Tag Archives: destruction

“It is what it is.”

Where do I have to bring myself into

Just to find a noose at the end of the tunnel?

It doesn’t matter what my stomach says

For the oxygen I’m breathing is hell

I never wanted this despicable destruction

I wake up everyday just to see that I can’t go on

If this is fair for the erudition I divorced

Would I have to let go and let things run their course?

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Filed under Poetry

What’s Wrong?

It’s all overgrown but you’ll never know
Take the mirror from the wall so I can’t see myself at all
Don’t wanna see another damn inch of my skull
Forget the poems of saints and ghosts, I’m the one I fear the most
Little did I know that I was only crying wolf…

~*~

Lied faceless identities and lost nameless bones

Broken mirrors romancing with concrete stones

Low voices muttering in the middle of the night

Back against the wall, turned under black lights

Standing in the midst of destruction that rebirths

Sacrificing sanctity for the sake of scars to revert

.

I will be what’s wrong with the world.

.

A hundred metaphors deleted in boldface type

Swearing for the shadows, cursing lack of spite

For no one envisions a future with personal ties

Because tongues can only soar out when they lie

An arsenal of armory, walls built to keep them out

Convinced by the paranoia and mitigated by doubt

.

I will be what’s wrong with the world.

.

So call out the name that’s censored in every news station

Immortalised only in faded graffiti and youthful separation

So seek on and find now what can only be seen by the blind

To a place where wrong is right, and the heart beats the mind

I won’t be the marching guide, the black parade you’ll follow

But in a reality of common opposites and moral contradictions, I know

.

I am what’s wrong with the world.

~*~

No I never sold my soul, no I never sold mine
I know it’s so wrong but I’m so far gone
Don’t need you to tell me I’m so cynical
Quit being so over-skeptical
Don’t need a metaphor for you to know I’m miserable…

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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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Sophisticated, Manipulated

You make suffering

Sound like such an

Elegant red romance,

Sophisticated stance,

Graceful lithe dance,

A pure angel chance;

And I make suffering

Feel like destruction,

Blatant manipulation,

Discordant perdition,

The chaotic creation

Of a sloppy emotion.

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Fear in the Heart of the Beast

It’s senseless, isn’t it?

Chasing stars like this. A malevolent race of blood and starlight, dust and galaxy, radiance amid vespertine. The vulnerabilities I partake with reproachful glances and consternated sighs, as another concatenation languishes itself woefully from my tremulous velvet palms. All the unnecessary perplexities. Chatoyant winks. Recrudescent idiosyncrasies. Pyrrhic viciousness. It’s almost maddening, like pulling at a switch to turn on the dark. The desuetude of prayer, the imbrication of penitence against sin, the self-sustaining cycles of ultracrepidarianism against the gallimaufry voices, ridden with febricula and rallying beyond this pannychis, begging to be heard. Yet my solitary garrison quavers none, and left to my own devices, I arm myself against those shots in the midnight, forays into forests of violent crimes, heart hammering against my Adam’s apple so harshly that I am confident I may simply poke my tongue out and watch its scarlet palate throb. The fear, the intensity, the asperity of it all, finally taking its toll on me before I waned away my lurid admonition; my enemy was not those who wish me dead at their skins, it is I and this foolish quavering soul. The paroxysms of resentment and infinitesimal blinks and twitches of arrogant pain jolting through my spinal fluid, kneecaps shattering and popliteal sweating as I kneel forcibly, succumbing indignation and surrendering both hands to the efficacious reign of the nightmare, derisive silhouette shifting only ever smugly in its carved skeletal throne, positioned rightly upon a bejewelled vestibule. The requiem wails its bereft knell. One by one, the myriad astrology coruscates into wretched dimness. The universe has gone out. Only nonexistence, spilling with emptiness and triumphant in its ironic vitality, remains to be seen. The nightmare sneers. Too late.

And, at the very destruction and devastation of both my tantamount solidarity as well as the fabric of reality, at the amusing otiosity of it all, at the grandest scheme of this laughable redundancy, I can only wonder with a morbid rickety grin, unto what end shall it all lie?

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Parasitosis

Worn out and faded
The weakness starts to show
They’ve created the generation
That we know
Washed up and hated…

~*~

The parasites;

Unnoticed at first

An itch, maybe red

That grows tainted

.

The parasites;

I’m a chosen victim

I can feel them move

Underneath my skin

.

The parasites;

They fester and grow

Writhing ever madly

Infecting me so slow

.

The parasites;

Damages and injures

Abrasions and lesions

Clear detriment ensues

.

The parasites;

Contaminate and corrupt

Polluting my clean mind

Weakening and disrupts

.

The parasites;

They wrench and leech

Bloodsucking exploits

I fall sick and beseech

.

The parasites;

Invade the environment

Peace left in sediments

A revolting impediment

.

The parasites;

Ravaged and rampaged

Infesting and infecting

Assail, overrun, pillaged

.

The parasites;

Stealing what isn’t theirs

Feeding on fallen ideals

Gorging in sickening curs

.

The parasites;

Ugly creations they may be

Yet for the very life of me

I can’t get them to go leave

.

The parasites;

Feast in surfeit and decay

Seep into me and infiltrate

Bound forever within to stay

.

The parasites;

Infecting quite relentlessly

Multiplying exponentially

Spreading all over my body

.

The parasites;

They overtake and override

Surpass, alter my humanity

Every inch of my skin’s hide

.

The parasites;

Is what my system’s now composed of

A parasitoid being, entangled till bloat

But how could I complain? I’d let them

Enter—this ail seems to be all my fault.

~*~

You made it
You played it
Your shit is overrated
(Go away, go away, go away)…

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Leidenschaft

On my soul, its destructive havoc is wreaking

Putting my heart through pillars of hellfire

Why does the sordid pain feel so amazing

And sheer part of emptiness my only desire?

Living deadlocked in a poisonous addiction

Sanity no longer under my personal jurisdiction

The anathemic power of human emotions

Making me lust for the acidic taste of perdition.

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Smoke On The Water

Trickles of charcoal smoke flow on the pale murky waters

Forming labyrinthine swirls of death’s personal artwork

As fire grows increasingly unsteady and dares to dance higher

Beneath the bodies of charred skin, conflagrating anarchy is birthed.

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The Children of the Endless

Shall Fate be surpassed by Time’s willing hand

And thus Destiny be overtaken?

The Universe fails so to understand

Human lives are Awakened, Forsaken

Pain implores high, His Desire overwhelms

Desperation arises from within

While Ecstasy is at Morpheus’s helm

Feeding minds false Indulgence and sweet Sin

Thus Delirium gives way to Destruction

And from Decimation, Death does trouble

A clang of the bells shows Dessication

Decay and Parasite feed on the souls

Children of the Endless, forces of Hate

Fathered by Darkness, your Eternal Fate.

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Maelstrom Undeniable

I.

The storm it stood, vortex eyes peering

Madness swirling, ever leering

Buildings, hope, torn to minute shreds

Merciless, vengeful, death lies ahead

II.

Cries huddled under dislodging houses

Cowering, simpering, begging endless

Days of golden threads naught stand

Fragile unbroken cords of hands

III.

Screaming tempest bore resemblance

Agony whispered from a distance

Crimson smeared on shearing zephyr

Marks left by calamities last forever.

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