Tag Archives: dependence

Chase Atlantic

For you, I chased down atlantic until it was drained and empty, consuming every last drop, and still, you were thirsty.

Xans, Oxy, gram, adderall, molly, vicodin, ketamine, codeine, amphetamine, heroin, every medication legal and illegal you selfishly overdosed on like it’s the sweetest candy, drugs and money fucking everything up, riding the waves, breathing in the ozone layer and craving the vaporous atmosphere, until all you could hear are birds singing at midnight and all your blank glazed eyes could see where pink shadows coalescing in the basement and the sound of your own synesthetic undersea voice, sewn up into crude stitches before it shatters soundlessly against the restless pastel ghosts; and you find out you were uncomfortably lying on your back in the bedroom floor all along, staring at the unlit ceiling dripping what you thought were your own tears but turned out to be rainwater, dial tone screeching your garbled songs, trying to call nobody at half past four in the morning, worn-down carpet igniting the smoke alarms with your interminable vices. I could only wish to hell that I was there to put it out.

There was a certain elegant delicacy in your tactlessly constructed words, soft beatnik aspersion and aggressive indie slurs romancing and entrancing my chilled spine, humming saxophone amid the alluring amalgamation of incoherent voices intertwining together into a strange, tangible, panicking tranquil. It was an art form in itself, inimitable, one of a kind, scattered accentuation your personal intricate signature. Every careless lilt about the dangerous pseudonymous girls you slept with last night, Angie, Cassie, Roxy, and the pill-popping pharmacists you’ll hold up with a gun as soon as the sun hits tomorrow. All these unsettling courtesies set in three parts of pastel grey and explicit roses, the dalliance and the nostalgia of everything, you were speaking in a foreign language only the truly sick in the head could properly understand, and the way you talked about all the mental pressure and self-esteem and choking anxiety so goddamn beguilingly, the way you talked about addiction as if you weren’t an addiction in itself, the way you just fucking aren’t, it got me overdosing on the panoply panache and sovereign shit on your bedside, but I was so into it.

How many times have you made my pulse beat when it was no longer mine? Every single afternoon, I wake up with a stabbing jolt like a guillotine’s rope pulled tight against my throat, gasping and desiring desperately for more, more of your prevarications. It was a talk show tactic, and you were the host telling me to talk slow and tell no lies, and I was your prize trophy, spilling my secrets and picking my battles cautiously, even though I knew that you were probably lying to me all along. The world was on your shoulders, angels hissing temptations under your skin, and we danced to the beat of your laughter and talked endless miles of film spiels about friends and no friends, gravity and good vibes, church walls and dancing in the dark with the devil, indiscretions and junkie stories high on adrenaline and dopamine, driving too fast and run over by the cops and swimming and thrashing in paradise until we’re so much higher than before, and everything was rhapsodic…until you hit the trigger and got me begging on my bleeding knees again. I’m scratching my nails, shivering madly, abusing my liver, and tearing the veins off my dead-ass heart as you killed my sanity, and baby I was only 23.

I’m obsessive. You said hold your breath, you’ll save me from the fading injections and we’ll run away right here to the underside of the world, and I won’t need to miss you and your anchor tattoo. And fuck it, but I believed all your twisted promises so fervently. I didn’t expect to fall instantaneous victim for such a scrupulous stratagem, this alternative relativity of drugs and parties not my accustomed niche, fucking up this whole thing. I was married to the screaming voices that serenade me everyday and haunt me every night, and I was theirs to render completely deaf into freedom; until you came out of nowhere and divorced me from the nightmares, and you incarcerated me—you made me even worse. You’re a psychopathic fringe wearing a smile on your face and holding a knife in your hand, you’re becoming a work of art. You don’t look too sane when you act like that, and babe, you won’t live too long with a mind like that. I was always fastidious about the taste of serotonin that I place against my lips, but even though it’s fire I’m kissing now, I’ve already been burnt, I fucking have. And I love counting the cigarette stains in my fragile marred skin, sepia-shaded nicotine tattooed permanently between my fingertips, branding me with your whispered name. My parents say I’m crazy, but I only wanna be buried six feet under your bed, ready to meddle about and smoke the cancerous stars away with you anytime. They say be rational about these things, but I stopped being reasonable the moment I listened to your drugstore symphonies and drowned in your cheap perfume. This chemical destruction is beautiful. I’ll keep it up, and I’ll keep riding the waves, crashing into you once more. And why stop at all? Okay is all I know right now. Mama I’m sorry, but reality’s boring.

For you, I’ll chase down atlantic until I’m drained and empty, consuming every last drop, and still, I’ll be thirsty for your eyes.

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The Game Played Right

Is there anyone who can make me see?
Help me breathe
Is there anyone who can make me feel alive inside?
Sink or swim is all I know tonight
Well take me to the bed, it feels so right
Wake me up…

~*~

I keep on lying. The silent pieces remain unapologetically in my lips, melting and melding together and apart, clashing like shades of blue and gold, until my smiles are mutated and my bated tongue is in shreds. Fear is an embrace I’ve learned to take upon myself, selling myself short to it, buying away the final remaining original thoughts I’ve slaved over in myriad sleepless nights until I’m a-la carte. Change is to blame for the causeless effect, and I’m asking for more from what can’t be taken away from me, cutting corners and targeting the contrition with a bolted gun, as if that would solve my problem. Would that open the deadlocked box of hope, containing those transient reminiscences of what used to be faith, keeping my wrists from giving itself up to bladed handcuffs and abrading ropes?

No, because it’s been open all this time. I’m merely pretending that it’s fully out of grasp, stuffing the sunshine in a pocket with a hole, then feigning remorseful surprise when I grasp the cloth and fail to feel its reassuring outline. I won’t get away, just as the moon can’t break away from its cruel mistress, no matter how hard it tries. Dependence requires sustenance, never mind if one’s getting hurt, never mind if one’s just wasting time and lightyears, never mind that there’s someone who sucks on the cigarette and there’s one who gets snuffed out in the ashes of its former companions, and both are slowly dying with each harmful, addicting, nicotine drag. Perhaps it’s better to move on, burn my house down with the lighter, and stab a flag on top of a desolate mountain, letting the frigid Arctic breeze pierce my lungs, reminding me that I’m dead inside, day by day, every single night.

Yes, the truth hurts worst when you’re lying on your back in a hollowly-carved bed, watching the tick of the sagging clock draw frowns on your dripping beige ceiling, the crude notches on the bedpost your only substitute for a calendar, not even the gathering dust on your windowsill keeping track of your blunt existence, but is that really such a bad plotline to read into? After all, I’m a mere instrument of conflict, and if I do not fulfill my function, I have no point, and dull instruments are of no use to anyone but the junkyard. So, what’s the point but pointlessness? What is there to release from arrogance, from selfishness, from egocentric human needs and desires, shallowness sucking away the will to speak in freedom, constantly starving for lust and lusting for starvation and dying from either loneliness or hunger in the end?

Give me that. Give me an answer that would morph my vulgar counterfeit laughter back into a purely genuine jubilance, give me a reply that would wash away the contracting fallacies in my conflicted mind and make my craving lecherous soul finally taste the decadent truth, give me a statement to swim in and sink under as I ponder deeply upon it and spend all my cashed-in stars to figure it out until I may finally repose in peace, give me an oratorical rhetoric that would drag me out of the hands of the angels in the ambulance and shock my heart into sinus rhythm, give me something, anything at all that would set this hellish perpetual carousel in a dead jolting halt and wouldn’t throw me off the cutthroat ride, give me—give me what I want. Yet, is what I want really what I need?

Never. Because in this reality, the parallel cruelty prevents any chance of a perfect alignment or even a destined intersection between any limits, and it’s all we can do to keep walking in the thin line and keep a painful positiveness, because backtracking to the negatives would devour us whole, render us irrational, and count us as impossible. Yet, despite knowing all of those and sharing such meaningless contrivances to the eyes that refuse to perceive and the ears that refuse to listen, I still want you to lie to me. Lie to me until your lips are mutated and your bated tongue is in shreds, lie, lie, lie, until the wrong turns right, until forward becomes backwards, until the truth is the ultimate lie, and I’ll gladly do the same to you. After all, we’re just doing what we need to do. We’re just doing all we can do.

~*~

These self inviting auras
Made me bring out the sun
Your body’s played its role
It’s ruined my game
And now I can’t believe I’ve done it
But somehow I still feel
But I still feel, so far gone…

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california soul

Stay young and at the top of our lungs
Our hands are free, our lives have just begun!
It’s getting dark, we should go back
But what’s the use if what you love is what you have?
And I could die right now for something beautiful
To take me somewhere else; oh, I try to calm down
As I drag myself along these severed hands…

~*~

stay young

and keep your hands on the gun

don’t move along

and stay for the night

for the dark night that bleeds

in drunken colours

away from everything else

in the picasso paintings we called home

before we calmed down

and stopped severing our songs

so break me down

break down the better parts

that make us scream in the backseat

of crashing red cars

and i won’t run this time

so run me over

i’ll tally up the torques

torture me with tiring promenades

and hand grenades

and alcoholic stories that leave my cheeks numb

and when i pass the fuck out

carry me to my door

like you never promised me before

and i’ll leave you to stare

at the closed windows

throwing brick walls to play fair

just don’t bother with praying

don’t bother me

if the burning sun persists to remind you

don’t listen to the rain

listen to the suffocating hallways

give me what you can take

and if you still think you’ll be sorry

darling, your voice is keeping me awake

so what if i forget regret?

by then i wrote all these apologies

a thousand fucking times now

until i could taste the wounds on my tongue

until my hands are dragged into the ocean

until i don’t know what it means to be alive

what does it mean to breathe?

you lacerated my lungs

and monopolised my oxygen

so i guess i asked the wrong person

and i would do it again

until you love every broken bone in my body

but do you even give a fuck

that it’s cold outside

and all my mutated veins are frozen over

into dismembered accidents

of a lifeless smile?

don’t keep haunting me, darling

texas may be forever but california isn’t

and we could only wish to swim

against inferno summers and dishwater hurricanes

parched throats like a pyromaniac

before we crash on the rocks

and end up losing our bedrooms in the sky

did you fall away?

heaven is yours to plot my demise

when we’re stumbling over west coast clubs

and deadlocked in socal lies

i make the best mistakes to choose

when you’re wearing my lipstick and i’m in your shoes

crying until the lemon groves grow

and turn our memories of encino holidays sour

desecrating sacrilegious in santa cruz

saint anna has nothing left to lose

and los angeles is chanting ooh, la la la

the walk of fame is tipsy

the stars don’t remember their fame

hollywood is getting far too busy

and we’re covered in blood in san francisco

standing by the earthquake’s fault line

trying desperately to find out

which of us pushed the other one

but i’ll remember all the disasters forever

like how we convulsed with laughter

dissecting, exploring our decaying anatomies

relapsing into recovery

dancing circles around the hospital

and never even asking what’s happening to us

as we’re dragged under hispanic dust

dizzying in spin the bottles and betting hack money

ferris wheels and carousels and vomit

confusion reassuring with promises full of shit

the happiest place on earth feels sorry

disneyland’s just a ride away

watching movies at anaheim driveways

falling asleep at the rolling credits

diving into high tide currents of long beach

until one of us drowns deep

and we hid away in sulphur kisses

poignant in mission bay high

crushing red cups in san diego backyards

digging crowns and graves in clairemont for the day we die

so hold your mouth, we’ll be fine

i’ll tell you you’ll be okay, but i would be lying

for romance, for a chance

to entrance the devils pumping blood

for a nonexistent god

for you, for me, for loveless mercy

for love and everything that’s bad in this world

you whisper “baby, i’d kill for you”

oh honey, don’t you see? i’d fucking kill you

i’d count the sugar on your lips

i’d count the stars that collide all over your skin

i’d count all the chemicals that saturate me

when you count the sand on the shore like sweeter sins

soaking me in

breaking me down

until i’m wasted on your voice

until the wine tastes cheap

and until we’re entangled

like grey cobwebs and red tapes

and starving friends preaching eloquence

like our elusive selfish escapes

so please shatter your mirrored soul for me

and i’ll paint them over in stained glass

for the hollow cathedral

we’ll murder our lusted vows in

we both knew this moment would never last

cause i loved your shameless destruction

and that was a fucking mistake

i should’ve loved everything else in your dying eyes, darling

because that was all it would ever take.

~*~

I’m gonna buy a cheap bouquet before it dies on the display
(Gonna break down) Break down the better side of me
(The better side of me) Well I know, I know if I die young
Then we can wake up screaming in your bed
And our lungs are begging us to calm down!

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