Tag Archives: concept

Folsom Homesickness

Hold me for contempt

I am a sinful man

If arrogance was blithe

I will be borne one

Mercy I shall not plead

It was writ in stone

Guilt can be a path into

The gaol I call home.

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Three Wishes

Mortal wishes, the hearty desire

I wish all these doors are on fire

Spinning skull yet in moratorium

Long lines thought an auditorium

.

Mortal wishes, the greed not to die

I wish the scissors would never lie

Vertigo angle yet standing straight

Out of the theatre, over all the wait

.

Mortal wishes, of the soul sacrifice

I wish I could wish more than thrice

Djinn can be cruel, trapped in a bottle

You grant them now, you lost this battle.

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Heaven’s Host of Holy Harlots (or; Her)

Now I do recall, we were just getting to the part
Where the shock sets in and the stomach acid
Finds a new way to make you get sick
I hope you didn’t expect to get all of the attention
Let’s not get selfish, did you really think
I’d let you kill this chorus?
Let’s get these teen hearts beating faster, faster…

~*~

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Testosterone and pheromone clashing on purple stars and narcotic sweet talk

You don’t have the money to pay for me honey, so empty your whiskey and walk

Paint me a picture of lascivious lackeys and jejune Johns glued up on the ceiling

It’s a risky risqué, a flaccid falsification, don’t you wanna genuinely force feelings?

.

The audience applauded your strip club scene lauding until you caught the clap

Your bedroom bulbs burning your bare back, the director yells cut! It’s a wrap

Decadent sweat and flimsy nightdress, a godmother touch of ghetto beatnik

But don’t let the acids shock your head, cameraman, attention to the chick flick!

.

Rusty bobby pins that stab my dollface like she’s a patchwork quilt, a girl voodoo

Addicted to anorexic magazines, counting every stretch mark on her waistline

Your latest triple-X films didn’t do so well on the silver screen, adultery’s no clue

No one loves you anymore, you’re just another passé blasé belladonna landmine…

.

~*~

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You downed your roofies, curled the pills against your tongue, and woke up

With a broken nose, and swimming in blood and vomit in the bathroom tiles

Replay the night where you infiltrated and massacred the innocence enough

A sledgehammer kills your brain and limbs splayed on the counter to defile

.

Ideology and irresponsibility, edification of evanescence you coldly brandished

Through clenched teeth you feed and consume, suck the bones of the sun dry

Ate the Big Apple through the core, and yet you’re still starving and famished

Safe scepticism and sober sessions, but darling you won’t get better if you try

.

Bulimic bullying coating the lining of your stomach, sinking like wrought anvil

Don’t wanna look like a lookalike, so you crawled in your bed and spindled Anvil

Hollow helium and hearts splattered on the wall, as this boiling passion simmers

I’m left with horseshoes blasting hand grenades, you sauntered away to canter…

.

~*~

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{3}  {M}{A}{R}{Y}{A}{N}{N}{E}  {C}{O}{M}{P}{A}{S}{S}{I}{O}{N}

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Too young to be cynical, too old to whine, dramatic design of sedentary sophism

I’ll attend your recital and pray on budget guilt, quavering on false catechism

Gospel eyes focusing nauseous as I’m making out with the cusp of the booze

Until I’m sulking and subdued and shit-faced and I got fucking nothing to lose

.

My ten dollar words are too costly, my immortalised chronicle barely illegible

You’ve got the propensity my dear, be my choreographed sculpture eligible

Gisella won’t sing about the beautiful forest when both her parents are dead

Sauté arabesque, my mermaid ballerina, dance the charade under my bed

.

Contemplate going on a date with your executioner to get out of arraignment

A coldness to infect hypothermia and escape, burn the flag to ride full extent

I’ll wait for you and rendezvous, guzzle motorcycle serotonin on the gas station

You’re my getaway and my regime, without you I’m just another human violation…

.

~*~

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•4•  •R•A•C•H•E•L•  •D•O•M•I•N•A•N•C•E•

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My maiden of lilac blossom and fragile plexiglas plays dirty, go past the curfew

Your ceramic bones and silicone nerves aren’t making it fucking obvious for you

Kiss my gnarled knuckles hard until it bruises and let the blood be your lipstick

I’m a repeat offender you keep going back to, the stalker burning out your wick

.

Rub the wet sand in my dry eyes, sever your umbilical cord off my bluest neck

So put your revolver down for me Annie, this fantasia wonderland ain’t got feck

All the oxygen in my lungs rushed out in a cyclone breath, my blood evacuation

My teeth are tingling at the sight of your old smile, you’re giving me palpitations

.

Luciferin in your neon glow lights, a femme fatale and a courtyard miscreant

You’re a dangerous incentive, infamous explicit actor, and that’s what you want

Your illegal wink can cause insanity, your sun freckled dirt nose abating injury

They won’t sojourn the court and bend your lithium cell against a case of perjury…

.

~*~

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|5|  |H|E|R|  |S|C|A|N|D|A|L|

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My darling virgin porn star stubbed her crushed heart by the bedpost late last midnight

Those ruby stripper heels and fuck-me eyes whispered a freak beneath the bedsheets

Aphrodisiac of varnish and musty paint, we don’t need a school bell to start up the fight

Getting intimate with perfect strangers, selling sex and slipping on stagnant love for free

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You came and took me out of your floral mouth like I’m just a repulsive decaying tonsil

But my love, I missed the way you called me persecutory names under the windowsill

Start with after-hours in bars, end up screwing up in cars, I’m your backseat confidential

One foot slammed on the brake as we careen out of control, don’t die, you’re too special

.

I can taste the prevarications on my neck, leaving saliva and bile dripping down my warm nape

It’s too fucking late to return past all our selfishness, it’s more than your shaking body can take

My darling virgin porn star, you’re just a funeral wreck, and your life’s a hellbound shitty wake

If you strained yourself and stained your velvet coffin, will you laugh with me until your soul breaks?

.

~*~

I got more wit, a better kiss, a hotter touch, a better fuck
Than any boy you’ll ever meet, sweetie you had me
Girl I was it, look past the sweat, a better love deserving
Of exchanging body heat in the passenger seat
No, no, no, you know it will always just be me
Let’s get these teen hearts beating faster, faster
So testosterone boys and harlequin girls
Will you dance to this beat and hold a lover close?

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I wanna be the tattoo ink that swims down through the needle in your skin

I wish I was poisonous
Like a bottomless sound
Like a violent drug
Do you remember the knife I kept?
The sharper it got, the more
You wanted me to use it…

~*~

The night sings in slow motion, a stagnant riot of a melancholy latin church chorus resonating past the intricate stained glass windows, the flourishing finale guitar lick of a spanish melody that makes one’s heart leap past the curtains of complete composure. It was a rare opportunity to pause from life and a welcoming silence to embrace, and I was taciturn and brooding as I rested leisurely by the window ledge, smoking a Cuban cigar and contemplating panoply discussions rather thoughtfully. The breeze pushed past my weaning figure roughly like an impatient passerby, and for a moment, I appeared to teeter like a child on a seesaw, yet the fall at the other end never arrives to weigh down and elevate me back into several tangible seconds of an innocent bliss. There was no avoirdupois balance to bring my poised dangling toes back to touching the soft cool earth, apart from my own sanity, which always felt to me as gossamer as Arachne’s bone-white sumptuous silken hair.

And that’s all it takes for me to fall.

You weren’t there. You were never there. Last night you awoke in a disgusting bathroom stall on the underground tube, heaving your guts out to the non-too-catchy tune of the robotic announcer’s grumbles of ″Mind the gap.″ blaring through ancient dusty static speakers. Today you clutched a lock of your chewed trichobezoar hair along with a half-full bottle of Smirnoff and fell asleep under the kitchen table, next to the cupboards containing the jar of my uningested sleeping pills and your used ammonia and muriatic acid. But I was there. I was always there. I was the one who drove all night to find you and ran through four red lights to get you to the emergency room, and I was the one who spent several nights in a filthy cell at the police precinct, and paid in cash for both hospital bill and bail alike. Tonight, I’m the one who delicately carried you up a flight of spiral stairs and tucked you in meticulously on the cool bed that I fixed, and cleaned up the mess you made on the checkered linoleum tiles downstairs. You wrecked, I repaired. We cancelled each other out.

Just another usual midnight scene in this household.

I took a long drag and blew a sophisticated whorl of hazy plumes in spiced smoke, as the stars behind their screen of fumes appeared to shimmer a faltering skeletal grey, like a waning spectral hallucination. I always pondered dear, why our tongues, once a tangled and byzantine affair wherewithal, akin to the finest spool of golden thread, are now mondegreen against silver blades, screeching as it collides with the other, unpleasant and tinnitus-inducing. I was a halcyon sun. You were a hedonistic black hole. Prayers against passion, felicity to furtive, love over lust, gambol or glamour, inspiring despotically versus indulging decadently. It was always imbrications of forbearance, an insalubrious provocation of two people on the opposite side of the boxing ring, fists clenched, knuckles raised, prepared to throw the first punch with a ring of the bell. I wondered why I was so attracted to a dangerous force. I wonder now if I am a magnet, repelled by the same force, gravitating towards my polar opposite, difficult to leave once it pulls me into its charms and mysterious allures.

…No more shall I be fettered to you.

With a lassitude I wasn’t quite aware I possessed, I senselessly bit down on the tattoo of your flowery name embedded into my dermis, tearing with crooked dull stares onto the unflinching moon and gnashed dull teeth tearing numbly at the surface. I kept at the insane task until all that’s left are rancid shreds of muscle and skin, a rusty stormed bleeding out of oxidised scarlet dissolving against indelible black, the wound gaping wide like a mouth frozen in a scream. I didn’t flinch nor whimper, neither yelled nor reacted, throughout the immense pain of it all. I may have cried, but only because the winds were getting pervasive against my trophy eyes, and every droplet of tears that fell on the raw savaged cut stung badly like the astringent words you slurred to me before you passed out. With every bite I tore out of my maimed arm, it felt like an absolution, the atonement of your sins on my understudy role. My redolence was always an envious fragrance, but somehow your alcohol breath and sultry sweat manages to linger chokingly, stubbornly sticking in my skin like this godforsaken tattoo. It was all for you, all for you and more, do you understand?

But not everything is permanent, sweetheart. Not this night, not your name writ in pain…not my blinded sentiments for you.

I finally ceased with my thermonuclear breakdown, quit rending myself apart, physically and emotionally-wise. It was no use, yet I felt strangely cathartic. The effect was a chill down my spine that jolted lightning and candy-coloured breaths through my frosted oxygen, a shudder of a bittersweet one-night stand under the deathless Vegas lights, a morbid fascination of an angel standing solemnly in the morgue. The searing pain began to settle tauntingly in my tattered nerves, and it seethed as I wiped the blood off my lips, quite familiar to the taste of it all, reverting the vibrant colour of my mouth into its usual sickly pale pallor, creating an eerie Rorschach test of a splattered heart imprinted on my ivory-washed sleeves. These wounds I inflicted on myself shall heal. This ragged white shirt you bought for me on my birthday two years ago, I can drown in chlorine and detergent to get rid of the stains. The scar tissue that will be left, I can learn to tolerate, to ignore, to simply accept and live with. I am, at the best of the optimistic prospects despite my elsewhere wayward actions, free.

So why does the thought of you still fucking hurt?

But no. You were still resting in my bed, corporeal and very much concatenated to reality, and I can’t erase you like I did so to your inked name ever so brutally. You looked so goddamn beautiful as you slept through everything cozily, soundly dreaming of a million raining halo lights of neon glow in oblivion; and I was bloodied, jaded, and sunken as I watched the remaining shards of my waxen mutilated skin flutter downwards like grotesque snowflakes in dessication. I leaned in closer for a better view, almost losing my hold on the ledge and falling, as the scintilla pieces of a fractal violence and shorn sadism began billowing downwards elegantly and dispersed murmurously into the open salty breeze. Soon it shall waft out and travel farther than I’ve ever been, to a faraway fantasy land where some foolish child will stick their quivering tongue out and catch the puzzle pieces of the letters of your name between their grinning teeth, a poetic crassness. Fragments of you, that’s all that remains.

And that’s all that’s sempiternal.

~*~

I was lying to you
But you were lying too
So what’s left to do, what’s left to say?
Stop making friends, just us
I’ll decompose with you…

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The Ballad of the Arrogant Hearts

THE BALLAD OF THE ARROGANT HEARTS: VENTRICLE

Prologue Eins:

Tear it down! Break the barricade!
I wanna see what sound it makes
I hate this flavour with a passion
And I fucking hate the aftertaste!
How does it feel? How does it feel?
Well, it feels like I’m on fire!
Wake up, I know you can hear me…

~*~

I.) A Senseless Stardom And A Playwright’s Pain.
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Bury me by the open venetian windows, where I can visit you every night

You know my anatomy like a circus act, but you turned off the spotlight

My pavement kiss tastes harsh, but the scissors accentuate my sacrifice

You deceive and desecrate me far too often, but shit, I’ll never suffice

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Pose like a drunk pubescent actress, come on Marilyn, show some emotion

Every boy watching television shall receive your desperate transmissions

A noose of flowers and confection confessions melting on your tongue

Your affections were transgressions, but you’re so pretty when you run

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I used to write letters and poetry, but now for you, I only write obituaries

Don’t be sorry for little orphan Annie whose cellar is her own sanctuary

I’m a vagabond, you’re a bastard child, we’re a match made in angel hell

Inferno strikes under our tangled veins and the paradise the demon sells

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You were memorising phone numbers like it’s the digits on my credit card

If there was a prize for a comely crass drama queen, you’ll win that award

Ignorance might be your best friend, but I’ve been dating her for ten long years

It’s a violent explosion of distractions and disappointment in second gear

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As they all say, fuck the love, we’re in this game for the fame and money

Toasting our dead hearts with cocaine and expired 20 dollar champagne

I’ll scream for help, sabotage! Please don’t murder me with pleurisy baby!

And if I cry in my sleep, then you will know that I’m still dancing from pain…

—————————————

-i-n-t-e-r-m-i-s-s-i-o-n-

—————————————

THE BALLAD OF THE ARROGANT HEARTS: AORTA

Prologue Zwei:

Make me a promise here tonight!
Love like a tidal wave
Dreamless in early graves
I never want it to be this way
The chemicals will bring you home again
This is it, when it’s done, we can say that
When it’s sudden death we fight back!

~*~

II.) Confessions Of A Mad Stranger To An Inebriated Lover.

I confess by the altar, this is my last testament and surrendering admonition

Two souls like an orchestra, and I’ll conduct this symphony of destruction

I’m the only menace to your fugitive life, a key witness and an accomplice

I got scar evidence to lock you behind diamond bars for a million years

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You said it wasn’t a crime to feel, but the police are banging down my door

I promised I’d be just a little more sorry, but it’s just been a vulture’s chore

This turbulence in New Jersey, this fucking turbulence is beautiful for me

I may be deleterious and despondent, but your Europe eyes are a mystery

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I can smell clashing bitter bourbon and saccharine chocolate in your breath

You sicken me, but I feel better by shutting the closet doors and drinking late

Towed away in our underwater love, and I’ll be drifting away to abyssal death

But if I escape hell, I’ll sneak back into heaven for free, so don’t close the gate

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Don’t pay for your blessing, just grind the forest ax and damn, don’t hesitate

The big bad wolf will rend you to shreds if you swing away a second too late

Stuttering from the piercing bullet bites and the blizzard cold on your tattoos

Though I’m taking, I’m taking, I’m f-f-fucking taking back Saturday from you

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The jagged edges of your dress are wounding me badly as we’re locked in final embrace

Weighed down and singing our tainted names under the concrete rain like a disgrace

I know I’m a stupid motherfucker, thinking that with eternal hate, I’ll never be left alone

But darling, I’ll leave the answering machine on all night, in case you decide to come home.

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Cosmic Band-Aids

The coalescing Seattle twilight was an interplaying illusion of dusk and haze, warm colours replacing the pastel skylines, only to be painted over by the deep indigo eventide. The local rustic town café was already closing up, and they barely had time to finish the last bites of their chocolate bonbons and sip the remaining drops of their hazelnut vanilla frappé, before the intermittent barista ushered them out—quite literally, with a tremulous hand and an apologetic jilted demeanour. Now they stood outside the establishment in introspective reverie, dimmed bronze sodium streetlight the only solitary light source that resiliently pierced through the caliginous melancholy.

She was a blushing rose, liquid and pale, every infinitesimal detail somehow magnified to be remarkably interesting. Fragrance of baby’s breath and frankincense, posture of a regal and sophisticated monarch, delicate face as that of an angel’s glimpse of paradise, personality of an intricate vintage lock and a million exploding suns. Her companion, admittedly, was a person of less enigma, yet was still a character of significance, an oakwood branch, roughly-hewn and intense, simple yet charismatic. That svelte and cheeky-looking fellow had untidy coffee-tint hair, a discursive ironic smirk, an insouciant slouch, and a steely glint that, more often than not, signalled trouble.

As the fog and the regent shadows further intensified, the pauses and discomfited silence between them further attenuated. Moments passed. Her candyfloss-pink sundress fluttered like a jaded butterfly as she tucked a frayed bookmark behind her seashell ear, and her taciturn companion watched her intently, like an engrossed pawnbroker. Without permission, he began to remove his worn tan overcoat and gingerly placed the article over her cool shoulders, still warm and cosy by his own body heat. Flustered by the uncalled attention, she turned away to brush a stray raven hair back into her gossamer tufted bun, and lost grip of her book of poems, fragile pages yellowed and dogeared with age. Sylvia Plath’s ancient anthology dropped with a soft thump right side up, opening uncannily on the centre page containing Mad Girl’s Love Song, and both bent down and fumbled clumsily to pick it up in haste.

Fingers tangled. Glances exchanged. Blue eyes collided with green. Hands clenched. Throats choked. Hearts skipped. Breaths hitched. Souls shattered. Their blueberry-strawberry swirl ice cream melted absently like calligraphy on the pavement. The book now lay abandoned and forgotten, its unspoken poetry dancing alongside the breeze. No words were whispered. None were necessary. Overhead, the last of the brimstone shades faded away, and incandescent stars splashed the darkness of the falling sky. Below, firework eyes showered sparks, and skins intertwined. Witnessing it all, hiding behind the wisps of pewter clouds and overlooking the nocturnal planet, the glowing moon quaintly smiled.

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A Jailbird’s Last Song

lights out, it’s time to sleep now…

blood on

my tongue and

the bullet

of a cold gun

swimming down

my gullet, but

surprisingly;

demise tastes

much more

pleasant to me,

rather than the

rotting vestige of

the prison cell

walls that

the angels

lock me in to

fester in disease

and insanity

of my damning life

at every waking moment.

…for the lights of hellfire burn eternal.

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The Conviction of the Moon

Those firmament tears were amber

As it crystallised in its fragile grasp

The stars witnessed that November

How the sun drowned with no gasp

.

The crowns of their empire shatters

The stars beseeched their trial runs

Jury of the solar system in smatters

Proclaim against that deathless sun

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The court adjourned and it abjured

In flagrante delicto, they were sure

They have a case against the moon

Ex gratia, a saturnine arcane gloom

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Order! Objection! A recess! I’ll hear!

Oyez oyez taken to deaf stone ears

As the crowd accused, opinions nil

Sneered at the convicted, little thrill

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Reconvene the order of the audience

I repeat, the moon said, gall cadence

This is a bum rap, I divorced the sun

I’ll appeal, you’ve got the wrong man

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The opposing side argued to the end

We lost our lights, a beloved friend!

I’ve no time for liars, I declared war

When you killed off a beautiful star

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Both sides were taut, horizons grey

It seemed they will not finish today

Yet the murder weapon is procured

Lunacy, a sickness from lunar word

.

The gavel slammed the wooden slab

Ringing in that silent courtroom hub

I thereby sentence you to your exile

From the milky way, until you defile.

.

The moon, taking its fate, left home

Before he stepped down, his lesson

Caught smug mouths of the rallying

The stars cried, their planets glaring

.

I loved the sun dear, she was my own

Yet I was blinded by a foolish weapon

As asteroids rain, I will refuse a nudge

I shall let the universe be my only judge.

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Stargirl and the Rocket Lights

You are a curiosity, or a mental case, as some called it rather crudely and dismissively, and you knew everyone noticed. But they didn’t care, and neither should you. One day, you impulsively proclaimed, whilst balancing on the top of a redwood tree branch, that disappearing acts never got old, so you said goodbye to your squirrel friend, clambered down the tree hurriedly, and dashed home. You burst into your room with a loud door slam, gathered up your paraphernalia, grabbed your half-full rucksack dotted with strange pins and souvenir keychains, which was patiently waiting by your ramshackle oakwood cabinet, and began haphazardly shoving various motley things inside. Once you were finished cleaning up and made even more of a mess in the process, you quickly plastered a teddy bear print band-aid on your cheek from where the rough wood accidentally scratched and left a thin red mark, clumsily tied your DIY pinstriped Keds’ purple and green shoelaces, stretched out—as if competing in a marathon—on an abandoned Twister board on your carpeted floor, and finally you left the house, chasing your dissolution without so much as a backward glance. The first part was easy. The next part was easier.

The nightwalking horizon was tinted virtually the same colour as your ripped stonewashed denim overalls, the reticulated stars were in implausible full burst and clearly visible, a myriad riot like the splattered black inkstains on your bohemian tie-dyed shirt, and the moon was shaded exactly and uncannily like your ivory silk flower leggings, the number of the craters perfectly aligned with the number of the frayed holes by your knees, the ones you tore yourself with zigzag safety scissors. The dreamy air tasted faintly like bubblegum ice cream, and the astral bodies were softly clicking into their designated places, a marvellous tableaux of God’s fanciful ethereal jigsaw puzzle. Nothing more was to be prepared; all you had to do was pass against the serendipitous turn of time. That particular task in itself was no difficult feat for your whimsical affinity. The other factor to consider was your destination. Invariably, it didn’t matter which bus you got on, if you were even waiting for a bus at all, for you have an overpowering ominous sensation within your heart that you’ll always inevitably end up on a wayward road, diverging on the intersection to nowhere. And in your own quote unquote words, as that one cliché that nobody says goes, signal for the universe and the galaxy will come.

Your vintage analogue Hello Kitty clock ticked sluggishly second by second, and the small candy floss pink lights by the side came to life and began to glow fervently as the hands struck exactly 8 PM. You had a lot of time to spend thereon and then, sitting prim and taciturn on the graffitied wooden bench, waiting for the longest forever. You intertwined scarlet camellias on your plaited geranium hair and held it in place with a gargantuan leopard-print scrunchie. You tapped your hands, plucked a few sweet and sour notes on your marmalade-orange ukulele, and hummed a Joy Division song melodically, and you laughed quietly when you flubbed the chorus with a splintered squeak. You counted the cheap glittery stars you stuck on your plastic journal even though you knew the number by heart, some microscopic yellow speckles transferring to your skin as you absentmindedly peeled one at the side with a polkadotted fingernail. You scribbled lines of guitar keys, and doodled literal intricate keys without paired locks, onto the slightly-torn cover page with a blueblooded space pen, and used the same pen to trace the wiry butterfly outline on your right ankle. You observed with childish wonder and twinkling heterochromatic dandelion eyes as prams, automobiles, taxis, and tallyho’s passed by you in an amicable whirlwind breeze and friendly engine revving. There were a billion tangible stars in this side of the dimension, just a little more than the glamorous stars shining on your notebook, and you can pluck each and every single one off their orbit. You had a lot of fun little preoccupations, and the time on your hands seemed almost eternal.

Time was up. When it seemed like the aberrant clocks hitched their breaths and you’ve done a thousand and one tasks to fill such a lacuna, finally, Hello Kitty’s spinning hour hand gingerly moved into its designated place. The moment it touched the notch and exactly as the pink lights began their little show, you tilted your chin until it was higher than your freckled button nose, and stared enthusiastically at the empty tranquil sky. As if on cue, your implausible carpool vehicle hurtled imperceptibly from beneath the atmosphere, burning the crepuscular firmament’s concrete shadows at light-year speed, and arrived with a dissuaded thump, to take you away from such a bland and diluted planet. Tucking a stray highlighted neon hair back in your pierced and heavily-ornamented ears, you cautiously replaced the overflowing tatterdemalion notebook back in your bag, bounced on your heels and stood up with lilting sneakered toes, and ceremoniously stepped into that rocketship invention calmly, without any nuance of surprise or astonishment. It seemed you would simply walk straight and be swallowed whole by the blinding flash, but at the last moment, you turned back at the dominating darkness and sent a quaint, fragile, almost palpable air-kiss flying from your painted ruby lips and painted dainty fingers onto the open space. The entire population of the world must have felt a faint zephyr graze their cheek softly at that very moment, but they were too naïve to even bother with noticing it. Yet you said your polite goodbyes, so it didn’t matter. You grandiosely waved a final farewell, the tattooed patterns on your arms spinning and dancing with pastel motion, and you smiled lazily, quite cryptically, as the metallic-gold doors closed in dénouement with a sibilant hiss and a burst of flourishing steam. The metaphysical vessel roared as it propelled into ignition again, shooting up into the sky immediately and billowing into evanescence out of peripheral view, and you were gone with it. Your wish was granted, and you permanently left behind the life you always tolerated with distaste, into a more interesting place with a better yesterday, and no one cared…except for one.

Stargirl, when you ran away and stole the cornflower moon with you from the midnight sky to elope, did you think no one would be interested? When you vanished and charmingly serenaded the sun into a retrograde motion, did you think no one would find out? Did you ever think, for a single heartbeat, that when your star, hiding in plan sight among millions of the other specks in the star-freckled sky, was quietly extinguished, I wouldn’t even notice?

I out of all people would hate to admit such a fact, but for once in your extraordinary yet ephemeral existence, Stargirl, you were wrong.

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trigger-happy

coddling a gun

and eating suicide

they’re scared

but fuck it, i’ve never

felt more alive.

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