Tag Archives: function

lying fallow

Bury me inside this labyrinth bed
We can feel that time is dilated
We can spend the night in fascination
You can thread the needle time and time again…

~*~

everything shall come

to a point where

the dagger draws

deeper and the days

are cut short by

the desire to look

better, “i’ve been

here before”, bend

the irons, scarlet letter

and just let the pieces

roll away, when the dice

hits the mark right above

their concrete stage

unshakable, unbreakable

never admit to fine mistakes

seek the vigil where the

sun used to hide, before it

was all used up for another

casualty’s rude surprise

because it has been quite

a journey, though the

satisfaction was never

symmetrical—so

send the blame all along the

watchtower, for it had

always been non-functional.

~*~

Something to confide in
Something to erase
Just look at where we’re lying
An invisible space…

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Filed under Poetry

Causal Events

I will be the vein you’d love to sever

From A to Z and from now to never

Akin to quiet postorgasmic drowsy

So sleep it out and don’t feel sorry

.

I’m not supposed to be the violence

Inside your bones, filled with silence

But the blood still leaves out my eyes

Like an enemy camp abandoning allies

.

I would be this crude cantankerous laugh

Forced out of nowhere, both half and half

They said that fools will never say a thing

But it seems, that’s all that they are doing

.

I could not admit to subaltern abandonment

Venom despising in a twisted-green serpent

Burn the bridges that were never even there

Get rid of the people that are caught unaware

.

I am the derelict heart with no utile functions

In frauds and lies and martyr insubordination

Like a quick temper tantrum, a five dollar sea

Swim inside me so you won’t have to be sorry.

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Filed under Poetry

The Game Played Right

Is there anyone who can make me see?
Help me breathe
Is there anyone who can make me feel alive inside?
Sink or swim is all I know tonight
Well take me to the bed, it feels so right
Wake me up…

~*~

I keep on lying. The silent pieces remain unapologetically in my lips, melting and melding together and apart, clashing like shades of blue and gold, until my smiles are mutated and my bated tongue is in shreds. Fear is an embrace I’ve learned to take upon myself, selling myself short to it, buying away the final remaining original thoughts I’ve slaved over in myriad sleepless nights until I’m a-la carte. Change is to blame for the causeless effect, and I’m asking for more from what can’t be taken away from me, cutting corners and targeting the contrition with a bolted gun, as if that would solve my problem. Would that open the deadlocked box of hope, containing those transient reminiscences of what used to be faith, keeping my wrists from giving itself up to bladed handcuffs and abrading ropes?

No, because it’s been open all this time. I’m merely pretending that it’s fully out of grasp, stuffing the sunshine in a pocket with a hole, then feigning remorseful surprise when I grasp the cloth and fail to feel its reassuring outline. I won’t get away, just as the moon can’t break away from its cruel mistress, no matter how hard it tries. Dependence requires sustenance, never mind if one’s getting hurt, never mind if one’s just wasting time and lightyears, never mind that there’s someone who sucks on the cigarette and there’s one who gets snuffed out in the ashes of its former companions, and both are slowly dying with each harmful, addicting, nicotine drag. Perhaps it’s better to move on, burn my house down with the lighter, and stab a flag on top of a desolate mountain, letting the frigid Arctic breeze pierce my lungs, reminding me that I’m dead inside, day by day, every single night.

Yes, the truth hurts worst when you’re lying on your back in a hollowly-carved bed, watching the tick of the sagging clock draw frowns on your dripping beige ceiling, the crude notches on the bedpost your only substitute for a calendar, not even the gathering dust on your windowsill keeping track of your blunt existence, but is that really such a bad plotline to read into? After all, I’m a mere instrument of conflict, and if I do not fulfill my function, I have no point, and dull instruments are of no use to anyone but the junkyard. So, what’s the point but pointlessness? What is there to release from arrogance, from selfishness, from egocentric human needs and desires, shallowness sucking away the will to speak in freedom, constantly starving for lust and lusting for starvation and dying from either loneliness or hunger in the end?

Give me that. Give me an answer that would morph my vulgar counterfeit laughter back into a purely genuine jubilance, give me a reply that would wash away the contracting fallacies in my conflicted mind and make my craving lecherous soul finally taste the decadent truth, give me a statement to swim in and sink under as I ponder deeply upon it and spend all my cashed-in stars to figure it out until I may finally repose in peace, give me an oratorical rhetoric that would drag me out of the hands of the angels in the ambulance and shock my heart into sinus rhythm, give me something, anything at all that would set this hellish perpetual carousel in a dead jolting halt and wouldn’t throw me off the cutthroat ride, give me—give me what I want. Yet, is what I want really what I need?

Never. Because in this reality, the parallel cruelty prevents any chance of a perfect alignment or even a destined intersection between any limits, and it’s all we can do to keep walking in the thin line and keep a painful positiveness, because backtracking to the negatives would devour us whole, render us irrational, and count us as impossible. Yet, despite knowing all of those and sharing such meaningless contrivances to the eyes that refuse to perceive and the ears that refuse to listen, I still want you to lie to me. Lie to me until your lips are mutated and your bated tongue is in shreds, lie, lie, lie, until the wrong turns right, until forward becomes backwards, until the truth is the ultimate lie, and I’ll gladly do the same to you. After all, we’re just doing what we need to do. We’re just doing all we can do.

~*~

These self inviting auras
Made me bring out the sun
Your body’s played its role
It’s ruined my game
And now I can’t believe I’ve done it
But somehow I still feel
But I still feel, so far gone…

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Filed under Prose

assumptive apologies thrown out at the walkway

Isn’t it obvious I’m a wreck
I set these fires just for you
Isn’t it obvious I’ve calmed down
I saved my breakdowns just for you…

~*~

i’m sorry that

i was never there.

that i was just

one trivial moment

in all of life’s

sordid complexities,

the benzedrine

you impulsively take

at three in the morning,

effects shooting up

your severed veins

but always subsiding.

i just wish i didn’t

have to feel like

a counterfeit dollar,

washed up and torn apart

because i look far

too factitious to be

of any use for anyone;

or that final cigarette

you take under the midnight

streetlamps to experience

thrill one last time

before you stop forever.

my conscience feels

strangely disembodied.

i don’t know if

this guilt is justified

or simply being irrational

i don’t know if my

attachment is paramount

or just another necessity

like sleep, or food,

that you can easily replace

i don’t know if i’m

overused, or misunderstood

or i’m simply being

a complete presumptuous,

one-sided, narcissistic

fool about all of this…

i don’t know my function.

i’m confused by your confusion,

and i’m sorry if i’m wrong

but i’ll be even more

sorry if i turn out to be

right.

~*~

I want what I need, I need what I want
And I’m not what you wanted
I felt you slowly slip away, those cemetery eyes
These seven deadly sins, these forty days of night
Have severed all our ties…

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Filed under Poetry