Tag Archives: choice

pseudonym [8]

am i the letdown that shook the foundation of their worries?

never did it to myself, but it seems i only ever did it to please

distichs and dead ends weren’t enough to keep me occupied

you left me spent, the choice i made just leads to a shortsight

.

callous, beguiling, simpleminded, though blindly overdramatic

indelible yet impossible, a performative living that feels emetic

zipped-up lips and narcolepsy hide a contraband of nightmares

embarking past columned spines, still seeking hope in nowhere

kept only by the promises disgraced—perhaps it was never really fair.

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unwanted

Watching the wings cut through the clouds
Watching the raindrops blinking red and white
Thinking of you back on the ground
There with a fire burning in your eyes
I only halfway apologized…

~*~

all you ever do

is fuck things up

with your grating noise

and bleed them dry

with your social razors

and yet you wonder

why you’re always

the last choice?

leave your duct taped

smiles all over the

peeling wall, before

you complain they don’t

know you at all

and force your feet

to dance like mad blowflies

decaying under heat

they won’t notice it’s a lie

a sour abandonment

burns the roof of your mouth

does it hurt not to care?

or to be cared about?

scratching at your arms

like that would take it away

quiet redness blossoms

but the scars look okay

so when you pull out

a cold disappearing act

rest assured they’re all tired

and glad you’ve stopped

because you’re insufferable

all you ever do is fuck things up

so, what do you say?

won’t you do everyone a

favour and please go away?

they won’t need you.

they never needed you.

they don’t fucking need you.

go away. go away. g o . a w a y .

~*~

So I’ll be sorry for now
That I couldn’t be around
There are things we have to do
That we can’t stand
Oh, I’ll be sorry for now
That I couldn’t be around
There will be a day that
You will understand…

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Fill In The Blanks

Regrets infesting before the final choice is made

A look-back taken the wrong way, as resolution fades

Can’t catch a break when I’m running with fractured legs

So I sit in the sheer silence of my own fucking mess

I want to take back something that hasn’t even been done

Exchange clear rationality just for the sake of jumping the gun

When the count’s already over and the ticking clock has won

It leaves only myself wondering until I’m left with none.

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The Buildup Before The Downfall

This is your night with arms wide open
I’m the option you shouldn’t have chosen
Scared of the dark, the door’s wide open
This is the night you’ll regret in the morning…

~*~

Don’t you feel bad for choosing the option

That left me feeling good only out in the open

I’d bare my marred soul and read the signs

But you won’t talk back, our glances won’t align

I swear, I’m damned, do you regret me now?

Loverboy don’t play a fun game without any toys

I’d call your bluff and I’ll cash in all my friends

And still I’m short-selling, I couldn’t see this end

My hands will wander, and my eyes will travel

But you’re closer to heaven than I am to hell

Don’t pass my lips like obscenities, this is the first

You said you were an ocean, but why did I die of thirst?

I look over the chip over my shoulder to greet unrest

The choice I took was never mine, and you were my best

With the lies that surround me now, you tore me down

To build me back up into something completely different of your own.

~*~

Loverboy, you play those hearts like toys
Don’t you feel bad, don’t you feel bad, feel bad for them?
Given the choice, would you do it again?
Of course I would, of course I should
Well, I’m your friend, friend with benefits…

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Burying Nevus

It was a few steps forward, twice removed, seconds away from pulmonary distress. The rough patches of ocher blisters felt like frozen ice lodged in his windpipe, a cowardly conviction that he wouldn’t dare speak. His fault. His mistake. His responsibility. Him, a filthy traitor. The constricting bracelets felt like bleeding handcuffs, prosecuting him for his blithe misunderstanding. This was never my intention, yet why am I riddled with disorienting guilt? One voice asked in attrition. It’s not you to blame if you didn’t know. Awareness is key. Another reasoned out calmly. Ignorance is the enemy of reason. A third entity argued in hostility. Every choice made sense, thus, he told them all to shut up so he could think. He bit down on his raw cheek until bile flooded his throat and metastasised as an abrasive lump. The bloodied bruise tasted like a salty alibi in his mouth. He submerged his soberness in liquid regret until it drowned, and sunk in inebriation. After he could think no longer, he made his final decision. He carried through. He knew it was unfathomably wrong, fatally so. But it was warranted.

It was just another scar tissue he had to permanently hide.

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Filed under Prose

Prescriptions

My heart pumps this blood rush still, my legs numb
My sweat drips down my face, clears my vision
I battle myself, I battle…keep my hands from my throat
For this silence, I battle myself, I battle…

~*~

The simple logistics

Interfering with sense

Introduced in interims

Of trivialities dense

So lend me another idea

Of a wasted nostalgia

I’ll keep it so dearly

Filed under dementia

Stop my phantom hand

From impulsive emotion

Sedate me some more

In prescribed medication

The pills muffle pain

As well as thinking new

A choice without the other

I’ll have to make do.

~*~

Swallow down now whole, bitter pill unfolds
I lose my surroundings and fake that I’ve gained hope
This bitter pill he swallows takes the tension…

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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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Frenemy

i’m so confused

as to whether

i should hate you

for your little trivialities

up for dissection

or like you for

the bigger picture of

the friend with which

i could share every emotion.

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Filed under Poetry

☆ with me ★

♫•*¨*•.¸¸♪

with me,

the songs revolve

on an ocean of

gasoline

and masked the

bitter with some

glycerine.

with me,

cease respiration

and save your

oxygen

i’ll only waste it

with my liquid

nitrogen.

with me,

your head can be

even lighter than

helium

thoughts of pitch

and asphyxiate into

delirium.

with me,

you might think me

a most precious of

medallion

when all i actually

am is composed of

zirconium.

with me, i might be

an onyx block of

obsidian

but rarer, harder than

diamonds, pick me as

the one.

♫•*¨*•.¸¸♪

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Filed under Poetry, Southern Constellations

Vanishing Point; All That’s Left Are Traces Of You

And without you is how I disappear
And live my life alone forever now
Can you hear me cry out to you
Words I thought I’d choke on
Figure out I’m really not so with
You anymore, I’m just a ghost
So I can’t hurt you anymore…

~This Is How I Disappear; My Chemical Romance

~*~

If you found me gone one day, with nothing but a whirlwind of scattered letters and notebooks and papers, with one parched fountain pen dying of dehydration in the middle, lying forgotten in my dislimned room like an ironic tableau, to indicate the figure, the mass, the emptied space which my once-corporeal missing body once occupied, what would you do?

Would you silently shut the door, lock the house, and leave, leave that damned place that swallowed me whole, and start afresh, burying all memories and preludes of mine, allowing it to be covered in dust and cobwebs along with the crumbling papers, in that lonely dark room in a restless abandoned house, doomed to become another cheap haunted tourist attraction—?

Or would you take a deep breath, gathering all your aplomb and composure in a single oxygen intake, preparing yourself for the worst yet still hoping for the best, grip the knob with sweaty quivering palms, open the door with a prominent creak, and step in cautiously, allowing the darkness of the shadows and the lingering ghosts of what once was to chill your bones and embrace your every being—?

And if you were to choose the latter, if you were to gather all the papers, crumpled, clean, torn-up, every scrap and bit scribbled upon in a fit of either ennui or frustration, and put them together, as if they were the puzzle pieces that will finally solve the complexities and mysteries of my shambled life, and you read them, word for word, letter for letter, line for line and rhyme for rhyme, the mindlessly scratched punctuation and intentionally scratched out words blurring into a singular monstrous emotion that discreetly ravaged and poisoned your child’s system internally, now reforming and threatening to tear at your soul’s throat, as you read the unorganised pastiche of all my regrets, passions, agonies, jubilances, those things that I wanted to say, those things I never said, and those things that I will never get to say, what would you do?

Would you tie those anthologies of pain and paradise altogether in a messy little bundle, and without so much as an apology nor prayer, simply toss them gracelessly into the raging hungry fireplace, letting each scrap of paper curl up like dying butterfly wings and be devoured by the rising flames, starving for memories to destroy, turning my thoughts into bitter ashes, no longer to be sifted and repaired, rather only left to the whim of the wind, to get caught in people’s eyes, leaving my life to be an open case, speculated and falsified upon, leaving the words of the dead to remain dead and only an unspoken echo, a pale blot in the fabric of time—?

Or would you tie those florilegiums of hurt and happiness altogether in a neat little bundle, and with utterances of faith and assurance, share them eloquently with the others wanting in hope, letting each page be turned with eager fingers like flourishing petals of blue forget-me-nots and be devoured by the willing masses, voracious for memories to engrave, turning my ponderings into a spectrum of colours, no longer to be ignored and rotting away in a locked grey vault, rather to be left in the whim of the breeze, to get caught in people’s hearts, leaving my life to be stipulated and validated upon, making the words of the dead come back to life and to gain a voice of their own, a universe itself in the tapestry of time—?

And if you opted for the second decision, and you succeeded, what would you do if you returned to my room one day, and found me, sitting casually on my bed, with an overflowing ink jar dripping murky tears on my desk and a flurry of blank sheets of paper like a hurricane of unconceived literature on the spotless carpet, taciturn as I write out brand new compositions with a faint yet genuine smile on my solid scarlet lips, content with my slowly unfading existence, colliding shades of carnation and pastel tints efflorescing on my pallid cheeks and everywhere else that the bleeding colours chances to touch, revived by your efforts, revived by the memory of my name fresh in everyone’s sentience, unaged and youthful, looking as if I never left, this place, this world, and a void in your mind, in the very first place?

Would you tell yourself that all this, was simply nothing but a tired delusional dream of yours, disintegrating into the aether as soon as you make contact with it—?

Or would you dare step in again, completing a full möbius strip of the vanishing cycle, into my bright phantasmic room, and touch my skin to see if the bubble pops…?

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Filed under Prose