Tag Archives: drowsy

Six Feet Under, Stars Above

You’re just another set of bones to lay to rest
I guess it’s time to say goodnight
Hope you had a really good time, good time…

~*~

tonight, the sun will go down

along with a million stars into the ground

fading into silent eviction

and every speck i’ll count is but a perception

taste of blood i feel on my tongue

as heavy as the lonesome bed left unsung

muttering the wrong name on my drowsy lips

sharpening the needles of apologies

perhaps it’ll be alright, if i’m able

or perhaps i’ll end up sleeping on the kitchen table

with a Jack and a flat drunk dial tone

picking up where i left off on the disconnected telephone

but i will never forget your infinite sighs

when you whispered softly “we should die in style”

and tonight, when the sun goes down

i’ll be waiting for you, six feet under the ground.

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Mary’s Counting Dead Sheep Again

Mary had a little dream
Her eyes were blank and cold
And everywhere that Mary went
The beasts were sure to go…

~*~

Another night spent where there’s nothing but wasted thoughts arbitrarily presenting itself behind my star-sewn eyelids, slaughtering and slandering what little is left of the fleecy drowsiness that I stared the myriad astral bodies into. Horizons blend from honeysuckle sunsets into a velvety-rich midnight, every jaded memory and faded remembrance lying somnolent on my bed, and activated by the flick of an overused lamp switch. Nondescript chagrin is pressing softly at the back of my inundated throat; later on I’m aware that this force will grow until I begin to choke and fail to intake oxygen. For now, I exhale tiredly. The weight of the world trails behind my breath and sinks in the disturbed dust, kicking up old resentments.

I feel vexed. I shouldn’t be trusted to live up to the chimerical expectations that everyone has written down for me in indelible ink, as if it was the byzantine code that would unlock my stubborn rusted heart if they sharpened their blunt needles and tattooed it under the layers of my diaphanous flesh, into my clenched and straining muscles. It hurts, doesn’t it? The bared grins sneer unsympathetically, claws holding me down with incontestable strength, and it’s all I could do to complacently nod, cautiously wary of the glinting guillotine that’s dangling only inches away from my stiffened neck. I’m merely a plaster-cast mind, deranged and cracking under the pressure of the tattered cassock’s final judgment, and someday they will unsheathe me and mock my abstract art.

Despite the vainglorious efforts, painstaking hands filling in the voided gaps with purified liquid gold won’t fix me. It may look to be a desirable effect; yes, and perhaps it would do me good to have a little bit of luminance in the bare, simple vessel I questionably call my body. But in the end it’s nothing but a deceitful playact, an illusion of smoke and mirrors, fragrant cerise roses beneath the ravenous mucilage monster waiting for dear sweet Mary to reach out her delicate hands and get her cherry blonde locks entangled in the lethal thorns. And I do not wish to be darling strawberry-cheeked Mary, adored and oh-so glorified by everyone, yet playing the unfortunate lifeless victim in the end. I won’t be the one being grieved over, I won’t be at the receiving end of the sword; rather, I’ll be the merciless hand holding the ax and wiping the poison off her pallid blue lips.

And where does the verdict of the counseling jury lie, staring down upon me condescendingly with my indelible inked-on vices and gaping neck wounds from grazing the guillotine blade and the inevitable tempered gold patching up my shattered bones, as I hide the bloody murder weapon behind my back and cross my broken fingers, still tasting little Mary’s most saccharine sin and feeling the prickling sensations dig deep into my engraved palms? Will they immediately claim me guilty? Or is my goading charisma enough to get the edacious wolves begging for my forgiveness to save the hunt for another day? The questions hang from my pastel ceiling dreamily, yet the answer rests in my lurid nightmares, I know. I know. For now, I hold my breath and slowly close my star-sewn eyelids, counting the wasted thoughts dragging into another night spent and another soul selling out. One, two, three, four, five…

~*~

…They followed her when she woke up
She woke up, she woke up
They crept into her fragile heart
And made its beating stop.

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Waltz of the Midnight Bloom

Glacial advocacies amongst asphodel tides—

Such a sight!

.

Where would midnight be if not for the

Crescent waltz of the moon,

.

Spiraling into untoward lunacy;

Consumed with arrogant throes of

.

Calla flesh, blossoming in your sleep?

Taste my saline melancholy

.

And erase the

Starred question marks in my lungs…

.

Where shall you seek me?

My forgetful heaven persists

.

To thrive in amnesiac rhapsodies,

Euphonies of pink

.

Molting off your tongue like feathers

On a weeping angel on clouds of

.

Your descending grasp;

Gentle yet merciless in my soul.

.

Your quiet breaths

Drenching my bones, my every whim,

.

I feel you on my skin, my hair, my lips; your

Words of floral adornment

.

Assaulting me. Your falling meteors

Touch my eyes, drowsy sparks fading into neon

.

Again—

Melting me into neverwhere.

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Somnium

I feel drowsy

I wish to sleep

But I hope not

For nightmares

I know I’ll keep

.

I feel so tired

I wish to sleep

But I hope not

For insomnia

Thus persists

.

I feel burdened

I wish to sleep

But I hope not

Anxieties, they

Fell and tipped

.

I feel loathing

I wish to sleep

But I hope not

I’m riddled with

A burying guilt

.

I feel change

I wish to sleep

But I hope not

I am gone too

Far in and deep

.

I feel like dying now

I wish to sleep then

But I sure hope not

For tomorrow I know

I will only wake again.

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