Tag Archives: emotional

terraria

autumn leaves

and nothingness

seasonal escapade

ache more for less

.

hills that whisper

junipers without whim

love without living

wounds without skin

.

mental imposter

corrupted serenity

flimsy enclosures

where art humanity

.

mountains that shake

hellebores without bloom

live without loving

oxygen unconsumed.

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Cardiomyopathy

you maniac heart, you

catatonia

throbbing enamel and

philophobia

bleeding uranium, you

arrogant soul

you destitute malady

skinless goal

now lie in hospice, you

anosognosia

autonomy wanting and

open hematoma

.

you maniac heart, you

cryptophasia

nerve damage done and

agliophilia

transmitting a fever, you

capricious role

you diabolic attraction

apoplectic hole

now die in humours, you

necromancer

cryptic temperament and

heuristic answer

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flourish

there’s no

cruel in sunrise

no judgment

in nature

.

there’s no

pains in starlight

only longing

in rainfall.

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Filed under Poetry

circling infinity

colder nights

where i wish

your limbs

are intertwined

with mine

summer snowfall

cotton fibres

wandering

empty branches

all over again

vast meadows

for ancient souls

to rest on

fragrance of

inkstains and dying

strawberries

breeze whistling

haunting melodies

but i stay away

from noisy static

and i listen to

a smiling song,

hidden blush

distractions

oh, i don’t mind

messy clouds

clearing up

a splatter

of shy stars

slowly make way

for a painted

embrace

fairy lights and

oceanic laughter

lying in wait

a soft illusion

of hyperrealisms

and misplaced

daydreams

fell dryads of life

neither mine,

nor yours

our transience

taking chances

still fighting

against control

and colours

and this violent

riot of frigid

chemicals

blissful nothing

smitten euphoria

an oxytocin kiss

for a love that

won’t exist

in a future

vespertine or

less miserable

than a cold night

all alone,

contemplating

sombre and lost

picking dead grass

from high tops

and sweaters

and tangled veins

gently hoping for

a vacancy, yet

unraveling at

the harshest thought

of somebody else

interlocked with

your limbs

arms and legs

talks and lips and a

puzzle of bones

and reposing bodies

tranquil hush

whispers of blue

fading away

and falling down

keeping all of your

warmest nights.

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Fall From Grace

pure disgust is felt

on the frayed ribbons

around your chest

you call your sanctity

.

as if it’s quite derivative

of a decried angel’s cut—

the pierrot’s sole pathway

to your own humanity

.

but it’s just vapour;

smoke and hallucinogens

lies dribbling from the

sludge of your brain,

.

crawling away in a

toxic kind of temporal

streak, an indictment

of classic chloride pain

.

oh, she’s malevolent

such brutality must be

a sanitarium propaganda,

just covered in someone

.

else’s later stages of rapid

cryptic dementia—pardon me,

but you’re still a stagnant

priestess…aren’t you?

.

we have ancient shrines built

over your grave, and waxen

wings, and the fruit that bore

no harm; as if that fake religion

.

is easily digestible—but our

disgust will constrict, just as

yours ties the final knot on the

noose wrapped around your jaw—

.

this is not your vestal sanctuary.

we are not your godless paradise.

autonomy is simply the crowning eden

you shall soon gamble away to lose.

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sometimes i exist i think

I can feel a change
I lie awake every night, scratching
At the back of my eyelids
Nothing good ever happens
In the midnight hour…

~*~

distance stemmed

from coveting and

plainness, an upside

down mixolydian

reverie, never enoughs

for nobody was—crave to

choose isolation from

an option of tenfolds

because it eases the

passageways and

makes for a placid tale

of another ghost haunting

their own apartment

simply because they

wanted to leave the door

without a key just ever

so slightly unlocked

~*~

Don’t look at the moon
While the light is draining
It’s slowly killing you
Don’t look at the moon…

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Peripheral Vision

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What a stubborn thought; to be loved, to be lost, to be loathed.

My initial mistake was to get myself foolishly caught up in the former instance, without carefully considering the ulterior consequences of my despicably reckless actions. I dived headfirst without peering in to see if there was a tangible ocean beneath me, and cried out in regret when my body got viciously torn apart by the jagged rocks awaiting below.

But, what else could I have done? And what else should I have not? I could spend my entire life painstakingly sifting through the showering grains of the hourglass, attempting to find a diamond until time runs out; or I could simply let the sand fall away to its own accord as I willingly hold out my roughened hands below—hurting, helping, hoping. The unfortunate namesake “human” is deeply threaded through my innocent nerves, shutting out the callous pessimism which only seeks to permanently cease my blood circulation; still withering against the gentler stings of anguish.

Though I have slowly faded out most of my past anamnesis, all of their phantasmic chimeras are still somehow luminously vigilant, almost even barbarous in its unremitting pursuit to frivolously preserve my already-squandered youth. Yet I suppose, no matter…no matter. For now, you are the overgrown wildflower field lulling my tired providence to rest, under fluid stars and unplucked scars and quavering sympathy—the only thankless relapse fully able to keep me awake for multiple infinitudes every twilight’s eve.

What a stubborn thought; to be loathed, to be lost, to be loved by you.

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Filed under Prose

Myiasis

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she pushes the blowflies—

in her mouth—at the very

back of her throat, when

she tells me she loves me

.

like a corpse of flowers on

the table centerpiece, she

drags a painted hand across

her plate to keep the maggots

away from her meal—futilely

as she is dining with their king

.

and my missing fork is lodged

between her sternum, just above

her left lung, yet she still thusly

refuses to return it to me for

the rest of the evening. all before

.

a farewell kiss; that tastes of

burnt steak and congealed blood—

i don’t know if she means it, but

all i have is bitter saltiness in

my hypoxic lips, pulled up into a

tight puppet smile, mimicked by

.

her scarlet ones. she turns and

imperceptibly coughs—once, an

escaped wing fluttering—and caresses

silver in my veins to mark her goodbye.

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come on, skinny love.

Skinny love, what happened here?
Suckle on the hope in lite brassiere
My, my, my, my, my, my, my
My sullen load is full
So slow on the split…

~*~

confidence in taut collarbones

and sinews of soft flesh sticking out

from these slowly-crumbling ribs

hoping they won’t notice the excess

counting macros and scale numbers

on the package of chewing gum

.

i promise you, the hunger’s not real

but the ugly bulk on your arms are

and on your legs and chest and neck

so suppress it all, ignore the growing pain

and perhaps all the consumed water

will revive this withering flower

.

brittle hair falling like twisted snow

too tired all the time from staying pretty

a dull glow from behind skinny eyes

hoping a skinny heart will keep me alive

tears dripping off like the clothes on my back

as the mirror sneers, it’s not enough

.

so i’ll just suck my skin in even tighter

and chew on empty air and constant disgust

never satisfied with my toothpick limbs

until i’m certain that my body could easily splinter

if i was given a hug, by the people who like me

because i finally look the way i forced myself to be.

~*~

Now all your love is wasted
Then who the hell was I?
Now I’m breaking at the britches
And at the end of all your lines
Who will love you? Who will fight?
Who will fall far behind?

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Saudade

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my source of discomfort stems from sweeter apathy,

the one that subtly shifts behind frayed sweaters and

bubbles up from under clogged drains; the kitchen sink

is stained with petrified rose petals, your disinfectant love

creeps like cold chlorine under my tongue, and your kisses

taste like taking a deep breath under a swimming pool

but i don’t know why i cough up sea salt in my lungs

and the sand gets in my eyes and my fingernails, the

irritating grit keeps me vainly scratching all throughout

the night. you don’t seem to mind, for you have the covers

wrapped tightly around your body like a quilted cocoon, and

there’s a steady rhythm humming beneath the sweaty pillows;

of oxygen, and slowing pulse, and being unable to dream

while i dream up enough nightmares for the both of us

and the noisy skeletons in our padlocked closet. nobody’s

around to witness me jumping to conclusions, just an

inch of mattress that translates to transcontinental throes

you are so impossibly distant, whilst i quietly sit in the same

chair by the jammed window for hours and let myself wander—

perhaps i might chance upon a fairy tale place where home

feels like home, and not simply another temporary kingdom to lose

your keys; and where you are no longer a strange extraordinary metaphor

but rather, just a tiring contrary cliché that i’ll be more than glad to call my own.

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