Tag Archives: desire

Mad Mary Lennox

I still remember the world
From the eyes of a child
Slowly those feelings
Were clouded by what I know now—
I still remember the sun
Always warm on my back
Somehow it seems colder now…

~*~

You were the tears I could never release.

I am imprisoned for centuries in an impenetrable ribcage, feeling the lemongrass harshly piercing my calloused feet but never allowing my deprived senses to take in their ethereal fragrance, holding blossoms by their fragile throats and quietly wishing for their efflorescent scarlet to return and splash colour on my filthy grey dress again, and forevermore shackled and watching the suspended horizon; but a mere intangible memory playing tricks on my open lips.

It was beautifully haunting. My demented secret garden.

You alone held the key to the concealed gates. That particular key was crudely carved from roses and bones, finely forged of romance and blood, chiseled from my consumed heart and threaded with my vulnerable veins, but akin to the overflowing ocean of the tears trapped within my tired, pondering eyes, you released me not.

But will I despair? Never. I shall merely smile at your vicious cruelty and wait for patience with all the grace and forgiveness the pallid moon has adorned me with. I’ll peacefully sleep on my bed of fallen feathers and butterfly ashes, and I shall awake again the next day, my marred body still glimmering in a breathtaking fairy tale iridescence, to tend to my own share of bruised paradise and to sing my laments to the ardent stars in the missing sky once more.

Because this exquisite garden shares my every pain, my solitary desire, my one secret, and not simply the very secrecy itself. This sanctuary is mine to hold in eternal memoriam, and in an infinite someday, these silver chains will rust off and unfetter, as the reckless revolution of this damned planet will halt and reverse, away from the sun. And when that happens, you will find yourself starving for sweet freedom and clawing at the iron bars haplessly, forever banished in my grotesque heaven, where all the scathing thorns bear your broken name and all the flowers wilt at the very despicable thought of your nonexistent soul.

And you shall weep. And I, finally, along with you.

~*~

Where has my heart gone?
Trapped in the eyes of a stranger
Oh, I, I want to go back to
Believing in everything
I still remember.

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Filed under Prose

here for nothing

Watching as the fire starts
I could be here all night
Never really wanted much
Only ever asked for flight
It could be you…

~*~

i have

no desire

to read

into your

messy mind

as if there

was anything

i would find

taking turns

at insults

like our

hurtful words

don’t mean

a thing

like it was

just another

bee sting

i’ll be okay

i have gravity

to keep my

heart right

where it

should be

but your ribs

are broken

and ransacked

yet don’t you

even see?

i have no

intention to

watch as you

trip again over

your own

callous tongue

but i have

to admit, it’s

actually

kind of fun.

~*~

And I could be fire
And I could be rain
And I could be caught in
Everything that’s in between…

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In The Presence of Perdition

“And it is from this world of darkness
Which come the evil, destructive forces of man’s nature.”

~*~

Come one, come all, to the audience of the deceased

Have a taste of the pleasure that your rotting tongue missed

Sit before the actors regurgitating lines in vaudeville sarcasm

And your skin is stitched directly to the burning emblem

So curse all the horrors and scream at the fainthearted

A minor threat, a copycat’s tragic death, bloodshot gazes averted

Give out the two-faced masks that conceal the grotesque

For that flimsy veil of deception that only ire savages protect

So hold your breath and shut your lungs, there’s no other place for the living

Break your grasp and lose control on the mausoleum graves we’re dancing

I’m built for blame and bland on sins, severed eyes won’t see the true vision of hell

And I can’t be saved by devotees and war-bent crimes they preach on the chapel

But don’t worry, I’ll still clap along to the act until my blistered hands catch on fire

Dante’s inferno is just a burlesque caricature compared to this hellish life that even the devil desires.

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TORTURED

Thespian fascination dares to overtake me

Oppressing every facile notion in quiet synergy

Red is the shade to which my dreams fade

Tortured is the tint to whence desire is unmade

Undercover lover, eyes may forget why love

Repents in fragile oneirism, it’s all you ever have

Eternally bartering in an abundance of stitches

Delaying the pain reverent when your heart hitches.

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in which love is just another imagined story by a hopeless writer who has dysgraphia

“and though to my arms you are forever lost,
you are a prisoner in my fantasy.”

~Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz

~*~

you are my sweetest fiction,

conjured, derived from the very ends of

the lacklustre impediment

that is my algid imagination.

light calla lips flushed pleasantly

(though, i may only be imagining it so)

elusive soul a taunting fugitive

(from which i could never hope to catch

with bare hands and bare feet)

cerise smile melting upon liquid gaze

before i then realise—the blood was my own.

missing birthdays, unsent letters

piling into sealed dictionaries upon my oaken desk

and again, i weep the night sky

in the grievous absence of your starlight.

falling, falling; lilies, lilies,

plucked like shimmering innocence

from the skin of my gritted teeth, sighing

irreplaceable—!

though, your divine body is not mine

to ruin and revere relentlessly

under eternal storybooks and lost volumes of

anthologies, the empty pages

all at once interjecting: “impossible?!”

but, is it always so? must my fluttering shyness

be short-lived like your tyranny?

surely we must not always adore the

blinking butterflies, cascading iridescence

billowing solemnly into my reverie—

accidental interruption.

aralias, aralias; painful, painful;

i am to dirty fly as you are to decadent fruit

dragged down rather cruelly into

the ad infinitum of your fiery veneration

and i am unable to twist my words into cathartic

crashing, collapsing, holding it in…

but, i do not mind at all; for i lost mine

the moment you slipped from enthrallment into

the ache of my charismatic sternum,

submerging me in pacific oceans of desire—

enchantingly alluring me into the cozen, shackling confines

of the prison you call your heart.

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Filed under Poetry, Valentines Poetry

Cause Of Death

Have you ever had enough of it?
Straight over it, sick of it, can’t get a hold of it?
Like a drug I need another fix
I’m a moth to a flame and I’ll burn for the hell of it
Battle scar ’cause I lost the fight
Every time I take a breath it’s like I’m losing my life
Fuck it, why am I so dysfunctional?
So irrational? I don’t know what to do…

~*~

The medicine you said you only injected under pressure

Crashing the fluids in your spine, worse than acupuncture

Don’t expect me to stay for another panache dosage round

I’ll down another shot of NyQuil to sleep safe and sound

.

Madness is the disease you declared was the supreme cure

Sane is just an inadequate substitute for the epiphanies pure

But if that’s the case, then why did you have to lock me up

In the asylum you once revered, and my system left to rot?

.

Will they forget the failed experiment that is my botched heart?

When your scientific curiosity deigned for its imminent restart

But the shocking electric currents seemed to pass the wrong way

Now my body’s shaking uncontrollably, and you pushed me away

.

But despite playing the doctor, you killed more than you healed

With each accident you’ve revived, more saline fluid was spilled

It’s okay, I know my nameless wounds would bleed out like death

And I’ll let you mark it in the coroner’s report, outline by the bullet

.

You conducted my autopsy, hoping to find and satisfy the missing answer

I would’ve told you myself, darling, if only you had asked me a little nicer

But when you finally satiate your desire to create and mitigate destruction

I’ll be there standing at the wreckage, all primed to pull the loaded weapon.

~*~

So I push you away until you beg me to stay
Just for the thrill of the chase, you got me intoxicated
Fucked in the head from all the things that we did
But I will never forget I need you, my medication…

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sweet candy (clap and kneel)

She do a dance
Slides down a pole
She turn a backflip
Make your heart roll…

~*~

get a syrupy dose

i’ll have you clapping

candy that lasts all night

sweet but not too saccharine

lust like a parched rose

desire is just another word

until my lush lips utter it

i’ll have you screaming “what a world”

a messy and clarion intimacy

let’s murder the lights if we must

my sovereign eyes will set you free

in cavorting pure we trust

but no, don’t be fooled

by my colourful lollipop taste

i’m far from innocent, my darling

and i’ll let you go to waste

and when you’re finished taking it all in

my sweet taste will slowly fade

and leave an acrid palate that will last for days

even when i’m gone, you’ll taste staid.

~*~

Caught in a spotlight
Crawls across the floor
Calls for attention
The boys yell out for more…

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Baby, You’re Dead to Me

Hip hip hooray for me, you talk to me
But would you kill me in my sleep?
Lay still like the dead from the razor to the rosary
We could lose ourselves and paint these walls in pitchfork red…

~*~

My heart is fucking crippled

And you stole my crutches

Leaving me to limp my way

Back into the house you burned

.

My soul is fucking injected

With a dose of my own medicine

Leaving me defying a lost god

As hell waits patiently for my turn

.

My body is fucking corrupted

It must be all the nails I devoured

Leaving my blood to wither

As your vampire kiss claims earn

.

My mind is fucking profane with butane

And your words intensified the taste

Leaving me revoltingly desiring for more

As you scattered the ashes in my urn.

~*~

I will avenge my ghost with every breath I take
I’m coming back from the dead
And I’ll take you home with me
I’m taking back the life you stole…

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Severing Heartstrings

I’m a ghost in your eyes
A shadow you can’t seem to recognise
I have a thought of you for every, star in the sky
But I’m scared, I’ll never cross your mind…

~*~

Lusted contrivances hold a harangued heart

The chaos of the slow moment is lost in the depart

Further regressing, counting ocean shore waves

Falling into the demesnes of a shadow I can’t save

Where the houses are burned to build a bonfire

And the dissemination is nothing but a pipe desire

What can be wrong with the things one can’t expect?

And what does this heedless vitriol bring to that next?

The sharpest tools have rusted away into desperation

Until one can no longer cut away those strings of infection

Finding museum peace over the turnstiles of amusement

This heart may be heavy but the weight can circumvent.

~*~

Will our stars ever align?
Will two hearts, beat in time?
These words you should always remember
To you, my heart I surrender…

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Jealous Butterflies and Ochre Moth Wings

We’re just two jealous souls breaking envy against the tidal waves, bleeding out elaborate cesspools fervently, and leaving soundless mouths agape for the stained porcelain butterflies to enter, hoping that the fragile incipient creatures would exit our perfidious throats undaunted and provide our dilapidated larynx with an ameliorated song to sing. Yet we only manage to choke on their flimsy polychrome wings and cough them out unceremoniously before we suffocate, the meek and hapless butterflies bent in twisted angles, traces of leaden dust leaving residues of faithful solemnity in our tinted lips, tongues whispering the painful words that no sane mentality dares to hear, destroying the only scant chances for our treasonable prayers to receive heaven.

Then, after all the nascent vituperation that ensconces our quiet bones like an impaired skylight, where would we be? Plucking burnt tawny moth wings out of wilted candle wicks in the destitute hopes that they shall acquiesce the same way those quaint looking glass butterflies did, yet never realising that there is no fraudulence nor varied substitute for that abstract tessellation, that modicum of infinity, that metamorphosed dimension that those nebulous lepidopterons accumulate and exhale. Recovery cannot be replaced, and a replacement cannot be recovered. Amid the failing maiden glow and taffy-stretched daydreams, there is only maligned reverie by maimed lightweights, attempting to endow the subtler nuances of this life a vaguer and more coruscant definition.

Against the jade-eyed desires that we fought ever so vigilantly with inured devastation and bargained discrepancies, against the covetous recidivism and the elaborate secondhand lies that come tucked along within it like opening a painted russian nesting doll, against the prehensile avarice ascending above everything and drowning us in its remorseless cyclone, our jealous souls stand resolutely falling apart. There are no more iridescent enamel butterflies to count prismatic wishes on, no more ashen moth wings to cling onto fragments of faith for, no more candid humility and hackneyed selflessness and altruistic implications, only an imminent invidia and bilateral resentment. Reality ensues, and chaos along with it. Where will our lost nightmares dream now?

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Filed under Prose