Tag Archives: decision

Rumours on Red Tapes

I do not know why I would go
In front of you and hide my soul
‘Cause you’re the only one who knows it
Yeah, you’re the only one who knows it
And I will hide behind my pride
Don’t know why I think I could lie
‘Cause there’s a screen on my chest…

~*~

Call it a conversation, or another bad decision

Talk is cheap, but you’re costing me more than you’re worth

The casualties counted, words set to ignition

But I’ll salvage what I can and I’ll try to keep my insults curt

.

You’re searching for a purpose, I’m looking for a reason

Differences aside, you can’t stay clever if you’re wrong

Listen carefully now, don’t make me repeat myself twice

Because I don’t really want you to misunderstand my lies

.

Pay attention, this can’t go on, go find another friend to ruin

With your pitiful convictions—or better yet, simply stay alone

Sober is your middle name, but your vision keeps on spinning

Ignorance can’t be your bliss if all you ever do is mumble and groan

.

While I endure the problems, getting addicted to gnashing teeth

For there’s comfort in this car crash, fracturing every fucking bone

I held your hand like you asked, you went ahead and twisted my wrist

But you can’t complain forever, and I know that I should have known

.

That this is not a conversation, just another bad decision

You speak sweetly with silver linings—but fuck that, I need gold

Casualties buried now, falling out of spellbound sedation

But I’ll walk away while I still can, and you can choke on what you’re told.

~*~

We’re broken people, oh
I’m standing in front of you
I’m standing in front of you
I’m trying to be so cool
Everything together
Trying to be so cool…

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Fill In The Blanks

Regrets infesting before the final choice is made

A look-back taken the wrong way, as resolution fades

Can’t catch a break when I’m running with fractured legs

So I sit in the sheer silence of my own fucking mess

I want to take back something that hasn’t even been done

Exchange clear rationality just for the sake of jumping the gun

When the count’s already over and the ticking clock has won

It leaves only myself wondering until I’m left with none.

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Polaris

When my eyes’ve grown tired
Cause no night can’t survive with just a flashlight of hope
When all I said was bitter
And words won’t bring her back for more…

~*~

The stains on my fingertips are subtly disorienting

As I stumble on my throat, refusing to breathe in

You’re moving too fast for me to ever catch up

And all we can do is laugh quietly before we sin

I tell every aching bone to whisper about sad news

The shadows and the mist bring me closer to you

They say that the blood you expelled is recluse

But I’m terrified that my evergreen will turn to blue

And it wasn’t my fault that all the skeletons in my closet

Came bursting out, when I could no longer contain it

Understand that my veranda is always welcome and open

When the decisions overwhelm, and I’ll wait until then

Strumming the starrified strings on my ten-string cello

Until my fingers pluck constellations of the final crescendo

And when you find your way to that everlasting enigma

Look up and listen close to the sound of my north star fantasia.

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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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Burying Nevus

It was a few steps forward, twice removed, seconds away from pulmonary distress. The rough patches of ocher blisters felt like frozen ice lodged in his windpipe, a cowardly conviction that he wouldn’t dare speak. His fault. His mistake. His responsibility. Him, a filthy traitor. The constricting bracelets felt like bleeding handcuffs, prosecuting him for his blithe misunderstanding. This was never my intention, yet why am I riddled with disorienting guilt? One voice asked in attrition. It’s not you to blame if you didn’t know. Awareness is key. Another reasoned out calmly. Ignorance is the enemy of reason. A third entity argued in hostility. Every choice made sense, thus, he told them all to shut up so he could think. He bit down on his raw cheek until bile flooded his throat and metastasised as an abrasive lump. The bloodied bruise tasted like a salty alibi in his mouth. He submerged his soberness in liquid regret until it drowned, and sunk in inebriation. After he could think no longer, he made his final decision. He carried through. He knew it was unfathomably wrong, fatally so. But it was warranted.

It was just another scar tissue he had to permanently hide.

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Broken Record

It called me, I shoulda known
As the fever sweat through the dream
Told mamma that I couldn’t go
So I could stay home just to watch him dancing
And you could not tell me then
Like you could never ever tell me now
That this is not who I am…

~*~

I lost my way when I told everyone I’m keeping my resolve

I changed directions but hit the brakes when I started to swerve

Blood on the carpet, cracked car window and I don’t regret it

Perhaps it’s just too late, and call me cliché but I just might make it

.

The fever haunts my sleep like a ghost, it keeps me up at night

I’m sweating tears, way past the years of choosing wrong or right

But the final decision won’t be under your static voice’s call

It’s collapsing in weekends and dead ends, need some damage control

.

Reluctance only absolves the manifested consequences it amasses

A separation in the direct degree, as the unread side effects harasses

Querulous impostors screaming diplomatic shrill notes of protests

Drenched to the sin with self-repugnance, scandalising second guesses

.

Those platinum eyes reflect the man submerged in visceral frequency

Staggering the nightmares rushing in my veins, taunting habitual tendency

Show me the alternative to bloodletting and crumpled prescription pills

Embarking to the mistress of a bottle just so time would stand still

.

The blackout makes it easier, ’cause that way I don’t have to look at myself

When the déjà vu is drowning me under familiar sandpits of its miserable help

The taste of being sober, the bitten tongue and the scent of absinthe forsaken

Until I’m too sick and second to none, falling out over and over and over again…

~*~

Showed me that carrot on a string
But just a little too late
The bite from the taste and the smell
Of the sick somehow reminds me to be myself
Over and over again…

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Vanishing Point; All That’s Left Are Traces Of You

And without you is how I disappear
And live my life alone forever now
Can you hear me cry out to you
Words I thought I’d choke on
Figure out I’m really not so with
You anymore, I’m just a ghost
So I can’t hurt you anymore…

~This Is How I Disappear; My Chemical Romance

~*~

If you found me gone one day, with nothing but a whirlwind of scattered letters and notebooks and papers, with one parched fountain pen dying of dehydration in the middle, lying forgotten in my dislimned room like an ironic tableau, to indicate the figure, the mass, the emptied space which my once-corporeal missing body once occupied, what would you do?

Would you silently shut the door, lock the house, and leave, leave that damned place that swallowed me whole, and start afresh, burying all memories and preludes of mine, allowing it to be covered in dust and cobwebs along with the crumbling papers, in that lonely dark room in a restless abandoned house, doomed to become another cheap haunted tourist attraction—?

Or would you take a deep breath, gathering all your aplomb and composure in a single oxygen intake, preparing yourself for the worst yet still hoping for the best, grip the knob with sweaty quivering palms, open the door with a prominent creak, and step in cautiously, allowing the darkness of the shadows and the lingering ghosts of what once was to chill your bones and embrace your every being—?

And if you were to choose the latter, if you were to gather all the papers, crumpled, clean, torn-up, every scrap and bit scribbled upon in a fit of either ennui or frustration, and put them together, as if they were the puzzle pieces that will finally solve the complexities and mysteries of my shambled life, and you read them, word for word, letter for letter, line for line and rhyme for rhyme, the mindlessly scratched punctuation and intentionally scratched out words blurring into a singular monstrous emotion that discreetly ravaged and poisoned your child’s system internally, now reforming and threatening to tear at your soul’s throat, as you read the unorganised pastiche of all my regrets, passions, agonies, jubilances, those things that I wanted to say, those things I never said, and those things that I will never get to say, what would you do?

Would you tie those anthologies of pain and paradise altogether in a messy little bundle, and without so much as an apology nor prayer, simply toss them gracelessly into the raging hungry fireplace, letting each scrap of paper curl up like dying butterfly wings and be devoured by the rising flames, starving for memories to destroy, turning my thoughts into bitter ashes, no longer to be sifted and repaired, rather only left to the whim of the wind, to get caught in people’s eyes, leaving my life to be an open case, speculated and falsified upon, leaving the words of the dead to remain dead and only an unspoken echo, a pale blot in the fabric of time—?

Or would you tie those florilegiums of hurt and happiness altogether in a neat little bundle, and with utterances of faith and assurance, share them eloquently with the others wanting in hope, letting each page be turned with eager fingers like flourishing petals of blue forget-me-nots and be devoured by the willing masses, voracious for memories to engrave, turning my ponderings into a spectrum of colours, no longer to be ignored and rotting away in a locked grey vault, rather to be left in the whim of the breeze, to get caught in people’s hearts, leaving my life to be stipulated and validated upon, making the words of the dead come back to life and to gain a voice of their own, a universe itself in the tapestry of time—?

And if you opted for the second decision, and you succeeded, what would you do if you returned to my room one day, and found me, sitting casually on my bed, with an overflowing ink jar dripping murky tears on my desk and a flurry of blank sheets of paper like a hurricane of unconceived literature on the spotless carpet, taciturn as I write out brand new compositions with a faint yet genuine smile on my solid scarlet lips, content with my slowly unfading existence, colliding shades of carnation and pastel tints efflorescing on my pallid cheeks and everywhere else that the bleeding colours chances to touch, revived by your efforts, revived by the memory of my name fresh in everyone’s sentience, unaged and youthful, looking as if I never left, this place, this world, and a void in your mind, in the very first place?

Would you tell yourself that all this, was simply nothing but a tired delusional dream of yours, disintegrating into the aether as soon as you make contact with it—?

Or would you dare step in again, completing a full möbius strip of the vanishing cycle, into my bright phantasmic room, and touch my skin to see if the bubble pops…?

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