Tag Archives: change

Doubt Is Failure By Design

We’re born to fuck everything up, I guess.

No one asked for this. I’m like a festering scar on the dysfunctional mind of a starving shark who mercilessly shoved me overboard, and my flailing limbs are weighed down with rocks and paralysed with guilt, with shameful culpability, with the handed-down heirloom of a cursed name—a mere letter and punctuation away from completely unpronounceable—come now, black sheep, where’s your fucking wool?

Absolutely deplorable. Every success-story sycophant resolutely cringes away as if touched by the devil’s acid itself, their gold-plated stomachs turning at the mere mention of us, rolling diamond eyes watering viciously at the sight of our squalid hands reaching out to extinct stars and begging for a shred of respite, if any at all, overfed jesters laughing like relentless hyenas at the classic repertoire of victimised beggars choosing to be losers. No change. No mercy. Miserable. We asked for it, didn’t we?

I take a single step into the path I meticulously measured before finally deeming to be correct, and end up breaking somebody’s weak spine instead; clumsy foot easily slicing through vertebrae like a sharpened sword through snowfall. Another mistake. Another cautionary tale. I hear my dead ancestors wail a steady plangent caterwaul, as they eternally scream and admonish me from beyond the depths of inferno and then perhaps some—from where I shall soon be sharing their fate as I join in with their ever-familiar sickly cries. Another generation. Another bad blood. It’s almost comforting, now.

Oh, well. We fucking saw it coming and let it happen anyway, didn’t we?

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Filed under Prose

so what was it that you were hoping for?

just an instantaneous reprieve

i still piss myself off with the thought

that it wouldn’t matter if i worry

you’re just a pretty name on paper

and my stuttering pen refuses to bleed

so my head does all the purging

again and again and i want it to be fine

even if i’m inconsequentially yours

because you’ll never find me out

i’m too shaded but i can’t cool it off

blindsided by your automatic ideas so

i guess i’ll apologise under my breath

every night, just before you save my

nightmares and leave the brake in

your clutch, ripped off like the breaks

in my heaving ribs, mouthing sorry

over and over and i’m not over it

i’ll never be fucking over it anyway

is that all you want? don’t even bother

i’m just the mirror you’re pointing at

and i’m just mimicking your baby eyes

it’s exhausting to let it glint all day

but who will care? you’re the best that

it gets, and i’m half as worse as i will get

and we’re all just a bunch of broken bodies

seemingly set for headfirst collision but

only narrowly missing by a sinew in the end

well i shouldn’t really get my hopes up

you’re far too clever for my cry for help

and my delusions can only cash in so much

before you’re changing your mind again

and i think for a second, maybe, oh

just fucking maybe—falling prey again

to your last instantaneous reprieve

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Filed under Poetry

Still. Alive.

We are made of confused atoms and endless fathoms

And falling in love, in the wrong place at the wrong time

Chasing cigarettes on sixth street astride a flock of pigeons

On a sombre wedding day, runaway like the cotton-lily bride

But her wrists are coated with bright red lipstick she wiped off

After she found out that happily ever after didn’t really exist, train

Dragging along the sidewalk, scraped skateboards and wet chalk

And grinding teeth and damp laundry scattered by grumpy landlords

Perfect enemies knocking down old drywall while the rats complain

And the best friend you haven’t talked to in decades just showed up

At your doorstep dead 2 AM, mostly drunk sometimes troubled to crash

In your couch, grin that familiar grin and ask you how you’re doing

Pretend that the medication in the bathroom cabinet’s only Ambien

And quietly sneak out the morning barelaced and shamefaced so

You’re all alone again, tapping to the faded songs you never recorded

Right by the dusty windowsill as elusive spiders build their homes in

The flat you can’t quite call your home, haunted by strangers’ past bodies

And his awful-scented aftershave of coriander that seems to linger forever

And an uprising in every locked closet hiding identities and mothballs and

Childhood VHS tapes and taped-up mystery boxes containing what might

Just be forgotten yellowing letters and cheesy postcards from every state, or

The very key to unlocking the ultimate truth of the entire universe itself…

But we’re all too busy losing our phases and being torn back to ashes to ever find out.

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Filed under Poetry

deconstruction

mistakes,

i am built of

pencil shavings

lingering with

backaches

bitter sugar

a life-changing

flick of the wrist

stuttered change

homeless thoughts

gloomy showers

drenched in loneliness

small conversations

smaller smiles

overthinking

and undermining

deaf solfeges and

melodic dissonance

coalescing into

lucid obsessions

for somebody who

doesn’t exist

desperate need

pretty in pale purple

cruel in wrong red

damaged boy

starving for salt

like a suicide slave

hunger-crushed

ribs, leather scars

underlining the

scribbled prose

inkstains bleeding

nonsense, rambling

anxiety, trembling

neverending lies

nothing more

everything less

plain as paper grey

human unbeing

still unbecoming

j u s t . a . n o b o d y

is somebody…there?

bad and better

not so clever

tired of counting

can’t fall asleep

it’s been months now

centuries of waiting

yet still dying just

to find out

something, else

anything, right—

nothing’s right;

i am built of

mistakes

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Filed under Poetry

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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Filed under Poetry

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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Filed under Poetry

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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Filed under Poetry