Tag Archives: change

The Game Played Right

I keep on lying. The silent pieces remain unapologetically in my lips, melting and melding together and apart, clashing like shades of blue and gold, until my smiles are mutated and my bated tongue is in shreds. Fear is an embrace I’ve learned to take upon myself, selling myself short to it, buying away the final remaining original thoughts I’ve slaved over in myriad sleepless nights until I’m a-la carte. Change is to blame for the causeless effect, and I’m asking for more from what can’t be taken away from me, cutting corners and targeting the contrition with a bolted gun, as if that would solve my problem. Would that open the deadlocked box of hope, containing those transient reminiscences of what used to be faith, keeping my wrists from giving itself up to bladed handcuffs and abrading ropes?

No, because it’s been open all this time. I’m merely pretending that it’s fully out of grasp, stuffing the sunshine in a pocket with a hole, then feigning remorseful surprise when I grasp the cloth and fail to feel its reassuring outline. I won’t get away, just as the moon can’t break away from its cruel mistress, no matter how hard it tries. Dependence requires sustenance, never mind if one’s getting hurt, never mind if one’s just wasting time and lightyears, never mind that there’s someone who sucks on the cigarette and there’s one who gets snuffed out in the ashes of its former companions, and both are slowly dying with each harmful, addicting, nicotine drag. Perhaps it’s better to move on, burn my house down with the lighter, and stab a flag on top of a desolate mountain, letting the frigid Arctic breeze pierce my lungs, reminding me that I’m dead inside, day by day, every single night.

Yes, the truth hurts worst when you’re lying on your back in a hollowly-carved bed, watching the tick of the sagging clock draw frowns on your dripping beige ceiling, the crude notches on the bedpost your only substitute for a calendar, not even the gathering dust on your windowsill keeping track of your blunt existence, but is that really such a bad plotline to read into? After all, I’m a mere instrument of conflict, and if I do not fulfill my function, I have no point, and dull instruments are of no use to anyone but the junkyard. So, what’s the point but pointlessness? What is there to release from arrogance, from selfishness, from egocentric human needs and desires, shallowness sucking away the will to speak in freedom, constantly starving for lust and lusting for starvation and dying from either loneliness or hunger in the end?

Give me that. Give me an answer that would morph my vulgar counterfeit laughter back into a purely genuine jubilance, give me a reply that would wash away the contracting fallacies in my conflicted mind and make my craving lecherous soul finally taste the decadent truth, give me a statement to swim in and sink under as I ponder deeply upon it and spend all my cashed-in stars to figure it out until I may finally repose in peace, give me an oratorical rhetoric that would drag me out of the hands of the angels in the ambulance and shock my heart into sinus rhythm, give me something, anything at all that would set this hellish perpetual carousel in a dead jolting halt and wouldn’t throw me off the cutthroat ride, give me—give me what I want. Yet, is what I want really what I need?

Never. Because in this reality, the parallel cruelty prevents any chance of a perfect alignment or even a destined intersection between any limits, and it’s all we can do to keep walking in the thin line and keep a painful positiveness, because backtracking to the negatives would devour us whole, render us irrational, and count us as impossible. Yet, despite knowing all of those and sharing such meaningless contrivances to the eyes that refuse to perceive and the ears that refuse to listen, I still want you to lie to me. Lie to me until your lips are mutated and your bated tongue is in shreds, lie, lie, lie, until the wrong turns right, until forward becomes backwards, until the truth is the ultimate lie, and I’ll gladly do the same to you. After all, we’re just doing what we need to do. We’re just doing all we can do.

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Filed under Prose

2 × 2 = Death

two times two

makes four

does no harm

but two times two

makes five

has its charm.

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Filed under Poetry

x ∞

i am more than me

in this universe

than the universe

shall ever be

i am me and more

yet i am more of me

more than i will ever be

for i am me

and i will be

more than me

than i shall ever be

no sorry, no maybe

just me being me

for this is me, you see

and i am me

t i m e s × i n f i n i t y.

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Filed under Poetry

Life and all Its Fickle Insanities

Is there a right way for being strong?
Feels like I’m doing things all wrong
Still I’m here just holding on
Confess my heart and forgive my wrongs
Just trying to show you something more…

~*~

You’re trying to keep from going insane

Biting down on your heart to keep from crying out in pain

Walking away from the tomorrow they promised

Would be a grand illusion of borrowed pleasantries

.

If nobody loves you, maybe you deserved none

Existence won’t wait for your fickle mindless derisions

Capture the scars, display them in an album

Filled with bad memories and flickering momentum

.

People might stay for the night, but won’t build your dreams

And the sunset taking back the light is more than it seems

You’re just trying to place the bets on the better

Picking the monochromes and greys in a palette of technicolour

.

Hanging barely on the tightropes by your two fingertips

And the audience might just cheer if you happened to sneeze

If nobody takes you, then maybe you’ll take yourself

Don’t bother trying to pick diamonds out of your golden chest

.

Your fractured ribs will give way to the recalescent candle that stares

Breaking the tongues of forever until you’re naif and unaware

Fighting back the night and holding on to the twisted path of right

Dying again and again until you find that final guiding light

.

You’re just trying to keep from keeping insane

‘Cause ain’t that the way of life and its arid little games

Walking towards the today no one will ever give you

But yourself, this illusion may be grand but the escape won’t beat you.

~*~

Nobody’s gonna love you
If you can’t display a way to capture this
Nobody’s gonna hold your hand
And guide you through, it’s up for you to understand
Nobody’s gonna feel your pain
When all is done and it’s time for you to walk away
When you have today, you should say all that you have to say…

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The Devil On The Horizon

Are you sick, are you tired, and you’re feeling vain?
Your lips are turning blue
I know you wish you were dead to the world
But there’s something you should know…

~*~

A scream that cuts like the edge of a pensive

Bullets and serpents caught between your teeth

Gritting and gnashing until the pieces shatter

Drown demons under gasoline and burning water

.

You swore there was a heaven, and you let us keep it

You swore there was a hell, but you have kept it secret

Living in this filthy world of hospitals and deathbeds

Singing a little fucking louder to keep from being dead

.

Take us through woodworks, past wolves and putrid decay

Flowers for Medusa, I’ll go tell Slater in the bathroom door

Heal the hurting with rusty needles to sew the pain in half

Within a canvas of dark ink, true maven artwork soul falls

.

Trapped under circle pits, dragged under entrancing spells

We’ll join the club of antivists, our middle fingers up there

This liberation against possession, anarchists for catharsis

What’s yours is ours, and all this hatred could go get pissed

.

The jaded beep of the tiring monitor may never feel your heart

But this mind feels each beat of your raging pulse steadily restart

Sempiternal like the horizon, and you’d better fucking believe it

You’ll scream for the damned and the broken, yeah, that’s the spirit.

~*~

You’re scared, I can see you tremble
Shaking like a dog, shitting razor blades
Feel the shadows like a stranger
Well, join the club, yeah, join the club
Do you think you’re the only one who feels the way you do?
We’re all fifty shades of fucked up…

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Leave The Truth Alone

There’s nothing really left to say
And I don’t need you to explain
We don’t need those lines
So tired of living in the past
So if we’re gonna make it last
We should leave it all behind
I’d rather you lie than throw it all away…

~*~

I’ll beat you out when you talk your candid games

You said love, I say brainwashed, it’s just the same

Think you can handle the kilometres on my gauge

Step on the pedal honey, kill the switch, disengage

.

So just kick my shins, I’ll fucking jump off the ceiling

They think it’s blatant suicide, but it has no meaning

Cheers to poisons gurgling at the back of our throats

Who knew living out the rest would be my footnote?

.

The lowest type tries to burn the oceans with a match

And marionettes pretty girls, with no strings attached

But the doctors won’t hit me up with more medication

Guess I’m not meant for surgeries and wasted sedation

.

Tonight I met the sun and moon drinking at a 24/7 bar

They told me to fuck off, they don’t got any more stars

And the sky has turned serrated from the lacerated eyes

I’m done making vicious promises, through playing nice

.

Don’t you dare take the trite polygraph out of my tongue

That gin and tonic does our thing, have ten shots for fun

And while we’re at it, shooting blank rounds at the wind

Say this story’s a threadbare hoax, just another banal sin.

~*~

How deep do you wanna go?
Don’t you know that some things
Are better left alone?
They’re better left alone…

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Deca[y]dence

Like memories in cold decay
Transmissions echoing away
Far from the world of you and I
Where oceans bleed into the sky…

~*~

Desiccated spaces where a heart used to be

Arrogant sneers, spilling away immortality

Stepping on the detritus of a calamitous lie

Polygraphs seizing and intervening us nigh

.

Your distress signal under a burning bridge

Narcotic teeth fall out, in a pulmonary hitch

Wretched iridescence transposed into matte

Insurgent eugenic narrated our contingency

.

Beliefs bleeding out down a bathroom drain

Transmitting onto veins a rapacious disdain

Don’t save the accident for a dull reparation

Hospitals aren’t amused by a prestidigitation

.

The perpetrators backfiring, victims rupture

A mistake that won’t be held back by sutures

In the oil, propane, and faulty brakes, I’ll see

Decomposed vacuum where a soul used to be.

~*~

And when I close my eyes tonight
To symphonies of blinding light
God bless us everyone, we’re a
Broken people living under loaded gun…

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The Home Inside My Head

I’m getting pretty good at leaving, my patience isn’t wearing thin
Autumn never ends in my head, no matter how far I’ve been
It feels like everybody is the branch and I’m the leaves
Falling from the top of every leafless tree…

~*~

Seven lies, to make up for the ones I spent on you last night

Veneration and admiration melting into stained-glass spites

Memories triggered on the revolver with an empty chamber

A diamond bullet for each bloodstain that I fail to remember

.

This is way more complicated than smoking on the dashboard

And sitting on the basement stairs, tying another noose’s cords

An apartment with a single chair and a couch to accommodate

The monsters that visit my bedroom when I am staying up late

.

Doorways without a doorknob, a stone key without a brass lock

A broken doorbell with a barren picture frame, so please knock

Provisions of diverse renditions settling in moth-frayed drapery

Your overplayed excuses taste like naphthalene on dust bunnies

.

Under the lampshade where you hid those secrets and the baggage

You stowed away with hallmark cards and epipens for easy storage

Brass tacks and rusty corkscrews can’t alter the sound of voicemail

Last year it was our symphony, now it’s just another ire on the scale

.

A ghost of the tenant occupying an abandoned and decrepit residence

Ancient tales of foreboding snatched by shadows, gaunt reminiscence

The home inside my head feels much more spacier with a lodger gone

Past vacant stares and for sale signs, perhaps it is time I end my haunt.

~*~

The home inside my head has a bed for me
That no one will ever get the chance to see
A kitchen table with one chair, walls with
Empty picture frames no one will ever see…

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Streamers Over Empty Shadows

I’ve got a cupboard with cans of food, filtered water
And pictures of you and I’m not coming out
Until this is all over, and I’m looking through
The glass where the light bends at the cracks…

~*~

Maybe it just didn’t matter

That our house was a table emptier

In an absence of good food and spilled water

And gregarious pictures and laughter

Maybe it didn’t matter anymore

That we ceased attempting to keep score

And that everyday brings me dread

For the time it all comes to a head

Maybe we’re just falling out

The way ancient things always do somehow

The history corroded and rusted

And I shot the bullet that left it dead

Maybe we’re all just too busy

Doing what’s important, picking a priority

No time for relaxing and companions

Instead eating out time and cramming lessons

Maybe I’m just being selfish

And a melodramatic conniving bitch

But I needed alleviation, yet no one showed

Until I left my whiskey out in the cold

Maybe things are simply changing

Just like how they should be carrying

Life is just seconds from detonating again

Now we don’t say if, but we say when

Maybe it doesn’t fucking matter anymore

That this little ritual of ours has become a bore

Maybe you stopped to care, but it’s sad to say

When I needed it the most, no one arrived to stay.

~*~

And I’m screaming at the top of my lungs pretending
The echoes belong to someone, someone I used to know
And we become silhouettes when our bodies finally go…

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A Trainwreck of Thoughts

My heart is pounding fast, I’m out of gas, it never lasts

Serotonin, oxytocin, we’re built for sins and late for mass

Chemical, mechanical faces, daily races underwater

Looking for god in cabarets and never searching for answers

Am I your jester? Will I entertain her? Is the sense in making sense

For a semblance of humanity, insanity, neuropathy

Endowed in chronic migraines and under castigated lies?

Uncertainties play like a chess piece, checkmate, check please

Asking the waiter for the receipt, but he never comes

It’s sympathetic…pathetic, isn’t it?

The empathy that curls and coils and churns in my esophagus

Screaming until my lungs are bruised, traumatic pain, dramatic recluse

In the throes of a black rose, petals falling in a final calling

For the tears in tantrum storming, where are we now?

Somehow…it never changes, the change rattling ranges in our pockets

Never mean a thing, but there’s a hole in your pants

And your nickels are clattering in your mind; never mind

The respect, don’t expect, crestfallen and swollen eyes, do it thrice

Without fail, without avail, without much ado about the gale

They say love was just a tale written in thorns and photographs,

Polaroids and tongues so crass, washing away the blood on our hands

Burying the body but never saying sorry, you’ll never bury the past!

Here I stand. My heart is pounding fast, I’m out of spare tires and gas

Waiting for the moment to last, waiting for the end to finish the past

Will this sempiternity ever end? Will the medication finally bend?

Will this recluse find the chaos amid the calm, will I take on such a task?

My heart slows down, and I’m waiting silently yet patiently for you to ask,

But you never show your cards, and again…I relapse.

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