Tag Archives: depression

Expulsion, Repulsion

I bow before the

Ivory cistern

It is my deity

It shall accept my

Grotesque offering

Lights dimmed

And the ritual

Thus begins

Slowly, hands poised

Carefully, mouth

Gaping wide open

Trickling waterfall to

Hide all the

inhuman prayers

Passing through my

Throat, along with

Whatever else

One try, two tries, three

Rigid flesh heaving

Body shaking

Knees buckling

Trying to keep myself

Together enough

To tear myself apart

Undecipherable chunks

Fluids falling

A constant stream of

Involuntary tears

But—begat me

It’s too little, too little

For too much

Poor performance

Unsatisfactory

Pathetic—

Yet why, oh why does

Everything just

Fucking hurt all the

Very same?

Losing track of life

Almost half an hour has

Since passed

And my lungs could

Take no more

Begging for some repose

But it needs more

More more more more

So little so less

So full of shit

So full of me

It wasn’t enough but

Maybe it has

To suffice for now

Please, I hope

Slow down

Troubled breaths

Catching up

Though not quite the

First attempt

It never does get

Easy with every usual try

Metallic water drips

To wash away

The transgression

The evidence

The guilt

Leaving me with

A happy daze and

Messy shirts

And stomachaches

To last for days

But that’s okay

The ivory god is forgiving

And welcoming as

It is cold, and

I’ll always be fighting

Against temptation

And failing

And slipping

And cracking under

Pressure, and

When I’ll do

Rest assured I’ll

Be atoning

Pleading within this

Porcelain temple

Waiting for

Another unholy dying

Making amends

Saving my shrinking spine

And trying to be fine

Until the next time.

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cheval verre

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chew the shards of glass

between your overcast teeth

and promise me this time—

.

promise me you wouldn’t lie.

.

doesn’t feel too good with

blood overflowing in your

mouth, does it? did it turn

the ashes into putrid mud,

as well, and pour out from

every orifice in a thick, dull

sludge, confessing the crimes

.

tucked quietly behind those

calculating, glimmerless eyes…

.

does the crunching of glass

sound like the bones i broke

trying to convince myself that

your gaping lips are meant for

more than blatant fabrications—

.

does the crunching of glass

sound like sweet music to you,

.

the way it does to me right now?

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Sedate

I’m starving for medicine—

For a thousand clattering

Pills indulged all at once,

Dropping like snowflakes

On my withered tongue…

.

I’m starving for some sleep—

For a million hazy dreams

Coalesced softly all at once,

Showering like hail and sleet

Impaling my withered soul.

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sometimes i exist i think

I can feel a change
I lie awake every night, scratching
At the back of my eyelids
Nothing good ever happens
In the midnight hour…

~*~

distance stemmed

from coveting and

plainness, an upside

down mixolydian

reverie, never enoughs

for nobody was—crave to

choose isolation from

an option of tenfolds

because it eases the

passageways and

makes for a placid tale

of another ghost haunting

their own apartment

simply because they

wanted to leave the door

without a key just ever

so slightly unlocked

~*~

Don’t look at the moon
While the light is draining
It’s slowly killing you
Don’t look at the moon…

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Echopraxia

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I am not as truthful with my words

As I am with the mirror of another person

Irritating, a mimicked eloquence in my every verve

A quiet death in between the lines of reason

.

Yet I yearn to be autobiographical

To move the hills with my own sorrow

Bleed ocean waves with the sound of my voice

Crashing, cresting—swollen abyss

.

No one will touch it with a paperweight

My skin itches with healed sores, my mouth

Itches with the desire to be heard,

My mind is severed from my body; regret, culminating

.

They hear my suffering but not my thumping heart

I think it to be nonexistent—am I the truth?

No one notices me. No one comes near. No one

Prays for the crying shadow in the corner of the room.

.

So I atone with my own subtle mess. The ink stains

They praise me for my joy—my lack of it, my lack

Of self-respect, my lack of nerves within the soul—as soon as

This chapter closes, my lies become no more than another neglected tale.

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Dissimilitude

Obscure thoughts
And manic visuals
The king of deception’s
Repulsive ritual…

~*~

I am unable to mend myself anymore

Instead closer to discomfort, adoring the

.

Minor slip-ups that further slip me away

Into a state of feeling infinite nothing

.

Because my ribs are starting to close in

And propane seeps into the bones of the aether

.

I find myself struggling to reach out beyond

False epiphanies and this cultist chase

.

Just to seek out disproportionate happiness

For what else is there left to trip on?

~*~

A throne of dissimulation
And disfigurement
King of deception, hell sent
A thirst for corruption…

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closer to closure

Consider this, consider this
The hint of the century
Consider this the slip
That brought me to my knees, failed
What if all these fantasies come
Flailing around, now I’ve said too much…

~*~

fucking upset.

why is that so?

is it thinking about

the deliberate act

of running steel beyond

your muscle enough

to hit bone, or is it

the happy thought that your

friends won’t give a

fuck about you anymore?

self-pitying act, you

find yourself repulsive

and reel back more as you

find yourself glorifying

the tasteless apathy

.

won’t be missed.

a face like wiped fog

on the windowpane

awkward jokes that never

hit humour quite right

undecoded personality

no one will want to

put up with anymore

won’t be missed?

tears might fall at a

funeral, but it will quickly

wash off, along with you

and the way you laugh

and your paper body

won’t. be. missed.

.

and still, no one.

but why do you even

pretend to be surprised?

the curiosity of their

imminent reactions

burns a giant hole

in your dysfunctional

brain and makes you

grimace, deceptive smile

a burning impulse to

get it over with and find out

are you fucking upset

that you know no one will

give a fuck, or because

you already saw it coming?

~*~

That’s me in the corner
That’s me in the spotlight
Losing my religion
Trying to keep up with you
And I don’t know if I can do it
Oh no, I’ve said too much
I haven’t said enough…

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anglerfish

tiny anchors around my soft waist

pull me under—it was all my

fault, for i’d swallowed them whole

.

the bottom of the ocean holds

great pressure, and strange creatures

constructed of paper and bones

.

poking, prodding, peeking out

beyond their weary calcium sneers

yet they look so fascinating to me

.

whilst the absence of sun has long

bleached their complexion to a

ghastly paleness, the kind i would

.

literally die for, and only the barest

hints of trembling oxygen occasionally

bubble out of their thin blue lips

.

perhaps their anchors had long dissolved

and they’ll rise to the surface soon—maybe

if i embraced the cold, i’ll finally be one of them.

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Febfair

Pondering all alone

Sitting with cold grass

Between curled fingers

And unfinished coffee

Making lips quite sticky

My unplugged earphones

Afraid to make sounds

.

Myriad stands flickering

With flashes of neon colours

Selling dresses and candy

And music and rowdy revelry

But just tell me, Mr. Vendor

Please, where can I buy

Someone to walk with tonight?

.

The crowds passing by

Friends, family, familiarity

Cheering, laughing, enjoying

When there is none for me

Surrounded by old strangers

White noise for humming ears

White noise for sad eyes

White noise in my tired mind

.

From thinking about eternities

Until there is nothing but space

Lost and loved and lost again

An unsent greeting hovering

Anxiety creeping and crawling

As I patiently wait for a person

Who doesn’t even exist at all.

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fine [print]

With me understand
These patterns
How can you live forced
Into parallel lines
All functioning under
The same mind?

~*~

i’m so tired

that my skin

is beginning

to drip off my

bones and pool

on the ground

and i think my

brain’s going bad

again, it’s curling

up in a corner and

it doesn’t want to

be found out now

.

the rushed high

felt fun, but it’s

quickly wearing off

and the usual numb

is back and oh, it’s

more numb than ever

i thought i was going

to be fine, and it’s staying

that way if i really tried—

but is that just another

one of my famous lies?

will life never feel alive?

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