in my careless
but i suppose
i don’t mind.
in my careless
but i suppose
i don’t mind.
Sometimes quiet is violent, I find it hard to hide it
My pride is no longer inside, it’s on my sleeve
My skin will scream, reminding me of
Who I killed inside my dream
I hate this car that I’m driving, there’s no hiding for me
I’m forced to deal with what I feel
There is no distraction to mask what is real…
The reason I talk to myself is because nobody else wants to listen
And sometimes I think that I’m actually less dysfunctional than I believe
But the pendulum swings, and wounds are strung through again
I take more and more of what I wanted, until I’m less than I can give
My suffocated mind is deflated from breathing too much
When I’m sitting in a room and bad news becomes too painful to watch
Time and time again I flip through a hundred channels of static
Ignoring the noise in my upstairs and the racket in the attic
It’s all I can do to gape in silence as my life plays out before me
I must admit, while it’s engrossing, it makes for some bad TV
There are too many mistakes that are never dealt with in the end
And the climax is so boring, and the gory violence breaks and bends
So when all the distractions are played out and predicated
When all the music’s been heard and all the books have been read
When the computer fries its system and even the telly fizzles
And I’ve got nothing else to hide behind but my own personal hell
All the voices riot and demand, and they throw sharp rocks in my skull
They scream for mercy, or justice, or change, and remind me of my past wars
So I switch off the television headache, and I cower behind my bed instead
I wish I didn’t have to stay awake only to end up sleeping to kill my head.
I ponder of something great
My lungs will fill and then deflate
They fill with fire, exhale desire
I know it’s dire, my time today
I have these thoughts so often I ought
To replace that slot with what I once bought
‘Cause somebody stole my car radio
And now I just sit in silence.
Pardon me, cutting sleep
I’m taking up grinding teeth
You’re why I’m sitting here, hating myself
For needing someone so bad
And feeling dumb dumb dumb…
mind your head
i want you to go
don’t stay away
i’m being feisty
my smile is numb
you got me walking
you’re in my line
of sight and range
but duck your head
before it’s too late
my voices are all out
i won’t say a thing
but i’ll hang around
till i get what you mean
pardon, i lost my mind
when you came around
you’re far too high for me
so let me go, let me go down.
If why I’m sitting here
All goes wrong
Just pushing me back to Texas
Walking bum bum, goddamn…
If I do what I came to do
I’ll break through in shades of blue
In red and gold, the lights
Will flash and strobe
And I will finally know
This is my home…
the taciturn rain,
sometimes quiescent drizzle,
sometimes clarion storm
reminds me of turquoise memories
of electric glitter nail polish
shaded onto fingernails
pointing in the wrong direction
and chipping at the edges
of hair that looks like clouds
but coloured blueberry-slushie sky
and is iridescently sweet
like a gloom boy’s laughter
of sulky mp3 players
singing sempiternal distractions with
symphonies of dizzy dreamers
and skyward soul collisions
of apathetic faded scarves
wrapped around breeze-bitten necks
subtly referencing a beloved one
of the same jaded violin notes
of self-made backpack straps
a final flicker of glimpsing hope
before cosmic turns infinitely invisible
and footsteps cease giving chase
of cerulean paint peeling off bus seats
revealing a dull sheathe of grey slate
of wailing sirens intertwined with alarming red
of the ocean navy pen composing this poem
of the sky and the sea, melting horizon’s clarity
stark in mindless scratches adhering to scarred skin
the taciturn rain, so quiet, that cobalt eyes never noticed
coldness ceased falling, as blue memories caught up with me.
i hope that there
are times when
the silent hitch
does not break
to vernal death
and eidetic dreams
are not distractions
from your idle ides’
let the fragrance of
cherry blossoms lull
us into oblique sleep
falling into aesthetic
advents of febricula
as i lose to twilight
fend off paltry beats
of my delicate pulse
and lay me down in
Screaming on the inside, I am frail and withered
Cover up the wounds that I can’t hide
Walls that lie between us, the saint within the sinner
I have lost the nerve but it’s all right
Carry the wounded and shut your eyes…
A temporary twinge that sets back shadows
In the illumination of a thousand stars
Exhaustion slithering surreptitiously again
Impatient risks and one-sided grumbling wars
I could feel my heartbeat like a dulled knife
Chiseling my heart with a steady thump thump thump
Until all that’s left to carve away is ivory spine
Break the barricade with silencers and loaded guns
The imbibed bourbon as heavy as indebted money
And the cold turns into an unyielding freeze
Fingers tapped, reduced to painting bloody nibs
From trite entertainment that’s built on a transient lease
Distractions won’t sideswipe the prior chagrins
Vanilla ice cream is tasted again and again until it’s boring
And the sweetness turns my grimacing teeth numb
Suffocating on shaky breaths and nitrogen, I’ll succumb
Despite the ringing laughter, something still feels rather off
I shouldn’t be aching, I shouldn’t be alienated, I should be better
But instead I feel like a small plastic toy piece on the board
And before I know it, the cards are flipped, it’s game over, and I lost.
Into the nothing, faded and weary
I won’t leave and let you fall behind
Live for the dying, heaven hear me
I know we can make it out alive…
what’s so useless to you
is saving my life
it’s but a trite distraction
i seem to be rifed
and yet you still wonder
why i never decide
to tell you a damn thing
’cause you wouldn’t
understand it if you tried
you’re not on a side
it’s just nonsense to deride
so maybe you’re right
but you’re not my pesticide.
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!
I feel at home with shadows from ghosts of the living
I dance along to melodies as silent choirs sing
I’m sick of always giving when there’s nothing left to lose
That place we’re in is breaking, it’s trying to break me too…
Another day, another death.
I wake up, empty. Tired to the very bone, despite the fact that I slept for more than ten hours. The bed feels so cosy and comfortable, as rain serenades the windowsill and cold morning air nips at my feet, luring me back into a dull oblivion. As usual, I don’t want to live. I don’t want to get out of my bed and function mechanically, feeling nothing but nothing. But I have obligations. Responsibilities. Projects and procrastinated homework. So I get up sullenly and do what I can. Do what I should. Brace myself through the freezing shower. Dress up, scarf down breakfast, flag down a vehicle, go to school, socialise, do things, and try to make it through another day.
I started the day feeling shitty as usual, but halfway throughout it, things were looking up. I finished my crammed essays. I made some write-ups and started a story that I’ve been raring to write for ages. I got to catch up with my bands. I helped classmates out, actually recited, accomplished my quizzes and seatworks, actively participated in class. I finally got the thing I’ve been excited to receive the entire weekend. I ate great food and hung out and laughed with fine friends. For once, this was an honest to god day where I acted like a proficient human being, where I didn’t act up and was not my usual dysfunctional self. I did everything right.
So why does everything feel so fucking wrong?
I ended the day running halfway to my house, after having a complete breakdown in the middle of the public city and making people have to put up with the wreck that I am, and unnecessarily infecting them with whatever sad fucking irrational bullshit I was going through. I ended up nearly getting ran over by a bus, nearly missing my bus stop, fucking crying on a goddamn bus as guilt and goddamn pain internally ran me over. I ended up lusting for my vices for the millionth time, for a razor and a pill to infest my system, dying to relapse, living to die. I ended up empty, tired, and unfulfilled, the same way I wake up everyday, and the same way I am as I go to sleep.
I thought all this was supposed to make you feel stronger and make you desire for a greater life, not feeling vulnerable and washed out by the sun, sitting in your dark bedroom, anxious and wallowing, curled up in your own contrition and regretting everything, heaving emptily as everything drains the energy out of your existence. In the end, everything, all of it, writing, reading, songs, bands, fandoms, obsessions, friends, love, emotions, momentary bouts of faux happiness and vigilant but futile hope, it’s just mere distractions in the end. All just stupid petty little distractions to make it seem like there’s actually a chance to change. A chance for something better. A fighting chance for me.
But when all those distractions falter and fade away, I’m always left feeling ten, twenty, fifty times more miserable and pathetic than before; flooding at the gaps in my memory, making the permanent patches in my skin ache, intensifying the taste of the fucking bitter sick on my tongue. And I’m sorry. I want to be optimistic. I want to accept those butterfly pastel mantras and keep the faith. I want to keep on keeping on. I want to fight back and achieve something for myself. I want to make people proud, and make those who were thought I’d never be alter their perception. I want to see the glass-half full, not shatter it because I’m disgusted of my own reflection. I want to change. I want to believe.
I never wanted this. But somehow I can’t do jack shit about it. The only change I can see in myself now is that I’ve become more shameless, more degraded, and more screwed up than before. Anxiety, harder-hitting depression, cutting, drugs, invalid pain, panic attacks, mental breakdowns, bad decisions, I am a picture-perfect smorgasbord of everything that should never be put together. And now I don’t even bother hiding it anymore. I’ve given up trying to counter it. I’ve given up. I’ll always be cynical, and I’m screwed in the head and all fucked-up. Life feels like a constantly looming death sentence, and I want to be my own executioner. Nothing changes. Everything stays the same.
And if things went the way they were supposed to be, and I acted properly, did things right, played by the rules for once, and lived a normal, happy, fulfilling day, and the ultimate end of it all is feeling exactly the same as when I do the exact opposite, feeling that same crappy screw-all depression running through my failing system and ruining everything for me, then fuck it, what’s the point of even trying?
Why should I bother looking for something that isn’t even there?
I built these walls to keep the outside world from me
And I’ll fight to stay in the hell of my own mind
It’s safer on the inside, underneath where
You can’t ever get to me…