Tag Archives: change

open season

i have never told you a single thing

because i do not want you involved

i do not want you to get in the way

of such trainwreck i have devolved

if it was better for me, i would bite

they all say it’s what’s fucking right

but i know there’s not a damn point

there’s only cliche bullshit to anoint

of medication and invasive therapy

that leaves no personal room for me

and i do not want paid-for sympathy

nor will i waste my time for insanity

six years i’ve been dealing out alone

and i’m still alive right now, aren’t i?

i’ve done everything to keep it all in

fucked in the head with fucking lies

but i’m fighting back, broke apology

i cut my wrists, but never too deeply

i repress depression, relapse, release

i’ve people to pull me out of the seas

i still hope, i still dream, and i’ll love

i’m still disgustingly human by blood

i am damaged, but that does not mean

that i’m not trying to change anything

so please just stay away from this mess

and honestly, this is just all for the best

say it’s help my mind need endures, but

you just might end up making me worse.

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Monomania

The chemicals in my brain

Are spilling over into tidal waves

And ricocheting delusions

But I don’t mind what they make

I’m being disgusting, banal

My apathetic towers are crashing

Yes, I’m sick from sentiment

But is that really such a bad thing?

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self-apology

i’m sorry

i’m breaking

i can’t keep

myself together

i’m sorry

for the veins

and all the ties

that i might sever

i’m sorry

that i keep on

throwing out any

attempts to be better

i’m sorry

i’m a fucking mess

and i’m sorry it’ll

stay that way forever.

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Filed under Poetry

The Emptiness

I feel at home with shadows from ghosts of the living
I dance along to melodies as silent choirs sing
I’m sick of always giving when there’s nothing left to lose
That place we’re in is breaking, it’s trying to break me too…

~*~

Another day, another death.

I wake up, empty. Tired to the very bone, despite the fact that I slept for more than ten hours. The bed feels so cosy and comfortable, as rain serenades the windowsill and cold morning air nips at my feet, luring me back into a dull oblivion. As usual, I don’t want to live. I don’t want to get out of my bed and function mechanically, feeling nothing but nothing. But I have obligations. Responsibilities. Projects and procrastinated homework. So I get up sullenly and do what I can. Do what I should. Brace myself through the freezing shower. Dress up, scarf down breakfast, flag down a vehicle, go to school, socialise, do things, and try to make it through another day.

I started the day feeling shitty as usual, but halfway throughout it, things were looking up. I finished my crammed essays. I made some write-ups and started a story that I’ve been raring to write for ages. I got to catch up with my bands. I helped classmates out, actually recited, accomplished my quizzes and seatworks, actively participated in class. I finally got the thing I’ve been excited to receive the entire weekend. I ate great food and hung out and laughed with fine friends. For once, this was an honest to god day where I acted like a proficient human being, where I didn’t act up and was not my usual dysfunctional self. I did everything right.

So why does everything feel so fucking wrong?

I ended the day running halfway to my house, after having a complete breakdown in the middle of the public city and making people have to put up with the wreck that I am, and unnecessarily infecting them with whatever sad fucking irrational bullshit I was going through. I ended up nearly getting ran over by a bus, nearly missing my bus stop, fucking crying on a goddamn bus as guilt and goddamn pain internally ran me over. I ended up lusting for my vices for the millionth time, for a razor and a pill to infest my system, dying to relapse, living to die. I ended up empty, tired, and unfulfilled, the same way I wake up everyday, and the same way I am as I go to sleep.

I thought all this was supposed to make you feel stronger and make you desire for a greater life, not feeling vulnerable and washed out by the sun, sitting in your dark bedroom, anxious and wallowing, curled up in your own contrition and regretting everything, heaving emptily as everything drains the energy out of your existence. In the end, everything, all of it, writing, reading, songs, bands, fandoms, obsessions, friends, love, emotions, momentary bouts of faux happiness and vigilant but futile hope, it’s just mere distractions in the end. All just stupid petty little distractions to make it seem like there’s actually a chance to change. A chance for something better. A fighting chance for me.

But when all those distractions falter and fade away, I’m always left feeling ten, twenty, fifty times more miserable and pathetic than before; flooding at the gaps in my memory, making the permanent patches in my skin ache, intensifying the taste of the fucking bitter sick on my tongue. And I’m sorry. I want to be optimistic. I want to accept those butterfly pastel mantras and keep the faith. I want to keep on keeping on. I want to fight back and achieve something for myself. I want to make people proud, and make those who were thought I’d never be alter their perception. I want to see the glass-half full, not shatter it because I’m disgusted of my own reflection. I want to change. I want to believe.

I never wanted this. But somehow I can’t do jack shit about it. The only change I can see in myself now is that I’ve become more shameless, more degraded, and more screwed up than before. Anxiety, harder-hitting depression, cutting, drugs, invalid pain, panic attacks, mental breakdowns, bad decisions, I am a picture-perfect smorgasbord of everything that should never be put together. And now I don’t even bother hiding it anymore. I’ve given up trying to counter it. I’ve given up. I’ll always be cynical, and I’m screwed in the head and all fucked-up. Life feels like a constantly looming death sentence, and I want to be my own executioner. Nothing changes. Everything stays the same.

And if things went the way they were supposed to be, and I acted properly, did things right, played by the rules for once, and lived a normal, happy, fulfilling day, and the ultimate end of it all is feeling exactly the same as when I do the exact opposite, feeling that same crappy screw-all depression running through my failing system and ruining everything for me, then fuck it, what’s the point of even trying?

Why should I bother looking for something that isn’t even there?

~*~

I built these walls to keep the outside world from me
And I’ll fight to stay in the hell of my own mind
It’s safer on the inside, underneath where
You can’t ever get to me…

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Relapse, Recover

Who am I to think I’m one with this
To devise a life and run with it
Well, I’m running away
Then hear my ties to burden
And this is where I’m from
So when my body fails me
And all my beliefs, taking flight
This is how you’ll remember me…

~*~

These cicatrices are verboten, swear to hell that you will keep them

Crashing the pnuematic mistakes I fall away in again and yet again

Clinical neuropathy and an ugly intruder that never seems to yield

Scavenging my liquor breath and leaving my collapsed lungs killed

.

Drink in the chasms of ocean trust and lose a gold fountain of youth

Impervious to the suffering I averted, prismatic saved stars uncouth

If these knives are a circus show, my veins are the devil’s fairground

I never thought I even had it in my dragged carcass to still be around

.

As you spoke in tongues of sequined runes and automatic hieroglyphs

Of laconic hope, disembodied willow phantoms trailing from your lips

The acolytes ambush in resistant strain and infested in forlorn fervour

You won’t dare let this algae drown, alleged not to be a mere spectator

.

So bury the scars under fading promises and writ oaths in ink-noir blood

Privacy’s always my abraded fallacy, occluded to playing games with God

I swallowed the dynamite and lit a cigarette, let the ashes dance delirious

You altered the fuse inside my burning abdomen, knowing it was insidious

.

I never hoped for a full recovery, but I’m hitching a ride at the next ambulance

If the ritalin ceases to perplex my vertiginous peripheral, I will find my chance

I’m starving for friends and absent sense, the ones I’d die in a lost heartbeat for

And if I ever finish tallying all my infinite debts, I’ll let you know the final score.

~*~

Build me a foundation, not one of perfection
But one of structure and word
My eyes are upright, in constant search
Perfection, a shout unconquerable
Aren’t we all human! Aren’t we all human?

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impulsive stars

if you think

there’s a chance

to redeem your virtues

at the cobalt stage

hold your tongue

and cross your fingers

for everything’s just

about to change

and if the blistered stars

align like renegade

orbits waiting to

fall in a reverse line

save your breath

this isn’t over

and let the impulses

lace your spine.

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Filed under Poetry

The Last Young Renegade

Long live the reckless and the brave
I don’t think I want to be saved
My song has not been sung
And long live the fast times, so come what may
I don’t think that I’ll ever be saved, I know
Our song has not been sung, long live us…

~*~

The first time strikes

Like a fatal blow

As the anarchic trite

Is a puerile glow

Passing fickle crimes

Consenting none

Pioneers of renegade

Bring out the sun

Youth and the world

War of a reckless

Glamour and talking

In tongue feckless

Long live brave fools

Mayday, they say

Profound, old school

Friction burn day

Trapped in suburbia

Caught on tarmac

Trainers worn-down

And hoodies black

The nights to arrange

Fast times dignity

Run out from normal

And old modesty

Tread black-top lines

Of spastic change

Spontaneous fervour

Could be arranged

But if rebels surmount

Punctual refugees

Restrained and recede

Scant probabilities

An unforgiving planet

Looks are deceiving

They’ll take the crown

But you’re winning

And the last time strikes

Descending in storms

And this juvenile chaos

Is worth fighting for.

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[s]oil

the changes

are drastic

and my writing

feels plastic

off it melts

scalding me

acrid smells

of past reverie

what used to

be a perfect toil

now is reduced

to wasted oil.

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Filed under Poetry

Broken Record

It called me, I shoulda known
As the fever sweat through the dream
Told mamma that I couldn’t go
So I could stay home just to watch him dancing
And you could not tell me then
Like you could never ever tell me now
That this is not who I am…

~*~

I lost my way when I told everyone I’m keeping my resolve

I changed directions but hit the brakes when I started to swerve

Blood on the carpet, cracked car window and I don’t regret it

Perhaps it’s just too late, and call me cliché but I just might make it

.

The fever haunts my sleep like a ghost, it keeps me up at night

I’m sweating tears, way past the years of choosing wrong or right

But the final decision won’t be under your static voice’s call

It’s collapsing in weekends and dead ends, need some damage control

.

Reluctance only absolves the manifested consequences it amasses

A separation in the direct degree, as the unread side effects harasses

Querulous impostors screaming diplomatic shrill notes of protests

Drenched to the sin with self-repugnance, scandalising second guesses

.

Those platinum eyes reflect the man submerged in visceral frequency

Staggering the nightmares rushing in my veins, taunting habitual tendency

Show me the alternative to bloodletting and crumpled prescription pills

Embarking to the mistress of a bottle just so time would stand still

.

The blackout makes it easier, ’cause that way I don’t have to look at myself

When the déjà vu is drowning me under familiar sandpits of its miserable help

The taste of being sober, the bitten tongue and the scent of absinthe forsaken

Until I’m too sick and second to none, falling out over and over and over again…

~*~

Showed me that carrot on a string
But just a little too late
The bite from the taste and the smell
Of the sick somehow reminds me to be myself
Over and over again…

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A Faltering Song

‘Cause I would rather spend my life
Vacations in bed with you
Li
ke drunken summer kites
And this is only a test!
S
ober and scaring me to death…

~*~

Say there’s been a mistake

I’m not falling under the sanctity

And separating my surrender

From poise of inevitability

I’ll never let the sirens tire

Screaming for my name in gold

Underwater over fire

Losing infinity against their hold

I have no right to be jaded

By your tireless serenade

If my skeletal past consumes me

I’ll be digging my own grave

I’m simply disoriented

Dizzy and voyeuristic, set to burn

I’ll say a prayer for casualty

And I’ll circulate all of your concern

I’m addicted, you’re a gamble

I’ll lose the spare evidence

It’s visceral, but I’ll keep it here

You’re the only part that makes sense

I won’t ever let change hang around

You created the sleepless skies

Honestly, I’m barely sick

Please extinguish the southern nights

I’m attracted to liquid colours

To your spectrum of stereo and ash

If the day arrives that I can’t convince myself

Then my wasted world is set to collapse.

~*~

They’ll never take us alive
(Can you chase away the darkness?)
To live in love and die—!

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Filed under Poetry