Tag Archives: death

Baby Overdose;

One too many opened blister packets.

Chalky blue tablets swallowed down; bitter, choking, dry,

Words bleed out of my brain and morph into seven-headed visions, and

My heavy tongue feels like grating metal and frigid sandpaper as

I carefully utter the slurred words that would reach no one—

I hope you’re fucking better now.

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29 – january candy canes

go ahead and raise up that scarlet umbrella

to fight against acerbic deception and winds

and sing me as song as fragile as the moon

.

of idyllic interludes of a thumping piano

decadent as the afterthought of samsara

but not quite as disenchanting as a eulogy

.

and frailer flavours of icy mint and failure

mingling with petrichor and soft lemongrass

so provoke my lullabies, while you still can

.

for soon, i’ll lose the ability to fall asleep

and when the weather turns cold like this

the rain shall only be another dying wish.

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25 – revelations

my schizophrenic shadow wistfully overlooks the edge of the world, and i despair; and i despair.

my vulnerable screams are plangent and writhing, yet no hands clamber for salvation, only mine; only mine. the blood from my scars clot and turn into vicious rubies, scratching under my skin, entangled arteries blocked with the sound of desperate confessions and faithless escape. soporific gazes puncture my eyes like clever sin, injecting doses of pity and false concern, and my diseases lie; and they lie.

against commas and halos, only the propane in my dry mouth tastes of sleep. though the sourest hints of fire is nothing but another bad affinity, another chaotic weather, another apologetic insomnia last night; was it last night? i find myself distraught with overwhelming furore, pervaded senses intruding the compromised chambers of my chest and colliding against my ribs, my painfully-starved ribs. my taut insides churn and hunger against me angrily. i deserve nothing less.

my bruised fingers are mere cowards for not pushing the rusted knife in deeper now, and deeper still. my tender flesh is weak for buckling and shivering against my final prayer for remedy, one last suffering goodbye, an unwritten note belied in self-sabotage. my crass willpower is a fledgling deceiver, for somehow fully convincing my desensitised mind that it can leave no warmth, no life, no breath inside my poorly-shattered spine, by the time she finally arrives too late to wonder why the hell i did such unspeakable actions; oh, she must wonder why.

failure, again; and again. i can do no harm—god, why can’t i?

as cascading chains of sunlight eventually incarcerate my catatonic body in an overwhelming apoplexy of pain, i simply sit in the suffocating confines of that final concluding silence, and morning awaits. mourning awaits.

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24 – no doubt

through metal and fire

sinews of flesh interred

lost restraint and desire

pleading tongues left sold

.

“it hurts to keep it all in”

hurts even more to speak

i must look rather grim

but soon overdose will kick

.

against the side of my brain

and knock me out for good

concealing all cravenly stains

before i finish what i should

.

through liars and lighters

i flayed to search for some rest

so lay me down to agony

and hope the worst’s for the best.

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20.5 – arrow (pt. 1)

i.) target

the guilt absolves itself at the edge of my paranoia,

screaming and clawing up my throat, madly pleading

“you’ve killed him! oh god, what have you done?!”

crashing towards a trainwreck of panic, and yet

there’s only one casualty to be found, fitfully tossing

and churning on their bed of needles, as they dreamt

about a nightmare where they weren’t a murderer—

when i didn’t make myself out to be nothing but a murderer.

your messages bore no resemblance to you; babbling

and illegible, desperately trying to lodge itself in the nooks

of my broken ribs, searching for the bullseye in a heart

that was never there. i swear, i only wanted a little bit

of control, but i got more than I bargained for—

and now for all i know you might be done for, all because

i thought i could manipulate the way that you think…

so now, i’ll pray to a god that i haven’t believed in for years,

and hope against hope that my apologies will be

enough to keep you alive. i’m sorry. i’m sorry. what have i done?

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17 – urge

today, he woke up after four hours of a very restless sleep, his cold bones craving madly with the overpowering desire to simply cease existing.

it wasn’t his usual run-of-the-mill panic attack or anything he could handle. it felt…different, somehow. more threatening. more accessible. more tangible.

it felt strange as hell to him, and considering that his main thoughts consisted of daily morbid jokes about demise, that was already saying a lot. all he wanted to do then was to go back to sleep, but every time he shut his eyes, he could vividly envision his own warm blood liberally pouring out of his arms and spilling all over his bedsheets, dripping from the edges of his stained white pillows, and finally pooling all over the floor, where it patiently awaited for someone else to stumble and get hurt on it.

it felt real. it was almost too real. he wanted it to be real. this time, this time, this time

he was so tired and confused; still muddled by the coalescing haze of heavy medication and sleep deprivation. he didn’t know what to do anymore. he wanted to physically call out for help, to chat up a casual friend and tell them about everything that’s running on his mind, or perhaps to dial his estranged parent’s number and finally confess that he couldn’t take it anymore; anything but keeping it to himself again. this was dangerous. he’s in danger. he should save himself.

but he didn’t do any of those. he couldn’t. after all this time, he still could fucking not.

so instead, he gave way to asinine distractions and a different kind of pain to bide him by, hoping that what he was doing is going to be enough; waiting, waiting, waiting.

it’s been eight hours since he first woke up. he’s still all alone and staring dully at the darkened walls of his bedroom, and the immense hunger is carving his protesting flesh into a sculpted gauntness, but he doesn’t dare move. he barely even dares to breathe.

now, he’s calmed down considerably—but not in the way he should have been. he’s too calm. he shouldn’t be this calm.

and it scares him.

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I’ve Got All This Blood On My Hands (And None In My Body)

Stay out of the light or the photograph that I gave you
You can say a prayer if you need to
Or just get in line and I’ll grieve you
Can I meet you, alone, another night and I’ll see you
Another night and I’ll be you
Some other way to continue, to hide my face…

~*~

I wanna turn your insides to white (say it ain’t so)

So it looks good on my bedroom walls (black, blonde, red)

My heart’s been bleached by the tidal waves (so wash me out)

I wonder if it had any colour at all (maybe not)

.

(So they say that the switchblade is better than the sense)

Well then, let’s see how you look in basketcase drag

(So they say that all this praying won’t make you a saint)

Well then, let’s see how you look when it goes bad

.

It’s not profound or romantic (it’s a mechanical interlude)

And I’m tired of (waiting for) all the infinite eulogies

(And they all put words in my mouth that) make me feel sick

Babe, I just wanted to sever a vein (but you made it plural)

.

(The incineration of another night, the gunshots rang clear

The townspeople screamed as a body fell out of a windowsill

Sirens wailed and ambulances crashed to the beat of my heart

Screaming “fucking save me!”, but it was all a nightmare thrill)

.

‘Cause Magdalene’s desecrated (and her scripture womb) now ain’t sacred

‘Cause all your best friends will only get together when somebody starts to die

‘Cause you can have your fucking funeral but still end up running late for it

(‘Cause you might) say grace all you want and still throw up (pure lies)

.

(Say it ain’t so) I wanna turn your insides inside out

(Black, blonde, red) And end up drunk on your bedroom walls

(So wash me out) My heart’s been drowned off by the tidal waves

(Maybe not) I wonder if it meant anything to you at all.

~*~

And we’ll all dance alone to the tune of your death
We’ll love again, we’ll laugh again
And it’s better off this way
And never again, and never again
They gave us two shots to the back of the head
And we’re all dead now…

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sanguine

When everyone you thought you knew
Deserts your fight, I’ll go with you
You’re facing down a dark hall
I’ll grab my light and go with you…

~*~

you kicked up reckless dusk,

and for a moment, time was yours.

i sat on the kerb and wept,

lost in the haze of fog and music,

watching the years go by with

nothing more than flammable illusions

cutting open the stars because you didn’t bleed,

waking up with dead skies because i couldn’t love—

letting the alarms go off hour after hour

but never letting the nightmare end, melting

away into paranoia and humiliation,

red lips a soundless “darling, i’m fucking cold.”

ignorant eyes couldn’t see the last of us

until it’s held at speculated gunpoint…

do you have to cross the start of the horizon

before they could see that you’ve died?

do i have to cross two lines off my hand

before i could ever try to live?

~*~

And go with you, I’ll go with you
I’ll go with you, I’ll go with you, yeah
Stay with me, no, you don’t need to run
Stay with me, my blood, you don’t need to run…

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L’exquise L’angoisse

Palpitating arteries eviscerate, a familiar taste that tastes like nothing

Frustrated art under his eyelids fading, clever words I’m never caught saying

Lost impressions leave deceptions, a tempestuous flood caught in the fray

Wish my headspace wasn’t suffocating the sun day after another day

.

Imagination stuttering, slowly dying, what are you trying to hide?

If hell’s your new phenomenon, I’m afraid it’s far too late to be described

Every broken bone that the restless audience throws back to your act

Refusing to feel right again, this time I know that I don’t know where to start

.

Don’t look at me. Don’t look at my deathwish. Nor my blinded existence.

I do not wish to breathe the same way you do. Do not bleed out of my presence.

My words are glass blades lodged under my bruised throat, so do not dare me to cough

The eclipse feels impossibly heavier without your weight to hold me down

And so I quietly submerge with only the sound of my empty thoughts.

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nocturnes, numbers, nyctophilia

It meant nothing to him any longer, only a faint tinge of sadness—and somewhere within him, a drop of pain moving briefly and vanishing, like a raindrop on the glass of a window, its course in the shape of a question mark. ~Atlas Shrugged, Ayn Rand

~*~

i.) the jealous penmanship

clever words left tears forming in my brain

ones that i have to open up my healing bruises

just so i could let them out somewhere

somewhere my veins wouldn’t be affected severely

(it was late at night, and my stars called out from nowhere)

sensations poured out from every letter and departure,

as it entangled itself with my nerves and wore them down,

and wore them like a dirty dress, and wore them out to town

until they were worn-out; nothing but a few stray threads.

i burned half of my journals when i turned 16 and stopped trying

to imitate being an author, because writing for me isn’t an expectation–

it’s nothing but another puzzling lock without a skeleton key

and because the most delicate daydream wasn’t mine

because selfishness, to me, is not just another bland adjective

because my bones screamed with the weight of a black hole

because your reveries were enchanting. and mine were f a d e d

n o , i ‘ l l  n e v e r  b e  a s  g o o d  a s  y o u

~*~

ii.) softness, like his heart in the shape of a newborn galaxy

i faded into an ugly shade of something that’s neither monochrome nor coloured;

on the verge of collapsing onto the other side of the fence, threatening madly

but never quite having the contemplation to choose a losing side

as i fell down into the blue of a stranger’s wanderlust eyes.

someone else had taken most of that vibrant shade already, but i managed

to steal away just a sliver, a glimpse, an infinitesimal shiver

and it was the kind of lasting cold that froze summer hurricanes

and kept my breaths visibly foggy and crisply sharp with every inhale

(you never warned me. you don’t know me, but you knew me too well. and i never listen.)

i’ll always be an insignificant detail in the cyan tapestry you painted for yourself

and i’ve accepted that long ago when i said i loved you in my nightmares,

tossing and turning on the bed covered in plastic arrogance because

no other blanket felt warm and comfortable enough for my body to sleep on

until then, i could only sink deeper into the fathomless wish that this universe would end s o o n

i t  w a s  a  k i n d  o f  l o v e  t h a t  m a d e  s u i c i d e  s o u n d  l i k e  m u s i c

~*~

iii.) an abrupt goodbye/the guilty party often disappears first

i was mad at something. i didn’t know what it was, but it was foolish enough

for me to take it out onto the embracing autumn sky, on the taciturn smiles that

were supposed to hold me when tempestuous desolation grabbed at my twisted throat…

and on you. you never meant anything. you just wanted to talk, and so did i,

but my tongue was a spilling box of blades, and every time i opened my

wounded mouth to make you laugh, i always ended up cutting you by accident instead.

(friend, even if i said i’m sorry, can you ever forgive me for what i’ve done to you?)

it was an unreasonable apology, and i erased myself because of my own self-hatred,

but not before leaving footprints of a migraine in your head, which you will inadvertently step on,

slip at, and hurt yourself…fuck. i don’t know why i’m like this. i don’t know why i have

to push and pull apart the only semblance of logic in my life, the only anchor

that keeps me from towing away from the tides, the last person that still feels real to me

when everything else has blurred into an amalgamated indistinct static background;

i don’t know why i feel so smothered, when you’re the only attention i’ll ever have and need.

at this point, the only thing we have is each other’s problems, and the way we both

jeered at it, taunted it, and blocked it out with our own shared playlists until we felt better—

but now that summer was just a distant memory, and so was the scarlet artwork we made of it.

you also needed comfort. but did even try? no. i ran away from the colliding wreckage

as if it wasn’t my fault, and i numbed myself out because i couldn’t do the same for y o u

i ‘ m  s o r r y  i  m a d e  y o u  s a y  s o r r y  s o  m u c h . . .

i  d i d n ‘ t  m e a n  t o  d e s t r o y  e v e r y t h i n g

~*~

iv.) the midnight closes. the violent curtain falls.

the cold glow of my computer screen was rude and restless

and it made my fingers promise, crossed and uncrossed, that i would

stay with it until it slips into comatose. i have rinsed my mouth with lukewarm water

a hundred times to try to wash out the taste of stale coffee, but it never came out and now

i’m stuck with it until morning, until another astrological moon cycle, until i lose

myself in the chemical moments of something that’s so artificially natural.

i’m constantly starving myself, stuck between confidence and relapsing withdrawals of

my past life that i thought i discarded when i finally held on to my shooting star,

but it was always tethered tightly to me by a crimson string. and it always probably will be.

i’m alone. i’m friends with people that talk shit to me in the mirror, and when i bite

my chapped lips and draw blood by accident, it almost feels like atonement. almost.

(i got what i came for and i can’t try again. this is what i want…..isn’t it?)

i know that there are people out there making fun of me and rolling their eyes

petulantly as they bask in the trite, whimsical “perfection” of their storybook existence

but not everything has a happy ending, and not every sad story has to end badly.

i don’t know. i’ll never know. i’m tired and i have responsibilities that i’m not

built for, and every crack turns into a break, and a break into shattered p i e c e s

t o m o r r o w  i ‘ l l  d o  t h i s  o v e r  a g a i n  .  u n t i l  i  r u n  o u t  o f  t o m o r r o w s .

~*~

v.) nocturnes.

( a n d  i ‘ l l  s t a y  h e r e )

u n t i l  i  r u n  o u t  o f  n u m b e r s  t o  c o u n t ,

a n d  t h o u g h t s  t o  f e e l ,

a n d  n i g h t s  t o  s t a y  a w a k e .

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