Tag Archives: cynical

ungrateful

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

nothing more

or what i’ll have is

more than used?

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Filed under Poetry

out there

“The great beyond”

Is just the foolish lie

That charlatans and

Simpleminded folks

Tell to make-believe

That you can still do

What they all failed to

Achieve on their own.

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Filed under Poetry

Know Thyself

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…

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They’re Better Off Without You

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?

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the punctured spare tyre

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

colluding increments

the truth is verbatim and

reality’s imagination

is merely dark figments

impervious to quaintness

and jubilance and

optimistic butterfly whispers

interrogations turned to

awkward interludes

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.

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Shortsighted Longviews

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…

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Adventures in Counseling

(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.

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Filed under Prose

happy thoughts, happy thoughts, happy thoughts…

i also want

to write about

positive things

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?

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Cheerful Lessons from a Cynical Asshole

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.

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The Rally of the Privileged Cynics

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.

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Filed under Poetry