Tag Archives: dead

insensitive

today i slammed

my thick dumb head

on the hard concrete wall

until it bled and bled

because i was just bored

because i felt dead

because i’m too impatient

and made of pure lead

but it wasn’t as cool

so i moved on to needles

stab sharp pricks on my hand

as i made up a riddle

and the red lighter, it did

such an amazing job

it was quite a burn—literally

and these blisters i’ll have

for the rest of my life

just like the scars i made

all from yesterday and today

with the edge of my blade

no, i don’t like the abuse

i just like the pent-up violence

and if i had to take it out

better me than anyone else

so fucking call me masochistic

it’s not like i’d feel insulted

or maybe i will—try me

if that works, good job, friend

‘cause i’m just too numb

and the pain is only fun

when you stop caring about everything

and start aching for the gun.

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dead poets

i have a love

for stories

so intricate

and tall tales

so profound

but it’s the

simpleminded

souls with no

spiteful lies

that get their

words around.

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Filed under Poetry

Be Something

Nobody thinks what I think, nobody dreams when they blink
Think things on the brink of blasphemy, I’m my own shrink
Think things are after me, my catastrophe at my kitchen sink
You don’t know what that means because a kitchen sink to you
Is not a kitchen sink to me, okay friend?

~*~

If I were to collapse

On myself and care

About the way I speak

And how I do my hair

Then I wouldn’t be here

Then I wouldn’t be dead

I’ll just be an old memory

At the back of my head

Yes, I want to grow up

But I want to do it my way

So I don’t need any handouts

Of so-and-so’s displays

And I’ll take the challenge

But with no instructions

Leave me to figure out

And trip again until i’m done

Because life is meaningless

All this shit doesn’t matter

So I’ll take my chances

And test the deeper waters

Then if I fail, well just be there

To say that “I told you so”

Even then, I wouldn’t care

Because this I know

At least I tried my very best

And I claimed my stakes

Instead of just simply regretting

That I never made mistakes.

~*~

Are you searching for purpose?
Then write something, yeah it might be worthless
Then paint something then, it might be wordless
Pointless curses, nonsense verses
You’ll see purpose start to surface…

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not dead, just deadbeat

‘Cause I carry ghosts of the things
You’ve said, I lay my bones to rest
Night after night, sleepless in Phoenix
Tell me a lie, make me believe it
You got me right where you haunt me…

~*~

my intestines are curled up

like unfathomable truth

like the end of the world that’s

happening in my head

so if i didn’t disappear anytime

i hope i’d just drop dead

they all tell me lies that i know

it’s sad that i still believe it

the past is a graceless substitute

for the smiles in my teeth

the future is a giant question mark

leaving open blanks in my skin

i’m sad to the beat of my own heart

and anxious to the beat of others

i don’t know if i’m being melodramatic

or all of this is just wishful sinking

but it feels real—at least, it’s more real

than all the things i’m never sure of

like the art of tragedy in a false miracle

or if i would ever make it out alive

or lose faith in myself before i say i did

i couldn’t feel low if i have drowned

so i close my bleeding eyes and pray again

that when i open them, i’ll see a reality

where i’m certain that i know what i’m doing.

~*~

Night after night, need you to know this
Tears me apart, I hope that you’re hopeless too
And I know we can kiss the past goodbye…

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cacophony

i am in severe pain

over the bedlam sounds

ringing the devil’s song

in my deafened ears

i hear them again and again

even when i cover myself

all i can ever listen to is

the earsplitting tears

.

i am in severe pain

over the bedlam sounds

echoing hell’s melody

beyond my ears, in my brain

if this is what pure silence

sounds like, then i would

rather be dead than to

have it eternally remain.

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Of Broken Things and Missing Pieces

I am outside and I’ve been waiting for the sun
With my wide eyes
I’ve seen worlds that don’t belong
My mouth is dry with words I cannot verbalize
Tell me why we live like this…

~*~

Wide eyes, broken fingers, dry mouth fermenting

Flickering lights, damaged windows, keep on screaming

Restore, repair, recover, relapse, and repeat

Picking out the sinews and shreds left in bared teeth

.

Bolted doors, hurt lies, forged padlocks keep away

The monsters with a good memory, even if only for a day

Adorn, adore, admire, abhor, again and again

Growing sick of the cracked facade that’s keeping it all in

.

Forsaken promises, empty scars, rhetoric brings back the dead

Lost cause, cynical hope, turned backs saying go ahead

Forgive, forget, falseness, falter, falling fast, oh fuck all this

Can’t save what doesn’t want to be, can’t put back what has a missing piece.

~*~

‘Cause we are broken
What must we do to restore
Our innocence
And oh, the promise we adored
Give us life again
‘Cause we just wanna be whole…

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New Year, New Year

I’m in the sky tonight, there I can keep by your side
Watching the wide world riot and hiding out
I’ll be coming home next year
Into the sun we climb, climbing our wings will burn white
Everyone strapped in tight, we’ll ride it out
I’ll be coming home next year…

~*~

The arctic wind tastes of a million ethereal memories

Beleaguering the lost sympathy in my jaded brain

Thinking about all the moments I spent under the sun

The nostalgia that I’ve forgotten so they’ll eternally remain

Leading on, leading on, marching this bittersweet repast

Words that strike to the very bone, another reeling line cast

In inkstains and furious scribbles that cross out the world

And I did what they said I couldn’t, and I didn’t do as I was told

To the divine songs I dance along to, that told me “boy, you’re alright”

Passion, emotion, vindication, separation, in notes that alight

Saying hello but never goodbye to the quaint darling heart I gained

And to the kindred souls still there for me despite all the withdrawing pains

Sure enough, the months may not have been a consistent flurry of good

And most times, things don’t really work out the way that they should

Ebony turns an even darker shade, and gelid rain falls in crashing maelstrom seas

And when I rest my head every night, a litany of emptiness is all I can see

But with the hope that I once lost, I can fervently regenerate it again

Celebrating the end of the days with the guys screaming Viva La Hysteria Bien!

And with only the secrets I traded and faded, the things I don’t have to hide

I may be dead somewhere, in another time, but for now I know, at least…I’m still alive.

~*~

Come on get on get on, take it till life runs out
No one can find us now, living with our heads underground
Into the night we shine, lighting the way we glide by
Catch me if I get too high when I come down
I’ll be coming home next year…

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How come no one heard her when she said—?

She doesn’t know she’s beautiful
‘Cause no one’s ever told her so
And the demons that she hides are all she knows
And maybe she can fall in love
With someone in her life that she could trust
And tell her she’s enough
(Will someone tell her she’s enough?)

~*~

How come no one

heard her when she

was screaming in her

bedroom at three in the

morning, scratching madly

at the pristine walls until

her fingernails broke and bled?

.

How come no one

heard her when she

was crying in a bathroom

stall, all the things they threw at

her leaving marks, and all

the ugly names they chanted at

her still ringing violently in her head?

.

How come no one

heard her when she

was slicing and hacking

away at her unhealing skin

so fucking audibly, and when

she slipped on that liquid

and fell with a thud, bruised and

bathed in puddles of dirty red?

.

How come no one

heard her when she

moaned as she rested fitfully

sleep paralysis taking full

control of every recourse

mouthing all the words

to the nightmares, those things

that she’s always left unsaid?

.

How come no one

heard her when she

vomited bile and empty air

kneeling faithlessly in front of the

porcelain god, sharp ribs poking

through her paper chest, even when

she ate nothing the whole day,

with herself she was still disgusted?

.

How come no one

heard her when she

was laughing, singing, and

talking by herself, and striking

up lengthy conversations with the

imaginary friends she made up

and the demons that she wed?

.

How come no one

heard her when she

asked relentlessly for help

begging and pleading, saying

that no doctor nor medicine

could ever cure her, and perhaps

an iota of support and care

for her was all she ever needed?

.

How come no one

heard her when she was already

being so earsplittingly loud

blind eyes and deaf ears

blaming nothing but the victim

“it was her fault” they say

“she should have said something”

but they all ignored her when

she actually piped up

keeping the regret to the very end—

and now she’s silent forever

and all her words went ahead…

tell me, how come no one

heard her until she was already dead?

~*~

Maybe I’m better off dead
If I was, would it finally be enough
To shut out all those voices in my head?
Maybe I’m better off dead, better off dead!
Did you hear a word, hear a word I said?
This is not where I belong
You’re gonna miss me when I’m gone…

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Your Trucker’s Hitch Is Sloppy

A free lesson on growing up make the best of their worst
And never compromise what you feel is right
I make a point to be powerful when I speak
Be the one to give them nightmares when they sleep
Never back down from anyone…

~*~

I’m spinning into retrograde motion

Falling apart as the ropes holding me back

Chafe my abrading skin in expelled dominion

I’m in the nadirs of another devilish attack

Feeling dysentery coursing in my bloated tongue

And sooner than later I’ll spit out the plague

In your eyes, and your grasp will slip on the rungs

Of your vicarious deception and mistakes

So rip apart the hatred that buries me

And I’ll be coming back from the dead for you

If there’s any way to bolster out the barrier

I’ll break you first and demolish until I come through.

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Mary’s Counting Dead Sheep Again

Mary had a little dream
Her eyes were blank and cold
And everywhere that Mary went
The beasts were sure to go…

~*~

Another night spent where there’s nothing but wasted thoughts arbitrarily presenting itself behind my star-sewn eyelids, slaughtering and slandering what little is left of the fleecy drowsiness that I stared the myriad astral bodies into. Horizons blend from honeysuckle sunsets into a velvety-rich midnight, every jaded memory and faded remembrance lying somnolent on my bed, and activated by the flick of an overused lamp switch. Nondescript chagrin is pressing softly at the back of my inundated throat; later on I’m aware that this force will grow until I begin to choke and fail to intake oxygen. For now, I exhale tiredly. The weight of the world trails behind my breath and sinks in the disturbed dust, kicking up old resentments.

I feel vexed. I shouldn’t be trusted to live up to the chimerical expectations that everyone has written down for me in indelible ink, as if it was the byzantine code that would unlock my stubborn rusted heart if they sharpened their blunt needles and tattooed it under the layers of my diaphanous flesh, into my clenched and straining muscles. It hurts, doesn’t it? The bared grins sneer unsympathetically, claws holding me down with incontestable strength, and it’s all I could do to complacently nod, cautiously wary of the glinting guillotine that’s dangling only inches away from my stiffened neck. I’m merely a plaster-cast mind, deranged and cracking under the pressure of the tattered cassock’s final judgment, and someday they will unsheathe me and mock my abstract art.

Despite the vainglorious efforts, painstaking hands filling in the voided gaps with purified liquid gold won’t fix me. It may look to be a desirable effect; yes, and perhaps it would do me good to have a little bit of luminance in the bare, simple vessel I questionably call my body. But in the end it’s nothing but a deceitful playact, an illusion of smoke and mirrors, fragrant cerise roses beneath the ravenous mucilage monster waiting for dear sweet Mary to reach out her delicate hands and get her cherry blonde locks entangled in the lethal thorns. And I do not wish to be darling strawberry-cheeked Mary, adored and oh-so glorified by everyone, yet playing the unfortunate lifeless victim in the end. I won’t be the one being grieved over, I won’t be at the receiving end of the sword; rather, I’ll be the merciless hand holding the ax and wiping the poison off her pallid blue lips.

And where does the verdict of the counseling jury lie, staring down upon me condescendingly with my indelible inked-on vices and gaping neck wounds from grazing the guillotine blade and the inevitable tempered gold patching up my shattered bones, as I hide the bloody murder weapon behind my back and cross my broken fingers, still tasting little Mary’s most saccharine sin and feeling the prickling sensations dig deep into my engraved palms? Will they immediately claim me guilty? Or is my goading charisma enough to get the edacious wolves begging for my forgiveness to save the hunt for another day? The questions hang from my pastel ceiling dreamily, yet the answer rests in my lurid nightmares, I know. I know. For now, I hold my breath and slowly close my star-sewn eyelids, counting the wasted thoughts dragging into another night spent and another soul selling out. One, two, three, four, five…

~*~

…They followed her when she woke up
She woke up, she woke up
They crept into her fragile heart
And made its beating stop.

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