Tag Archives: death

defence mechanism

“be forewarned”

your whispered chagrin

stains my mouth

with perplexed nicotine

.

a spiteful stare

the gaps in my rationality

stolen spare parts

i’m rendered in cataplexy

.

graze my nape

our vascular constriction

but it turned out

to be just a bold distinction

.

to find the switch

and fumble with our sorrows

i’m a clockwork elegy

but i’ll still be here tomorrow.

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Deathwatch

There’s no point in hiding the truth from a freak

She let her arms swell as he took a big bite, let it stick

So that the vessel ropes he could find a little easier

And all that remains would mean nothing else to her

.

Does it hurt this much to be okay? Am I all that will be gone?

Her questions were relentless, and his curt answers stung

All he could tell was that blood’s quite softer than water

And clorox swirls down the drain just a little bit slower

.

Don’t find me out yet, I’m still purging all of my guilt

Grey is just something when all these pills taste like filth

Her stomach emptied as his was filled, one more for the road

But pray don’t slip on the wet tiles, though comfortingly cold

.

Get out of that fucking phase! Are you just dying for style?

Well, I love you too mother dearest, you won’t be yelling for a while

An attention seeking bitch, just can’t be more like the others

You’re only ever good with your head submerged underwater

.

And so what if I am? Why, would I look bad in your final will?

Her spite crammed the walls and the shadows were thrilled

He stayed silent, quite cautious, let the anger be his chance

If it’s only to prove your point to me, then I know my own stance

.

Teethmarks stuck vicariously to the mould like their grotesque signature

His embrace was eternally automatic, and she was just a friendly reminder

Because really, what was the point? We’re just a bunch of deadweight freaks

But she made sure to stick out her arms and wear the truth on her sleeve.

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Paternoster

I still look for you

In suffocating temples

Within the faith I lost

And in mindless rituals

.

Mumbled promises

The kind I couldn’t keep

Memories that grow

More distant as I sleep

.

I still look for you

When the pangs cut through

All the could-have-beens

Just a name they never knew

.

Maybe there’s an afterlife

And maybe I’ll turn out okay

Memories will stay with us

Even if you’re long gone away.

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troublemaker

bloodstain love

and skinny jeans

on emulated flesh

paynes grey eyes

.

lip full of dyspnea

busted-up trainers

a stimulated heart

dishonest one-two

.

bold fisticuffs dare

acrimonious glance

a lying spectograph

misophonic angels

.

incendiary madness

death for the lepers

endangered mentality

but only ever for you.

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In Moratorium


[ ∅ . ]

“ᴄᴀᴍᴇ ᴀ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏ sᴛᴀʀғᴀʟʟ
ʙʀᴏᴜɢʜᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴏ ᴛᴇᴀʀs ᴀɢᴀɪɴ
ᴡᴇ ᴀʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴠᴇʀʏ ʜᴜʀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ sᴏʟᴅ
ᴀɴᴅ ᴡʜᴀᴛ’s ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀsᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ
ғʀᴏᴍ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ʙʀᴇᴀᴋ
ᴀɴᴅ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ʙʟᴀᴅᴇ ʏᴏᴜ sᴛᴀɪɴ
ᴡᴇʟʟ, ɪ’ᴠᴇ ʙᴇᴇɴ ʜᴏʟᴅɪɴɢ ᴏɴ ᴛᴏɴɪɢʜᴛ…”


[ I . ]

You are arcane desire, and influential mania, and the sweetly vulgar taste of expired novocaine hanging above my quivering tongue like eden’s forbidden fruit. You are the contagious, infected swelling beneath the base of my throat that I madly vain to scratch away with both trembling hands, that I constantly want to carve out with a blunt scalpel in a resolute fit of psychosis. You are the deliberate misspelling of a foreign name that sounds frustratingly familiar, but only ever-so vaguely. Not close to a centimetre, teasingly grazing tiptoed silver slippers and half-buried memories. But not quite there yet.

ARE YOU LISTENING?


[ I I . ]

The resonating scream beneath my temples is starting to taper off into a sound akin to the mewling of a crippled fox; gunpowder and bullet hole smouldering in one leg, a rather patient hunter quietly praying by its burrow, steady fingers clasped tightly to the trigger as it sets up the final triumph with a whispered amen. It might just be from the severe blood loss, but my darling hunter, your gentle trilling call sounds almost alluringly enticing to me now. Me, a clever, cunning fox. You, a foolish, bumbling hunter. And yet you always seem to victoriously capture your kill in the end. Am I your final trophy head to be displayed in your cabin with the grandest fanfare, or shall my carcass simply be ferociously gutted and the scrapped remains fed to your rabid, starving dogs?

WHICH ONE SHALL IT BE?


[ I I I . ]

You are convoluted ecstasy and LSD and heroin in its rawest form, a most potent kind of prescription drug that instantly presses through my arm like hot steel and directly flows into my veins—though the hypodermic needle is missing and the vigil candle has completely melted away into stained tears hours, perhaps even weeks ago. But it is incredibly easy to lose track time with you, is it not? Every inch of the rampant hallucinogens traces highways back and forth on my scarred flesh and all over the wrinkles and grey matter of my deliquescent brain, smoothening out track marks and neurons alike as it gradually transforms me into an obedient porcelain mannequin. Just for you, I’ll forget to exhale, so let your guilt swirl through my charred lungs for all it’s worth, and I won’t suffocate. I promise.

DO YOU?


[ I V . ]

There is a new emotion blustering within me as you speak; something that feels like crudely sewing obscure adjectives on the underside of my clavicle, something that I don’t think anyone else with four chambers in their heart is supposed to ever feel; lest one of it inevitably clogs up and withers into paralysis. It renders every paranoid afterthought blindly unresponsive to the rest of my starving body, and sleeps right next to the nerve that could send me straight to comatose if pressed the wrong way. It takes the tiny spots from below your right cheek and collides it together into an explosive myriad constellation, an overwhelming universe that barely begins to abstract the way your unfathomable soul works. It is you: ad infinitum, deathless, enraptured. And me stumblingly trapped in the middle of it all, mere insensible creature hysterically perplexed by your stark impossibility. Dare I ask…dare I ask you why…why this is and should never be? And if I do—god help me if I do—

WOULD IT EVEN MATTER TO HAVE EXISTED AT ALL?


[ Π. ]

“ᴡʜᴀᴛ’s ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀsᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪ ᴄᴀɴ sᴀʏ?
ᴛʜɪɴɢs ᴀʀᴇ ʙᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ ɪғ ɪ sᴛᴀʏ
sᴏ ʟᴏɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ɢᴏᴏᴅɴɪɢʜᴛ
sᴏ ʟᴏɴɢ ɴᴏᴛ ɢᴏᴏᴅɴɪɢʜᴛ
ᴄᴀɴ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴇᴀʀ ᴍᴇ? ᴀʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ɴᴇᴀʀ ᴍᴇ?
ᴄᴀɴ ᴡᴇ ᴘʀᴇᴛᴇɴᴅ ᴛᴏ ʟᴇᴀᴠᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇɴ
ᴡᴇ’ʟʟ ᴍᴇᴇᴛ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ ᴡʜᴇɴ ʙᴏᴛʜ ᴏᴜʀ ᴄᴀʀs ᴄᴏʟʟɪᴅᴇ…”


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Directions to Heaven

the memory of my father

clutches at my coiled stomach

he heeds—‘if you’re going

to die, don’t you bleed all over

the emergency room floor’

.

the fight draining out from

my critical fluids, and right into

that little plastic bag with

the yellow smiley faces, as if it

is glad to watch me suffer

the memory of my mother

sweeps down my shallow chest

she heeds—‘if you’re going

to die, don’t you leave your body

on the steps of the morgue’

.

cold light seeps in from the

corners of my eyes, like ethereal

tea; and at teatime, the doctor

looks at his clipboard and pulls my

line—so now i’ll be on my way.

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high beams

the traffic lights

look far different

.

when i walk alone

a tempting waltz

.

dandelions burn

beneath my knees

.

and the crosswalk

blurs my eyesight

.

heading back home to

where grief tastes okay

.

but if the sunset asked

me to leave with it now

.

to paint my hands with

orange and abendrot

.

like stars and headlamps

shimmering before me

.

and all the colours i lost

in my travels around town

.

would i answer quickly

would i simply tell it yes?

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Doubt Is Failure By Design

We’re born to fuck everything up, I guess.

No one asked for this. I’m like a festering scar on the dysfunctional mind of a starving shark who mercilessly shoved me overboard, and my flailing limbs are weighed down with rocks and paralysed with guilt, with shameful culpability, with the handed-down heirloom of a cursed name—a mere letter and punctuation away from completely unpronounceable—come now, black sheep, where’s your fucking wool?

Absolutely deplorable. Every success-story sycophant resolutely cringes away as if touched by the devil’s acid itself, their gold-plated stomachs turning at the mere mention of us, rolling diamond eyes watering viciously at the sight of our squalid hands reaching out to extinct stars and begging for a shred of respite, if any at all, overfed jesters laughing like relentless hyenas at the classic repertoire of victimised beggars choosing to be losers. No change. No mercy. Miserable. We asked for it, didn’t we?

I take a single step into the path I meticulously measured before finally deeming to be correct, and end up breaking somebody’s weak spine instead; clumsy foot easily slicing through vertebrae like a sharpened sword through snowfall. Another mistake. Another cautionary tale. I hear my dead ancestors wail a steady plangent caterwaul, as they eternally scream and admonish me from beyond the depths of inferno and then perhaps some—from where I shall soon be sharing their fate as I join in with their ever-familiar sickly cries. Another generation. Another bad blood. It’s almost comforting, now.

Oh, well. We fucking saw it coming and let it happen anyway, didn’t we?

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colic

you are like

a bloom of cancer

in the pits of my

empty stomach

wide awake and half

meant for graves

and ingratitude

scarlet vindication

a twist of white lies

telling me everything is

alright, when i’ve got

one foot in your mouth

another decapitated

by the knife down

my back, nonetheless

but i’m coughing out

my veins anyway,

you reason—sad to

say that i see your point

and pray to it like it’s

my fucking gospel

like i’ll truly be saved by

your invisible god

because that’s all you

ever want me to do

you make me love feeling

like i’m far too weak

so i hope you’ll do me

one last favour and pull the

plug on me, just before

they find the miracle cure.

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Catastrophic Demarcation

Go wreck the clean air for me

And replant some darker green

The kind that runs the world

The one you sought to destroy

With cigarette spewing factories

And cold corporate handshakes

And mass hysteria ignorance

.

Go and poison my faucet drip

With more than bitter chlorination

And occasional sediments of rust

The kind that snakes highly-resistant

Prions right into my better sense

And chokes away all my optic nerves

Into the brink of utter blindness

.

Let me taste all our past and future mistakes

And pay for humanity’s most heinous crimes

For we all deserve imminent hell, don’t we now?

The kind that boils civilisation down to ashes

And piles up bleached bones for the scavengers

Cause if you heed requests from dying machines

Their toxic wasteland will be all that’s left of us.

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