Tag Archives: dial

Missed Call

“We make up horrors to help us cope with the real ones.”
~Stephen King

~*~

Every night after his funeral, I always called him on the mobile phone that was buried with him to hear him speaking on the voicemail. Call me rather morbid, but it was simply a little ritual that somehow kept me sane after the loss of my dearest beloved. Though after the events that transpired tonight, I do begin to wonder if I really have managed to retain my sanity after all. Just like any other night, I dialed his number and tapped on the call button; but as I did so, I suddenly heard his ringtone play loudly under my bed. And just as if things couldn’t get any worse, the phone on the other end of the line picked up.

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Filed under Prose

dial tone dream

i found my true calling

for the longest time

i’ve already known

i found my true calling

but it just won’t pick up

the goddamn phone.

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Filed under Poetry

Disasterology 305: Dial D-E-A-T-H For Disaster

Can we create something beautiful
And destroy it?
Nobody knows I dream about it
This is my imagination…
If every living thing dies alone
What am I doing here?

~*~

If I taught you to dream, would you finally learn to sleep?

I’ll amaze you with the million stars I hide under my bed

Build me a wreck from a beauty I created but I can’t keep

You’re bad for my health, I’ll take one aspirin for my head

.

Catatonic hearts scream, from the energy keeping us awake

And shafts of sunlight beat down harsh on beautiful victims

Another unwritten telegram on the ceiling is all that it takes

For our getaways to run away, as your provenance is sinking

.

Will you pick me up if my mirror starts bleeding phantoms?

It hurts less if I pick up my pieces and drink my own venom

The words are running away from me, should I try to chase?

Clockwork temper with your contagious distractions in place

.

Will you be there when I die? Are you too caught with fame?

Are you just a nightmare? Do you even remember my name?

The acid answer would be the reason that my wineglass falls

I’m tired of waking up to a reality of answering machine calls

.

Buried close together in a shallow grave which was built for only one

These flower wreaths are choking me, cliché roses left for cliché suns

Wounds and bandages tangling, unraveled in farewell of a handshake

For dial tone sessions with your dying voice, I don’t mind staying up late.

~*~

If every living thing dies alone
What am I doing here…?
(Fuck it!) If it’s the end of the world!
If it’s the end of the world!
You and me should spend
The rest of it in love!

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Filed under Poetry