Tag Archives: covetous

Jealous Butterflies and Ochre Moth Wings

We’re just two jealous souls breaking envy against the tidal waves, bleeding out elaborate cesspools fervently, and leaving soundless mouths agape for the stained porcelain butterflies to enter, hoping that the fragile incipient creatures would exit our perfidious throats undaunted and provide our dilapidated larynx with an ameliorated song to sing. Yet we only manage to choke on their flimsy polychrome wings and cough them out unceremoniously before we suffocate, the meek and hapless butterflies bent in twisted angles, traces of leaden dust leaving residues of faithful solemnity in our tinted lips, tongues whispering the painful words that no sane mentality dares to hear, destroying the only scant chances for our treasonable prayers to receive heaven.

Then, after all the nascent vituperation that ensconces our quiet bones like an impaired skylight, where would we be? Plucking burnt tawny moth wings out of wilted candle wicks in the destitute hopes that they shall acquiesce the same way those quaint looking glass butterflies did, yet never realising that there is no fraudulence nor varied substitute for that abstract tessellation, that modicum of infinity, that metamorphosed dimension that those nebulous lepidopterons accumulate and exhale. Recovery cannot be replaced, and a replacement cannot be recovered. Amid the failing maiden glow and taffy-stretched daydreams, there is only maligned reverie by maimed lightweights, attempting to endow the subtler nuances of this life a vaguer and more coruscant definition.

Against the jade-eyed desires that we fought ever so vigilantly with inured devastation and bargained discrepancies, against the covetous recidivism and the elaborate secondhand lies that come tucked along within it like opening a painted russian nesting doll, against the prehensile avarice ascending above everything and drowning us in its remorseless cyclone, our jealous souls stand resolutely falling apart. There are no more iridescent enamel butterflies to count prismatic wishes on, no more ashen moth wings to cling onto fragments of faith for, no more candid humility and hackneyed selflessness and altruistic implications, only an imminent invidia and bilateral resentment. Reality ensues, and chaos along with it. Where will our lost nightmares dream now?

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Filed under Prose

A Covetous Call Of Clarity

Just like a tick, I’m itching the back of your throat
You miss the beat while I’m hanging on every note
You gotta choke cause you swallowed a problem
Not gonna take this, not gonna take this!

~*~

I despised your guiling swords of histrionic eloquence

Sharp tongue slashing cuts to the point of garishness

Every clanking word like an aged hard treacle in its tartiness

Your kisses causing me tooth decay and imminent stress

.

“Oh you silly bird, I’m not a threat” you oh-so silkily assured

And how careless it was of my ineptitude to believe that

All your prior motives were bleached white, strikingly pure

I bit on the card, despite the murky venom you clearly spat

.

How was I, a desperado, to have foretold this tragedy?

How was I to surmise that you’ve hidden a weightless dice?

When I look back on your lifelines, your inscribed litanies

All I envision is an ostentatious parade of chromatic lies

.

Where was my head in all of these? Distorted in the grey clouds

That you created with every breath as you sat smoking your pipe

A most rancid smell, yet intoxicating, of tobacco compound

But I was too indulged in the bittersweet nicotine to fight

.

“Oh, I’m an incarnadine goddess, a quite reliable vial of blood

Just let me be your saving grace, let me be your TNT spark”

And I let you flambeaux up the resting embers in my chest

And despite all my cautious prayers, I detonated nonetheless

.

Now where do I stand? Sullenly relaying your past discourse

The way an ashen-faced prisoner would steal a fallen lamplight

Just to read his personal announcements, bereft and morose

Clutching tightly a letter about his execution by hanging tonight

.

I’m defeated by your idiosyncrasies, your imagination is a tight rope around my neck

It pains me to even conjure the thought that to your fabrications I’ve been a gracious host

In the end, it all comes down to a single statement, a mouth with a flair for the dramatic

I’ll let your virtuoso hands pull the trapdoor lever, fingers trembling as I give up the ghost

.

A final violent shade of verdure is beginning to spread, clashing against my bruise-blotched cheeks

Blossoming briskly, an ironic requiem, though I’ve sorely wished for nothing but for them to already wilt

Somehow those sentimental chemicals in my asphyxiated brain keep acting as a mercurial fertiliser score

My last deathwish is that you’d be kind to pluck them from my heart, loved one, after all, what’s a single tear more?

~*~

I swear your head is bigger than us all, getting bigger
Go slit your own throat, slit your own throat!
You’re more turned on than anyone could be by yourself
Go slit your own throat, slit your own throat!

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Filed under Poetry