While I endure the problems, getting addicted to gnashing teeth

For there’s comfort in this car crash, fracturing every fucking bone

I held your hand like you asked, you went ahead and twisted my wrist

But you can’t complain forever, and I know that I should have known

.

That this is not a conversation, just another bad decision

You speak sweetly with silver linings—but fuck that, I need gold

Casualties buried now, falling out of spellbound sedation

But I’ll walk away while I still can, and you can choke on what you’re told.

~*~

We’re broken people, oh
I’m standing in front of you
I’m standing in front of you
I’m trying to be so cool
Everything together
Trying to be so cool…

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Filed under Poetry

on the subject of side glances leading to an unexpected intuition…

the petty assumptions

will do you no good

your mind’s still a mess

leave it as you should

he says it’s mental

that’s right for a change

the thoughts you can’t feel

but you could explain

there’s already one

why are you still looking?

hope has a cost, and

you’ll pay for the broken

so prove yourself wrong now

he doesn’t know yet

but don’t leave all that out, and

dare to find out and forget.

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Filed under Poetry

(Don’t) Turn Back To Me

Somewhere along the way, I somehow convinced myself to play

The waiting game like it meant a thing, like I wouldn’t lose anyway

You were the part of my mind still clouded with nostalgia

But lately, it’s now been replaced with a nicotine-grey paranoia

.

Still, you kept me hanging on with all your hooked apologies

And dragged me on for miles despite having nothing but weak excuses

How foolish I truly was, I thought the violent bruises looked pretty

A vicious reminder of the time we spent—a fucked-up memento mori

.

But now I’m getting really tired of having to constantly check in

Obsessing over your absence, getting caught up in that empty nothing

Somehow, that’s the only thing you’re always consistent with

But the rest of this connection is a mess…was it all just friendly bullshit?

.

I understand that you’re busy, and I have no right to be hurt at all

But a sliver of conscience would have been nice, instead of the way you stall

I don’t even know why I’m still trying to paint myself as the bad guy

Spitting poison in my sharpened words in an attempt to catch your eye

.

But maybe it’s better off this way, and maybe I should stop pretending

That I’ll be worth a single damn to you, that I was ever even anything

I just wasted my breath when you never listened, we’ve done this all before

Though I guess this time, I just don’t have a place in your pretty plastic life anymore.

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Makeshift

Break the parts of my skin

That don’t seem to be bleeding out

A schizophrenic memory

No one could fully understand

.

A word in revolution

No lies, no truth, just sighs

Bruises on icy emotion

.

They make it out to be madness

Ad nauseum, I paint the plastic with flesh

.

Windowpanes screech against

Moonlight, flooding me with false lavender

Tones, but only in eventide

My bones blush under time spent

.

The stars scream. The stars flee.

.

Impressionistic? Or plain sadistic?

The apparitions pass away again

Smitten with the notion, the concept,

Of wrongfulness, of change, of nothing

Of monsters and messy closets

.

I hide, as I always do. I hide.

And I bide my time like it’s downcast silver

Like a broken harpsichord, I play the night—

.

If only that would prove that nothing else I feel is right.

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9 – over (and over it)

same old cycles

like nothing changed

but everything did—

.

like a magnanimous

nothing, all this

.

nervous illusion built

by someone who

could do nothing but

destroy everything.

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The Division

Let me count the ways you kill me;

1.) You carved promises at the notches of my brittle bones, mercilessly enthralling and hypnotising me under the anaesthetic assurance that everything was fine, that I was fine, and that I wouldn’t ever have to destroy myself again; but all the while, you crushed the very foundations beneath my suspended feet and made heaven shatter all around me like an ethereal motion sickness. And as if that wasn’t enough, you set everything on fire and watched this wretched phoenix turn to listless ashes, never to rise again; a demented conflagration.

2.) You promised me for better or for worse, but as I tried to find new names for the shade of red in my lips, you forgot about the obscene sickness that’s violently heaving inside my compromised chest and without so much as a twinge of second chances or point-blank hesitation, you injected every indistinct symptom known and unknown to man, turning my shaky breaths to crystalline lilacs and my selfish ribs to impure glass. I asked for a cure, and instead I received a despicable panacea, a myriad riot of plagues that irreparably devastated my system, ripping me to irreversible shreds. “You can’t get hurt if all you feel is hurt, right?”

3.) I’ve got hands like houses, and you rejected my severed hospitality as you broke down every locked door and deceptive boundary like it was nothing; like I was nothing. I constantly find myself lost in complicated syncopes, as I’m trapped spiraling and crawling back to the same self-sustaining cycles of parabolic grief and hypertensive schizophrenia, predicting premonitions that never came true. This eternal winter freezing over my bloodline is stitched together by a million blizzards and snowstorms conspiring exquisitely at once, but this difficult tantrum of a weather is not a tribulation to you, is it? Your cold temper is intolerable, a thousand suns melding together and detonating convulsively in the empty vacuum of space, and there’s no one else around to hear me scream one last time. I wanted to burn. You took it too far.

4.) Were you even sorry? Did you even feel a single taste of contrition when you watched my starving, pathetic soul grapple for life at the very nave of that decimated altar, asking for the silhouetted universe to fall on my back so that it wouldn’t be my fault, nor yours, that everything got screwed over? Did you see what I’ve done, just so I wouldn’t be what you’ve become? I couldn’t find my way back on the ground, so I swallowed my pride like pried coffin nails for the sake of a more poignant memory to remember; retribution heals what time cannot. Yet now I close my reckless eyes and softly coalesce in sadistic plumes of the miserable discourse you call an intravenous love, and I beg, and I beg. Were you even sorry at all?

5.) You are me, and I am you. I have no one. You are no one. When you lived, I died; and when you died, I along with you. I called it genocide. They called it desperation. For I am me, and you are you. There was no one else. They called it suicide. I call it salvation.

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Filed under Prose

lights, camera, action!

i am a candid facade—

i am no longer the crashing wreck

portrayed in movies and books

bleeding out question marks and

bad decisions to the open ocean

.

i am the jaunt in your sunday steps

and the gaily tip of your hats

and a million dollar movie star

with the confident mouth and purple hair

.

i am a candid facade—

i am not me. i am not me. i am not…

i am dissociated from all my

failures and collapses, from my

depression and desperation,

.

from me, from myself, from i;

i am not me. i am not me. i am not…

.

until i am not becomes i am me.

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Filed under Poetry

tropes

you’ve

turned me

into just

another cliche

but now that

i’m ordinary

you won’t

even watch me.

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Filed under Poetry

Torment

I hurt myself again today

And I’m sorry that I did

I don’t know. Why am I so afraid

Of never bleeding out?

.

The silence speaks to me

And it speaks in a thousand voices

And it tells me what I’ve done

.

I know what I have done

.

I want to undo everything

And start somewhere

That doesn’t involve any bruises

And burns over marred skin

.

If only someone could tell me

Where that is

.

So I don’t have to be lost

In a tidal wave of old promises

As old as forsaken happiness

I said I would always try to keep

But gave away to the grasp of time

.

It was my forgotten concept

But with no one to teach me again

It’s all I can do to remember

And try to heal what’s left of me.

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Filed under Poetry