Tag Archives: darkness

Does The City Sleep If Everyone’s Awake?

Drop every pretense, drown every sense you own
For the girl that you love, girl you loathe
Insistent pretext, so what does that make god?
To the girl that you love, girl you loathe…

~*~

Follow home the darkness in the midst of distorted lies

A bellicose pretence that overshadows the most jaded of eyes

Entering, surrendering the only control left to be held back

Indignant morose affability surreptitiously painted black

.

For the girl that you love left her heart in the shadows

She’s keeping it there locked tight and burning the evidence

And the boy of your dreams has a nightmare in his head

He keeps a musket under his pillow for such a circumstance

.

Secrets dripping at the tip of their tongue, are you getting tired

Ain’t it so pretty, the way their drunken minds are wired?

The curtain’s coming down, but the burlesque act continues

And the naked audience and all the masked actors are in on the ruse

.

The flickering streetlamps may not last until the end of sunset

And you may have lost your empty wallet stumbling in a cabaret

Taking profound philosophies from barkeeps, pouring another drink

Don’t know if that sleaze three tables over winked or just blinked

.

Follow home the oncoming intrusion of light in the haze of inebriation

An avaricious pretence that promptly overpowers any realistic temptation

Surrendering the only control that wasn’t there to hold back in the first place

Coruscating affiliations underhandedly leaving hearts without a single trace.

~*~

The girl that you love, girl that you love
Girl that you love knows you don’t
Followed her, followed her
Followed her, followed her home…

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Another incident in the darkness

raven hallucinations

take over furtive glimpses

of a wary glinting eye

.

the nightingales are

mournfully weeping as the

crows cackle “someone’s going to die”

.

deathly silence enveloping

thick as the opalescent fog that

obscures the most crepuscular of souls

.

all before a distant scream pierces

the infinite nightmare; and another

wandering entity is devoured whole.

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Just Another Burnt-Out Bulb

I scraped my knees while I was praying
And found a demon in my safest haven, seems like
It’s getting harder to believe in anything
Then just to get lost in all my selfish thoughts…

~*~

There’s a free fall all the way to tragedy’s scene

Another shortcut straight to mending back hell

But the doors don’t work, and I’m stuck in between

Reaching for the coin I lost at the bottom of the well

Perfection was your pride, and I turned the lights off

So I couldn’t see the mess we’ve done, the damage cost

The worst part wasn’t the scream, I didn’t know whose

But when I realised that I lost the only thing I have to lose.

~*~

I wanna know what it’d be like
To find perfection in my pride
To see nothing in the light
I’ll turn it off in all my spite…

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counting stars and other mayhem

“Stars awake
But we can’t see them out
So why pretend?”

~*~

come count the stars with me

for i am far too afraid to see

how much darkness there is

drinking in light on a chalice

.

reflect the moon in your eyes

like the final breath of paradise

i’ll never be able to take another

so i hold it in like i’m underwater

.

conjure another whimsical dream

where everything is more than it seems

and black is white, and grey is none

i’ll be falling west like the tenebrous sun

.

so come and count the stars with me

i wouldn’t be afraid anymore once i see

that in the consuming darkness, there is

a star glowing next to me, bathing me in universes.

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Bleeding Eyes See It All

Every second’s soaked in sadness
Every weekend is a war
And I’m drowning in the déjà vu
We’ve seen it all before
I don’t wanna do this by myself
I don’t wanna live like a broken record
I’ve heard these lines a thousand times…

~*~

it doesn’t stay the same

every shredded inch

is just another reason for

you to patch it up and change

just so your bleeding eyes

could do some further damage

.

every lie soaking you in

they say it’s just a futile war

and the darkness is a myth

but you’ve seen it with your

own bleeding eyes, so you

know that it actually exists

.

and they tipped the avalanche

that buried you deep under

but refused to take responsibility

pushing your head underwater

but your own bleeding eyes

have seen it all before

.

and it doesn’t stay the same

every invoice on your shredded arms

is just another pathetic excuse for

you to erase it and start over

until your bleeding eyes could

shed their shallow tears no more.

~*~

We should feel the love so painfully
It hurts right to the touch
I know it stings, I know this cuts
And I wish I could agree with you
But this love is not enough.

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Seasons in Retrograde

Come at me with everything you’ve got
Burst into flames, s
cream in the dark
I’m gonna light up this place
And die in beautiful stars tonight…

~*~

They said it wouldn’t be easy

And being homesick is better than being alone

As the moon burst into flames

I ended up igniting under my coalescing bones

.

Throw me behind the darkness

And I’ll learn to breathe without the light

As the blade swings closer to me

Love, I’ll hold it back for you, and I’ll fight

.

I’m dizzy from wreaking all this havoc

Sober as the ashes melted in my numbing lips

Counting seconds until these stars drop

I’ll catch them like a nightmare, take and keep

.

Because everything looks even more beautiful

When I’m submerged a thousand feet deep in waters

And the undersea glow is a vicious accentuation

To those pale azure eyes that speak of blank aspiration

.

For they won’t come to take you back

And being homesick is better than being alone

As the midnight sun froze into winter

I ended up embracing the perennial cold for my own.

~*~

(What do you do when you’re out of time?)
(Where do you go when they’re right outside?)
(And how do you scream when there’s no one left around?)
I’m gonna light up this place (No one left around?)
And I will be the only light, I’ll be the only light.

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standing in the shadows

I’ve been living so long in the darkness
I know the cold embrace of the night
When morning comes I close my eyes
‘Cause I’m blinded with the light
Taking a chance of a feeling
Is like waiting for a flower to grow…

~*~

i don’t know if i can

still wait for the shadows

to form into a decipherable shape

.

patience is a suit in my sleeve

and love is a foreign language i can’t speak

in a consciousness that won’t awake

,

i don’t know if i can

still expect that the silhouettes

will coalesce into what they always

ignorantly called “fate”

,

but i’ll stand here

in the darkness

and i’ll wait…i’ll wait.

~*~

Too many people
Are standing in the shadow
Standing in the shadow of love…

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Ex Nihilo

Oh, but don’t you see? We’re made to destroy

Shooting arrows onto the pockmarked ceiling

Until it loses its shaky grip, and begins falling

Finding another home in the chasm of our skin

.

Creating the chaos that even god won’t decimate

The first sin and final revelation, we will recreate

Holding back the maelstrom, a cataclysm presents

With every pain and agony, the loathing we resent

.

Chasing back the darkness, like starved animals we breathe

Savages tearing apart throats to shreds to get what we’ll need

Bleeding, bruised, medicine refused, suffering keeps us awake

Or we will never stay alive under the weight of all our mistakes

.

Running away from reality, breaking in nothing as we stalled

Tortured eyes seek wandering lies, and scratching at the walls

They make signs and burn our names in the wake of destruction

That we caused with our dying hands, genocide of the generation

.

Can I just have one more, one more…can I just have one more taste?

I won’t make it, won’t make it—I won’t make it through another day

Pleading and obliterating, until all that’s left is you and I alone to die

We’re made to destroy this decomposing world of devastation tonight.

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The Madness of the Mortician

She’s made of hair and bone and little teeth
Things that cannot speak
She comes on like a crippled plaything
Spine is just a string…

The mortician stood in solemn vigil, as motionless as the petite corpse that lay in front of him; a body wrapped in a translucent green body bag that caught the oil burner’s dim lamplight and shimmered iridescently like pulled-off dragonfly wings. The fetid air of coalescing formaldehyde and putrescence tasted bitterly stuffy, damp and stale. On the scratched wooden table, where his instruments were also prepared and patiently waiting, an ancient radio buzzed and crackled with static; the faint echoes of a lost song playing ever so distantly beyond the veil of the curtained morgue and worming its way into the back of his head. He paid it no heed at all, dismissing it as merely white noise as he wiped his hands clean the with a sterile cloth. Outside, nightfall was beginning to amalgamate into a midnight of pure blackness that not even the most resilient of shadows can dare to permeate. He sighed once and checked his watch. Time was running. He had work to do.

I wrapped our love in all this foil
Silver-tight like spider legs
I never wanted it to ever spoil
But flies will lay their eggs…

With cautious steps taken and wary calloused fingers twitching infinitesimally like burnt moth wings, he reached out for the diaphanous body bag and slowly unwrapped the plastic, peeling it painstakingly, yet with an impatient breath held, as if it were a birthday present. But he was fully aware that what would greet his beady eyes would come as no surprise to him at all, given his work and the police records scribbled on the clipboard that spoiled it for him. Still, he braced himself. The pungent smell of decay and sour reek of death began to grow stronger, wafting nauseatingly and hanging around the stale air cloyingly, sticking to surfaces like a demented fragrance. But he was used to it. After all, he had smelled worse things on worse days. Like when he gets those damn bloated carcasses pulled out of canals and lakes after god knows how many days of fermenting underwater, half-eaten by fish and sticky and vile and overall repugnant and a nasty affair. Heaven forbid if more criminals choose to dump their casualties in the river to get rid of them. The taste of the drinking water, that’s what he worried about.

A blowfly softly landed on his hand, jolting him out of his grotesque reverie. He waved it off and continued to unsheathe the cadaver, noisy plastic crinkling intertwining with the radio static, oil burner hissing quietly, the silence growing so thick and viscid that even the perspiration sliding down his forehead could be audibly heard.

Take you hatred out on me
Make your victim my head
You never ever believed in me
I am your tourniquet…

He was prepared for every possibility that could ever occur when he fully exposed the corpse—not that there were many of them, mind you—and yet nothing could ever prepare himself for what was revealed underneath the flimsy layer of plastic. On the cold metal table laid the lifeless body of a small girl, no more than four or five years old, wearing a tattered pastel pink and white dress, soiled knee-high socks, and only one red shoe on her left foot. Her auburn pig-tailed hair was matted and caked with layers of mud and soil, barely distinguishable from her scalp, her pallid, almost porcelain skin looking so fragile that he felt like he would break a piece of it off if he so much as dared to touch it, her gossamer lips a blooming shade of bruised lavender, and her delicate glassy baby blue eyes were wide open and staring at him accusingly.

He blanched, stumbling back for a moment, and reached for his whiskey flask to have a drink. He took a swig, momentarily glanced at the corpse, and then proceeded to drank deeply, almost emptying the flask save for a drop or two to spare. He wiped his mouth with one unclean sleeve and checked the time again. His schedule was turning a little delayed. No more beating around the bush. He must carry on. He must.

Prosthetic synthesis with butterfly
Sealed up with virgin stitch
If it hurts, baby, please tell me
Preserve the innocence…

He steeled himself, took a brisk breath that felt like daggers running down his throat and into his lungs, and with an unsteady gloved hand, he picked up a scalpel from the table and forced himself to continue working. He placed a face mask on ceremoniously with an agitated flourish, and hesitantly faced the deceased child. Let us begin.

To start, he’ll make a Y-incision in her…no, he mustn’t think of her as a human entity now, only a non-living object—its torso, pardon—beginning from the stomach, all the way to its frail chest, and pry its squalid flesh open to reveal and dissect its internal organs. Her skin. Her flesh. Her internal organs. The dead little girl, squandered at such a young age. She was young. So young and hopeful and once innocent, yet now all that youthful innocence has long since been pillaged by the metal weapon of a twisted soulless psyche, devoured and ravaged by ruthless parasites and bacteria, and the scintillas of the remaining scraps of it salvaged and gulped down by possessed, remorseless, feather-molting vultures. He shuddered at the morbid thought and nearly dropped the scalpel. His mind wandered for a moment, then pleaded with him, strung tether attempting to pull him back into a detached rationality. Do not think of her, do not think of her, whatever you do, you must not think of her…

I never wanted it to end like this
But flies will lay their eggs…

But his resolution was futile, and his ulterior willpower was immediately extinguished as the gas lamp flickered and flared defiantly, hissing like agitated serpents, brightening the dank room momentarily, silhouettes dancing fiercely on the little girl’s blank face. He shook his head. It’s but a trick of the light, a mere illusion, a worn-out mind taking negative effect—he must be growing tired. He rubbed his bleary eyes and looked upon the girl’s visage again. Devoid of life, devoid of movement. Nothing. But for a moment, to his disbelief and utter shock, her deathly ice-blue eyes appeared to blink. Both eyes. Blink. Blink.

He started with a roar and crashed backwards, landing on the floor with a dull thud and cutting his hand on the scalpel blade. Letting go of the scalpel, he stared upwards into the motionless corpse in equal parts terror and curious confusion, his heart pounding like the beat of a sovereign marching drum, throbbing head dazed and heavy with blood, breaths shallow and ragged like the edge of her torn dress. He absently held his head with his bleeding hand, smudging his temples with the glistening scarlet liquid. His soul filled with a shuddering dread. No. This cannot be happening. His worst fears, have they been finally realised? Was he regressing into what everyone had warned him fervently against? Was he…was he beginning to grow mad?

Take your hatred out on me
Make your victim my head
You never ever believed in me
I am your tourniquet…

God no. Please, no. Stop. Stop. Stop. The piteous chant in his head was depraved and overpowered by his other detonated senses, the other discordant voices in his head, uproarious and painful to hear, as the radio static gnashed and screeched cruelly, amalgamating into a demonic caterwauling. He dropped to his knees and held both hands against his ears, trying to block out the overwhelming noise but failing to do so, for, he realised, the source was not external. Amid the clangorous dissonance, he could distinctly and vividly hear her sweet, soft-spoken, splintered voice, laughing shrilly and squealing in excitement as he spun her around on the playground turnabout, cheered her on to complete the monkey bars to the very end, and pushed her down the peppermint candy-striped slide, shouting all the way down. But the slide never ended, and the ecstatic shouting turned into a bloodcurdling scream. She was waiting for him to catch her at the end of the slide, but he didn’t show, only empty faith gone to hell, and she fell out of the mouth and collided with the rough concrete ground, skinned her elbows and knees, and cried. Cried alone in the ground as the children around her sneered at her, as she still vainly searched for her absent father that walked away from her, away from her life. The horrid mocking grew angrier, barbarous, louder. The screaming intensified. The muffled crying turned into inexorable wailing, imploring, beseeching, beleaguering as it endlessly asked him why why why why why WHY

What I wanted, what I needed
What I got for me
What I wanted, what I needed
What I got for me…

His daughter. Her crying. His hands. Her throat. His wife. Her mother. The abandoned rundown house at the end of the town street, his abandoned rundown house, infested with restless phantoms and ghosts of the visceral past, raising question marks and concocting urban legends and horror stories under hushed voices and sussurous muttering, passing it on and on and on without ado. The perfect happy family that was immediately shattered on that fateful night much like their photograph that he furiously threw on the wall, and the sharp shards choking reality, the same way the broken glass did as it caught in his spouse’s screeching throat. The fight. The madness that took over. The knife. The screams of NO. The gun. The woman. The girl. The chase. The first shot that reverberated in his skull. The slash that slit skins open and lacerated the beige patterned wallpaper to shreds. A shaky hand doused with vodka. A penultimate warning. The wrong target acquired. The second gunshot that finished the story. The end. The collateral damage. A man dropping his weapons and passing out drunkenly on the stairs. A wounded mother bleeding out and lamenting such a cursed fate with shuddering howls. And the girl. His girl. Dead. Fucking dead. And it’s his fault. Him to blame. His guilt. His conscience. His life, forever locked away in all the insanity like his confined wife in the mental asylum, and buried down along with her darling sweetheart child. God have mercy and damn me, what have I done? WHAT HAVE I DONE?!

Take your hatred out on me
Make your victim my head
You never ever believed in me
I am your tourniquet…

The radio thrummed, piercing through the manic hysteria, His psychosis abruptly ended. The vivid hallucinations and insane delusions faltered back into the crepuscular room he huddled upon. The vehement tempest gradually dragged down into a catatonic still; a quite disturbing calm. The oil burner dislimned into a sombre light, flitting and flickering restlessly against the unpainted cemented walls of that frigid, haunting basement morgue. He held his breath and hitched. Breathed deeply and composed himself. Murmuring deliriously, he removed his madly-trembling hands from his ears and slowly opened his eyes in suffocating fear and trepidation. Dark morgue. Inanimate corpse. Damaged man. Distressing relief.

Lulling himself, he attempted to stand up, steadying himself against the oaken table. But as he clumsily straightened his legs, his besmirched coat sleeve accidentally snagged on the metal tray and he went down again, lightning pain shooting up his spine, the rusted clangorous metal instruments clattering dinningly and crashing down with him, and the vintage radio pulled along with everything else and hitting the ground, its tiny plastic pieces coming apart and effectively killing the only palpable sound in the room.

Take your, take your
Get up out of me
I’m not proud with me…

A subdued silence ensued. He broke down and collapsed into overwhelming contrition and mournful madness once more, this time never recovering, and he crouched there, on the verge of guilt and trauma, sobbing and frantic, face buried in his bloody hands, whispering splintered apologies amid the occasional sickening laughter that escaped his pale split mouth, as all the while his deceased companion watched with her empty glass-blue eyes. His broken watch ceased ticking. The lost song faded away. The cadaver’s lips twitched. The gas lamp hissed once, twice, and instantly snuffed out against the volatile wind, leaving the grieving mortician and the dead girl in total darkness.

I never ever believed in me
I am your tourniquet.

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Just Look At The Mess You Made

Another knife in my hands
A stain that never comes off the sheets
Clean me off, I’m so dirty babe
The kind of dirty where the water
Never cleans off the clothes…

~*~

flies on your shoulder

blood in your sundress

darling girl of the hour

did you make this mess?

spelling decayed wrists

a blade for the clergies

vomit on blonde tresses

did you make this mess?

makeups smear breakup

a suicide note in lipstick

clean is now so careless

did you make this mess?

bathroom tiles shattered

pills and mirror scatters

a beauty fed to the beast

did you make this mess?

broken bones and skins

as agonist lungs scream

darkness she confessed

did you make this mess?

monsters devour a mind

it’s nothing you can find

a darling girl, mum’s best

why are you such a mess?

~*~

Only go so far ’til you bury them
So deep and down we go
Touched by angels, though I fall out of grace
I did it all so maybe I’d live this every day…

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