Tag Archives: empty

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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(please never) bloom again

i find myself thinking about it

the tiny pieces that build up

each sleight of anonymity that

outlined the subtle secrets

in your unrelenting stargaze

.

and a watered-down kind of

“i-promise-never-to-tell”

.

a hint; of chamomile attraction

.

but send my best to sunshine state

because i’ll never be there to

share a drink or name with you

i’ll smoke my fantasies out instead

.

so why not just give way, like the

empty ground beneath my feet

my self-esteem tastes of

stale breath mints and no one’s

sloppy seconds, but it looks

fine from a distance—it virtually

looks like nothing next to all

.

of the tiny pieces that you picked

out of your rancid heart and

unknowingly lodged right in between

my throat, just so i would mean it

.

when i promised never to tell.

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Transmogrify

They spit me out right through the teeth
I can’t pretend, ash in the wind
Won’t blow again, it was a breeze for you
These hurricanes inside of my brain
Let it rain, made it look easy
Can’t look away, you love the pain…

~*~

I’m sick of feeling happy like this.

Like a hollow happy, all fractured sticks and carved limestone facades and a mimicked genuine smile that does absolutely nothing to quell the bitter, devoid, pathetically-quivering feeling viscously building up in my throat. The desperate, acidic kind, the awful one I just want to violently throw back up but can’t. Fake-real happy.

Fuck that, why couldn’t I just be normal happy?

This dangerous selfishness, it’s like a howling werewolf without a full moon, and I’ll always fall immeasurably short of what I truly feel. I only provoke the worst kind of boiling rage frothing against my curled lips, a bloodstained rabid displeasure—but nothing more—at the fact that I’m happy for you, but not really happy to be so. Empty fucking threats. Instantly dying out short and flat. The synthetic skyline glimmers back to me in a derisive snarl; taunting,

What’s the matter, cat got your tongue?

I want it to tear apart my flimsy skin and reveal the perverse goddamned feral beast hibernating inside, I want my soggy eyes to glint a jaundiced yellow and my grotesquely-disfigured mind to lower its inhibitions and reset to a primal scream, my rewired guts are churning corrosively as they crash away at my torso and starve for some more guts, and my grin at this point only resembles a sinister bared sneer, all vicious teeth and reckless abuse.

If I can’t have it, then everyone else will.

I just finally want to shed off that repugnant, powerless, shaky lie I call my own farcical humanity and then completely let go. Of you. Of everything else. Of everyone else. Including myself. Especially myself.

Maybe then, I’ll truly be happy. Please. God, please.

~*~

I paid the cost, yeah, it’s all my fault
That I ain’t giving up my soul
It’s all my fault, watching me bleed
You cut me down on my knees
No matter what you believe
I think we both can agree
That you can’t blame it on me…

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Filed under Prose

Hangover

The dawn is rose-coloured

Deceptively pretty

Telling nothing of the stories

Of two empty bodies

.

Last night was lavender-bruised

A sighing aftermath

Telling of everything all at once

And losing out to wrath.

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Co-in-cide


“There’s no question
You’re the answer
I will find you.”


coincidences, that’s all they are. small, meaningless, stupid fucking coincidences. whatever you do, don’t overthink about it. don’t let it get to your head. and don’t you dare drag me down with you.

okay, listen up. fool me once, shame on me. fool me twice, and on the exact same instance? no way. something’s going awry here, and you have got to admit it. deep down inside, where you repress all the crazy things you hate to believe but still quietly cling onto, you know. you just do. it wouldn’t totally mess you up like this if you don’t. don’t you?

no, i don’t. not at all. and don’t act like a subversive condescending prick and proclaim that you do, somehow. the entire universe literally doesn’t give a shit about you, idiot. nor will it to anyone and anything else. so stop pretending that it’s something more grandiose and consequential beyond what it actually is—absolutely nothing—and leave it out of your life, goddamn it. and don’t try to convince me otherwise with all your tinfoil hat conspiracies. you’re better than this. at least, you really should be, anyway.

but what if it is? does it hurt to believe in the impossible, even for just a second? would it kill you just to be a little less empty than you already are? why? why not? what if?

what if, huh.

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Filed under Prose

find a way out

and i am ready to lose

so much more than myself

dissociation doesn’t last

thinking takes in bad health

nauseated from existing

mantras of “it doesn’t matter”

another jaded insomniac

tired from drifting underwater

so then tell me i’m wrong

say that life’s just far too pretty

to waste on feeling nothing

it won’t make me any less empty

too weak to keep breathing

but still too spineless to ever die

please grant me the courage

to believe i could end this, if i try.

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Filed under Poetry

An Addict’s Automatic Love Letter

I’m in love with someone who’s hurting me killing me agonisingly slowly turning every word from my mouth into congealed blood and stale chewed gum and I can’t speak or breathe or eat anymore and it’s so heavy everything’s so heavy it’s like my bones are carved out of crude limestone but my brain is built of cheap plastic and it just refuses to work there’s a dogeared faded polaroid picture of you hidden somewhere in that fragile container and save for your radiant smiling face and soft baby blues it’s astonishingly empty no wonder that’s how I feel most days now most days it’s just the taste of your exquisite name lingering on my bruised lips though we never even kissed and some kind of sick distraction that never lasts long enough to send me back into the past to heal my scars if I didn’t run away from you like a complete coward back then would I be bravely holding your hand now? There’s really nothing much to do but sit around and contemplate and silently cope and stare at the bedroom walls bleached with dry rot and knuckle marks and try to ignore the creeping blood drawing underlines all over your wrists it’s about to burst oh god everything’s about to fucking explode into the most beautiful most violent most decadent shade of red———no. The carnage speaks for itself but I never once touched you no I wouldn’t dare taint your artful acrylic heart with my filthy damaged corrupted skin please you’re so perpetually pretty and I’m just the mess you made and you didn’t even know no you’ll never even know I don’t know why that pains me the most when it should be all for the best and you should be happy you deserve that much and more and I love you my darling yes I do you’re worth more than all the black holes and stardust in the universe and I’ll never adore and cherish anyone more than you but it’s sad to say you’ll always be hurting me killing me choking my words from a million miles and oceans away a million times over until drowning becomes just another bad habit and my obsessive lungs are filled with taffy and saltwater and it’s weighing my tongue down I can’t speak anymore though I have too much to say to you but you’ll never hear me out so I guess I should save myself for hell and dream of you just one last time to see if the thrill of the chase lasts longer than the capturing kill (I’m certain it wouldn’t, but the stupid things I would do for you in an arrested heartbeat could stop my twitching pulse) and finally shut up.

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Filed under Prose

Last Answer

You see I’m wasted
I can’t quite get up yet
You see my head’s off resting
In this delusional stare
The room kept spinning and spinning
And spinning and spinning
And I’m a fucking mess…

~*~

this is the silent kind

of slow suicide—

the one that withers

you from the inside out,

the one that leaves

no tear nor bloodstain

on the canvas of your scars,

the purest kind where

there is no solace,

no escape, no more cry for help.

only a suffocating scream

welling up and banging

against your ribs,

begging to be felt, to

be heard, to be let out now…

but you are too empty,

and to let it out is to free

yourself completely

from all the numbness,

all the questions, and all of the

fucking weight you’ve been

carrying inside your mind;

dragging you down

fast into deep quicksand.

and if you allow that,

and you allow yourself to float,

and you allow nothing else

to keep you from holding on,

would you do it?

would you take the chance

and completely slip away, instead

of still suffering from the

slow kind of silent suicide?

~*~

So I closed my eyes
I shut them so tight
To witness explosions
Of pure colour and beauty
The room kept spinning and spinning
I start to think a little differently
At what we are
I watched the colour drain
From the world that day…

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Filed under Poetry

Afterall

The promise of control.

It screams and sighs and starves me,

it makes me feel so empty.

But the hollowness,

the hopelessness,

the hunger,

it makes me feel so fucking fulfilled.

The promise of control.

The promise of hopeful tomorrows.

The promise of getting better…

But no.

Not when I’m sick.

Not when I lie to myself.

Not when I’m tired of having to give up all over again.

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Filed under Poetry

L’exquise L’angoisse

Palpitating arteries eviscerate, a familiar taste that tastes like nothing

Frustrated art under his eyelids fading, clever words I’m never caught saying

Lost impressions leave deceptions, a tempestuous flood caught in the fray

Wish my headspace wasn’t suffocating the sun day after another day

.

Imagination stuttering, slowly dying, what are you trying to hide?

If hell’s your new phenomenon, I’m afraid it’s far too late to be described

Every broken bone that the restless audience throws back to your act

Refusing to feel right again, this time I know that I don’t know where to start

.

Don’t look at me. Don’t look at my deathwish. Nor my blinded existence.

I do not wish to breathe the same way you do. Do not bleed out of my presence.

My words are glass blades lodged under my bruised throat, so do not dare me to cough

The eclipse feels impossibly heavier without your weight to hold me down

And so I quietly submerge with only the sound of my empty thoughts.

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Filed under Poetry