there are so many
pretty things in
front of me
why do i still view
the ugly truth?
is it because
i know there will be
or what i’ll have is
more than used?
there are so many
pretty things in
front of me
why do i still view
the ugly truth?
is it because
i know there will be
or what i’ll have is
more than used?
“The great beyond”
Is just the foolish lie
That charlatans and
Tell to make-believe
That you can still do
What they all failed to
Achieve on their own.
I’m calling you from the future
To let you know we made a mistake
And there’s a fog from the past
That’s giving me, giving me such a headache
And I’m back with a madness…
When I reevaluate myself
Where do I start to draw the line
Between the beginning and the change
Down my brain or with my spine?
When did my hands start shifting
To change pure gold into black rust
And lucidity became obstinate
Covering the mirrors with cold dust?
What place was my starting line
And when did I stumble and trip?
Did I get to the checkered finish
Or trampled by my opponents’ feet?
Why did my pen become cynical
And my heart run out of honest ink
How did my eyes fail to see the picture
When did my mind cease to think?
Have I truly changed for the better
Or did I just become a stranger shape
From fitting out of the cramped box
Because I wished for a little more space?
Did I drift away from my audience
As their applause started to sound the same
Was I meant for a moment in spotlights
Or was I meant to hide away my own name?
Were these lines on my face here before
Or the lines on my arms and thighs?
And the lines I once thought avant-garde
Are they now nothing but banal lies?
And why did my tongue get longer
But the accuracy in their wings clipped
Confusion may soar abound the sky
But my heavy body refuses to lift
Regrets and problems, I once could carry
Have broken my back and my will to be
The things I loved, reduced to wistful smiles
Memories once happy turned sorry
I wish I didn’t sulk and drain myself
Turn off the lights just to be haunted by ghosts
I fucking wish I didn’t have to be so insecure
To let emotions linger like a gracious host
Sometimes I think I really know myself
Until everyone says the complete opposite
And everything I do turns upsidedown
I become less uncertain of my purposeful visit
Just who was I? Or rather, just who am I now?
When I reassess, all I do is think and rethink again
It hurts my head, and I’ll just start to lose myself
Better to keep the present than to bury myself in past skins.
I got rage every day, on the inside
The only thing I do is sit around and kill time
I’m trying to blow out the pilot light
I’m trying to blow out the light
I’m just young enough to still believe, still believe
But young enough not to know what to believe in…
Arrogant boy, when will you ever learn?
That this world is not made up of roses and thorns
Sometimes the blossoms wilt but the weeds will remain
Waiting for a chance to stick briers in your name
You can stop chasing good girls by their hourglass hips
And bringing more rounds of vodka and shotgun to your lips
You can stop using your arms as a substitute ashtray
Or your skin as ivory to carve out sculptures in scarlet clay
And all your best friends that proclaim they’re sincere
Draw insults behind your back and say it’s good fun and fair
They don’t have time for drama, but get front row seats
When you’re deep in the mess, entangled in bullshit
Your smile is bleeding out, teeth scattered on the sidewalk
“Good one, guys” you say, but they never want to talk
Your eyes don’t need fists to be darker than they already are
The lack of sleep does that, when you have come home from war
You read the daily newspapers to know about everything else
Trying to care about them, when you don’t know anything about yourself
You give up your seat for others, thinking it’s an act of selflessness
When in reality, you just hate yourself to much to deserve any duress
And you think that you’re happy, but you’re just distracted
Choosing to admire the vivid carnage when you have self-destructed
Because it’s all the same to you, and it just doesn’t matter whether
Your life gets blown apart mile-high or moves inch by inch like a feather
Blind boy, when will you see that they’re all laughing at you?
Your youth is too old to pursue the optimism of a hard-knock truth
When can you draw the broken line between a break-up and a breakdown?
When will you stop trying to swim and simply let yourself drown?
Ignorant boy, don’t be sorry for believing the lies, but will you ever even learn
That this dismal, ravaged wreck of a world will turn and turn and turn
No matter how much you stumble, trip, and cry on your faded hand-me-down shirt
Time won’t stop, your friends won’t care, your wounds will still bleed and burn
You can scream but no one will listen; foolish boy, don’t you see you’re not much worth?
a crippling sensation
masticating the walls of
my sovereign heart
a pendulum beat, a second
of apologies, that a lie
could never restart
intrepid decisions reveal
mistakes skewed by
the truth is verbatim and
is merely dark figments
impervious to quaintness
and jubilance and
optimistic butterfly whispers
interrogations turned to
with a scowling stranger
my company is not the best
as my skyward eyes
are crashing to the ground
and every sacrifice is
as palpable as a siren’s
intensifying alluring sound
for the beast is a choleric
tantrum kicking up storms
in this dizzying bruised mind
behind all this laughter
and arrogant jerk banter
there’s only doldrums you’ll find.
Sit around and watch the tube, but nothing’s on
I change the channels for an hour or two
Twiddle my thumbs just for a bit
I’m sick of all the same old shit
In a house with unlocked doors
And I’m fucking lazy…
Life is heading nowhere
Let’s beat up junkies in this dead-end shit town
I’ve smoked my eyes red
And turned my whole life and brain upsidedown
My room is a total mess
Of posters, porn magazines and week-old pizza
But I don’t have to stress
If I clean it up, I’ll lose track of my own paranoia
My remote is so worn-out
Surfing the channels but I end up watching static
A tidal wave of chips and soda
Of trash and junk piling up under this ratty sofa
There’s no bullies I could fight
No school walls I can spray paint with fuck you
And I’m sick of thinking right
And looking for a father that I never even knew
My skateboard lost one wheel
And my knees are too skinned to recover now
Afternoon heat’s suffocating
I hate having to go out and have a blast anyhow
There’s nothing else to do
All my friends are busy making out behind diners
I can fake my own death
But I’m just too lazy to think about it any further
Soggy, bathed in apathy
Wasting time by counting the hairs on my head
Being a creep to the girls
Acne on my face spelling loser, I’d rather be dead
They say I’m being dumb
But I’m just another stupid kid who has the right
And I just wanna be numb
To the pain of thinking of growing up overnight
Am I whining again, mother?
This broken home I live in still hasn’t fixed itself
My head cracked like the streets
You don’t have to care if it’s all bad for my health
Playing the same old cycles
I’m just a hairy dog trapped under the summer rain
So where’s the motivation?
It’s fucking lonely, and I’m the only one who remains
I lit fireworks ’til I burned out
There’s no light at the end of this suburban purgatory
Nothing but a juvenile doubt
Picking scabs and bleeding, let me escape this misery
Maybe I will run away again
Hitch my way or maybe jump over the turnstile train
Until the pighead cops catch me
And send me back to bed, busted-up and beaten badly
I still wonder what the hell to do
They say it’s teenage angst, but I’m too fucking angry to listen
I don’t know if I’ll have a better view
When I come around the noose, and I’ll still be jaded even then.
Bite my lip and close my eyes
Take me away to paradise
I’m so damn bored I’m going blind
And I smell like shit…
(Disclaimer: All accounts are purely fictional, highly dramatised, and do not necessarily reflect the views and opinions of the author. And anyone who says and believes otherwise is an idiot.)
It’s so exhausting, having to play pretend and act normal. Having to pretend to be mentally stable and mimic the actions of someone who’s having a ball of a time, as the smiling fucker, oh sorry, you meant counselor—honest mistake—grins as she dissects your brain with your fallible lies and a razor glint of her diabetes sweet teeth, faker than fucking plastic surgery. The wall clock ticks softly in excoriation, and with each tick you die a little inside, bit by bit, nerve by nerve, line for line.
You don’t know why you were called here in the first place, but shit, somehow it’s inevitable, and here you are now, caught up in the viscous web, sitting in the red plush couch of a pastel-drunk room with pleasant hues, looking at a hulking woman that looks like she’s going to bite your head off if you dare even move as much as twitch your eyeball to the left. This sucks bollocks. Now you have to have to act, smile, play nice, calculate your answers, and take precaution in every word and letter, because a single minor slip-up and congratulations, you’re fucking insane! You win an all-expenses paid trip to the asylum, and please take a complimentary straitjacket on your way out! Them’s the breaks, you mentally incompetent loser.
But despite everything else, you’re still trying to be as truthful as you can be, giving her a predisposed glimpse of your personality without showing the grotesque, starving, slobbering, hideous monsters that are itching to unsheathe its fatal claws and spring on her. Surreptitiously hiding and suppressing all the possible yet cunningly undiagnosed anxiety, depression, bipolar tendencies, borderline symptoms, insomnia, paranoia, apathy, psychopathy, insanity, and the mixed-up mental maelstrom that’s rampaging and crashing internal systems within you as you forcefully laugh along with her and lock your glassy dead eyes upon her taunting stare; judging, scrutinising, analysing, like a blinded omniscient deity, all-knowing but never truly seeing.
So, how are you today? I’m fine, thank you. How’s school? It’s okay. How’s life? I’m doing great. How about your family? Four siblings, one parent, we’re all good. You are? I am completely fan-fucking normal. You’re supposed to fill in the blanks but it’s all multiple choice. Nothing but lost question marks, rising intonations, spat inflections, blah, blah, blah, and all the other prompted scripted questions, cliche and well-practised, disgustingly clean. The interrogation is designed to intimidate, blasting and shot off like machine gun rounds, jarring your senses, making you duck, tattering you with bullet holes. The professional iciness sending shudders down your spine, chills through your nerves, and profanities ricocheting off the back of your gritted teeth and lips. It’s nothing but insipid, asinine, fatuous inquiries that make you want to answer badly with a mockingly loud tonsil-performance yawn and a crooked middle finger raised proudly like your personal country flag.
But no. That’s unacceptable. And frankly, doing what you believe to be right at this point will get your foot sinking further in the shit you stepped upon. So you smile, faker than the reality you’re facing right now. Flash, flash, flash, smiles colliding against smiles, expert lies rolling smoothly off your numbed tongue like honey, and she’s the childish bumblebee suckling on the pistils and unwittingly getting corrupted by the words, your parasite infestation transferring under her skin without her consent. It’s hilarious, almost enough for you to drop your charade, but you fumble, fix your mask, and regain aplomb and composure, continuing to answer her with a placid expression that tells all but gives away none.
You know you’re a fantastic fucking actor, but somehow you still can’t help occasionally avoiding gazes and being at a loss for words and substituting lame sceptical replies for rational answers that never present itself in your mind. You try in vain to stop yourself from impulsively raising your jumper’s sleeves in trepidation of the idiot in front of you spotting the crisscrossed scars on your arms that cover your skin like a sculpture design and declare you a threat to yourself and legally wacko. You nervously making frenetic titchy motions and fiddling with your hands in order to prevent an oncoming thermonuclear meltdown from dislodging itself out of your suffocating throat. Suck it up, you can get through this. Stay calm, and countdown. One, two, three…
After what seems like an eternity of awkward silence and a gazillion fucking questions and omitted details and convoluted conversations, she finally sets down her pen and her scribble-filled paper and ends it. That will be all for today, thank you. No, thank you, you reply automatically like the perfect little demon you are. You amble away and let the door hit your ass on your way out, but before you carry on, you come to a halt at the doorway, grip the doorknob into a crushed metal lump, crane your stiff neck backwards a-la Exorcist, and ironically grin back at her just one last time, shockingly faker than your fucking will to live, a derisive leer that screams a silent “fuck you bitch, I’ll see you in hell”, and you finally saunter out, feeling no better, feeling even worse.
So you slowly walk back to class, half an hour late, plagued with clashing negative emotions and cynical thoughts, feeling more vindictive, more depressed, more fucked-up than usual, and ultimately wishing badly to slit the throat of the tattletale asshole who ratted you out. You’re hating yourself for no particular reason again and at the same time congratulating yourself victoriously because you successfully managed to deceive and manipulate someone who deserved no less and even more. You smile, but this time a twisted, deranged, maniacal one, undecipherable as either a smile of jubilance or a grimace of agony, but unsurprisingly realer than all the smiles you’ve ever outputted combined. You can breathe easy now. you can breathe now. You fucking did it.
But inside, your acidic guts still churn like a heavy washing machine load, and you’re unable to pull the plug, so you short circuit and burn out, and you head straight to the bathroom to try to put out the fire that’s threatening to spread in your body. You grasp the porcelain sink, splash water in your face, heave once, twice, thrice, but nothing comes out, only spit and empty tears, but not from sorrow, rather only from triggering and abusing your gag reflex. Within the furthest reaches of your mentality, you’re still rational, but it’s all discordant, damaged, deranged. It will take a miracle and another universe to salvage what’s left in that chaos. “Guidance counseling”, yeah fucking right. More like 30 minutes stuck in purgatory, sleeping with your worst nightmare screwing you against your goddamn will.
Your heartbeat finally slows after a while, and ragged breaths resonate from the tiled walls of the solitary room that you’ve confined yourself in as a temporary solace. You raise your head, touch the cold glass of the mirror, and shut your eyes once to blink away the fear, before you finally have the courage to look at yourself in the stained mirror. What returns your stare is a hollow vessel, all skin and bones and muscle and no soul, devoid of life, nullified of any joy, pessimistic, sunken, washed-out, sleepless, depleted, useless, tired as all fucking hell, uncaring, pathetic, apathetic, lost, cliche, inhuman. You know you’re fucked-up, too far gone, you’re not and you’ll never be o-fucking-kay, you get that, and that’s exactly why you hate being psychoanalysed. You sigh in defeat. It’s exhausting, pretending to be human.
i also want
to write about
and happy thoughts
and dainty memories
full of floral words
and eloquent hearts
dripping like pastel
raindrops off my mouth,
but how can one do so
if all he has is a black pen
piercing the chambers of
his black-bled heart?
I’m an optimistic person
Can’t you see my wide smile?
I’m enthusiastic asphyxiation
And it hurts like shit all the while
I’m a jolly fucking Roger
See me laugh at your plastic jokes
No, I never tell you to shut up
I just silently hope that you’ll choke
I’m a person of self-worth
Yeah, I believe in my useless skills
I’m hopeful and me, I shan’t conform
But a sock out of line, I gotta be killed
I’m as positive as an electron
Aren’t I learning how to be good?
It’s better to stick to such a delusion
Instead of acting the way I should
Shit, I’m a damn happiest camper
And life is treating me fucking well
And if I cannot be any more okay
I guess I’ll catch up with me in hell.
The semantics, the politics
The frustration of first class society
The arithmetic, quite septic
The planet to self-destroy humanity
What a bother, the chatter
We’re all fucked, it’s all in your head
Why does it even matter?
Let’s just burn down the world instead.