Tag Archives: girl

Dominance

And you’ll see your closest ones go first
Who needs enemies you’ve got friends
I’m a gentleman and you’re a liar
I expect the best of you but it’s so hard…

~*~

Oh, that never-ending thrum of her lifeblood. Splashing under vein and skin perceptibly, the splattered stains of her rogue lip-gloss submerging the hazy mascara-smudged gazes that she immediately crashed to the linoleum floor with a rejected dismay. What a mess—she looks drop-dead gorgeous tonight.

I approach her cautiously, casual and debonair, as to discourage unnecessary alarm. I admit, I was never one for such contrivances, writing unromantic lyrics at the back of my hand just so I can hold hers, irony unkindly spitting in my face with a sneer. Yet should she fancy a cosmopolitan to tear away the shreds of her enmities, I’ll be holding out a martini glass and nodding sympathetically, twisting the grim words as if it were Romeo’s dagger deeply shoved in her caved-in chest. Don’t bleed out yet, dear fragile porcelain girl, my obsequious platitudes and sycophantic adulation are yours to hoard and accrue. I’ll acquiesce in this chemical compliance to adorn your melancholy with rude festivities, I swear upon my heart.

Listen closer…do you hear her shattering tears inciting instantaneous panic on the dancefloor, digging holes deep enough for graves and hawking out salacious vultures to claw their way for the poor damsel in distress? Listen. Don’t be distracted by the jubilant electronic music whose undertones screamed of a mechanical cadaver behind the microphone, and hear the sound of a thousand starving beats ready to rend her apart. There they are now, the prurient salivating bastards, screeching and cawing shrilly, swooping closer and closer, razor beaks ready for the kill. It was up to me to stave the ravenous scavengers off tooth and nail, and never should it be said that such a task was not without tribulation.

I left that place beaten and badly wounded. But I do not mind the pain, for these fresh battle scars are an instrument of deceit; it shall only drag her in further into the elaborate delusion I set up for her to indulge herself in. She’s smitten by woe, deluded by pity, confused by liquor, a triumvirate of a perfect malleable soul. In her bloodshot eyes, I’m the bleeding fragile porcelain boy now, and it’s her adamant responsibility to pick up the pieces of my flesh that the scavengers left behind, it’s her self-blame and guilty contrition that will bandage them back together and fix my bruises to the best of her abilities. Deja vu, it seems. Yet, observe how the tables have turned. But no matter. She has my heart, if I had any at all. She is solely mine now. She is mine.

Listen…listen again. Listen closer, and hear the faint orchestral symphonies of her gossamer abstract body keeping me awake all day and singing me to sleep all night. Oh, that never-ending thrum of her lifeblood. How it tastes so fucking sweet between my sullied palms. How it thrums no longer now.

~*~

Let’s start over
When we reach the top, we’ll watch you bury yourself
This wasn’t easy, it wasn’t easy
I watched the weight of your world cave in to crush you.

Advertisements

Leave a comment

Filed under Prose

The Madness of the Mortician

She’s made of hair and bone and little teeth
Things that cannot speak
She comes on like a crippled plaything
Spine is just a string…

The mortician stood in solemn vigil, as motionless as the petite corpse that lay in front of him; a body wrapped in a translucent green body bag that caught the oil burner’s dim lamplight and shimmered iridescently like pulled-off dragonfly wings. The fetid air of coalescing formaldehyde and putrescence tasted bitterly stuffy, damp and stale. On the scratched wooden table, where his instruments were also prepared and patiently waiting, an ancient radio buzzed and crackled with static; the faint echoes of a lost song playing ever so distantly beyond the veil of the curtained morgue and worming its way into the back of his head. He paid it no heed at all, dismissing it as merely white noise as he wiped his hands clean the with a sterile cloth. Outside, nightfall was beginning to amalgamate into a midnight of pure blackness that not even the most resilient of shadows can dare to permeate. He sighed once and checked his watch. Time was running. He had work to do.

I wrapped our love in all this foil
Silver-tight like spider legs
I never wanted it to ever spoil
But flies will lay their eggs…

With cautious steps taken and wary calloused fingers twitching infinitesimally like burnt moth wings, he reached out for the diaphanous body bag and slowly unwrapped the plastic, peeling it painstakingly, yet with an impatient breath held, as if it were a birthday present. But he was fully aware that what would greet his beady eyes would come as no surprise to him at all, given his work and the police records scribbled on the clipboard that spoiled it for him. Still, he braced himself. The pungent smell of decay and sour reek of death began to grow stronger, wafting nauseatingly and hanging around the stale air cloyingly, sticking to surfaces like a demented fragrance. But he was used to it. After all, he had smelled worse things on worse days. Like when he gets those damn bloated carcasses pulled out of canals and lakes after god knows how many days of fermenting underwater, half-eaten by fish and sticky and vile and overall repugnant and a nasty affair. Heaven forbid if more criminals choose to dump their casualties in the river to get rid of them. The taste of the drinking water, that’s what he worried about.

A blowfly softly landed on his hand, jolting him out of his grotesque reverie. He waved it off and continued to unsheathe the cadaver, noisy plastic crinkling intertwining with the radio static, oil burner hissing quietly, the silence growing so thick and viscid that even the perspiration sliding down his forehead could be audibly heard.

Take you hatred out on me
Make your victim my head
You never ever believed in me
I am your tourniquet…

He was prepared for every possibility that could ever occur when he fully exposed the corpse—not that there were many of them, mind you—and yet nothing could ever prepare himself for what was revealed underneath the flimsy layer of plastic. On the cold metal table laid the lifeless body of a small girl, no more than four or five years old, wearing a tattered pastel pink and white dress, soiled knee-high socks, and only one red shoe on her left foot. Her auburn pig-tailed hair was matted and caked with layers of mud and soil, barely distinguishable from her scalp, her pallid, almost porcelain skin looking so fragile that he felt like he would break a piece of it off if he so much as dared to touch it, her gossamer lips a blooming shade of bruised lavender, and her delicate glassy baby blue eyes were wide open and staring at him accusingly.

He blanched, stumbling back for a moment, and reached for his whiskey flask to have a drink. He took a swig, momentarily glanced at the corpse, and then proceeded to drank deeply, almost emptying the flask save for a drop or two to spare. He wiped his mouth with one unclean sleeve and checked the time again. His schedule was turning a little delayed. No more beating around the bush. He must carry on. He must.

Prosthetic synthesis with butterfly
Sealed up with virgin stitch
If it hurts, baby, please tell me
Preserve the innocence…

He steeled himself, took a brisk breath that felt like daggers running down his throat and into his lungs, and with an unsteady gloved hand, he picked up a scalpel from the table and forced himself to continue working. He placed a face mask on ceremoniously with an agitated flourish, and hesitantly faced the deceased child. Let us begin.

To start, he’ll make a Y-incision in her…no, he mustn’t think of her as a human entity now, only a non-living object—its torso, pardon—beginning from the stomach, all the way to its frail chest, and pry its squalid flesh open to reveal and dissect its internal organs. Her skin. Her flesh. Her internal organs. The dead little girl, squandered at such a young age. She was young. So young and hopeful and once innocent, yet now all that youthful innocence has long since been pillaged by the metal weapon of a twisted soulless psyche, devoured and ravaged by ruthless parasites and bacteria, and the scintillas of the remaining scraps of it salvaged and gulped down by possessed, remorseless, feather-molting vultures. He shuddered at the morbid thought and nearly dropped the scalpel. His mind wandered for a moment, then pleaded with him, strung tether attempting to pull him back into a detached rationality. Do not think of her, do not think of her, whatever you do, you must not think of her…

I never wanted it to end like this
But flies will lay their eggs…

But his resolution was futile, and his ulterior willpower was immediately extinguished as the gas lamp flickered and flared defiantly, hissing like agitated serpents, brightening the dank room momentarily, silhouettes dancing fiercely on the little girl’s blank face. He shook his head. It’s but a trick of the light, a mere illusion, a worn-out mind taking negative effect—he must be growing tired. He rubbed his bleary eyes and looked upon the girl’s visage again. Devoid of life, devoid of movement. Nothing. But for a moment, to his disbelief and utter shock, her deathly ice-blue eyes appeared to blink. Both eyes. Blink. Blink.

He started with a roar and crashed backwards, landing on the floor with a dull thud and cutting his hand on the scalpel blade. Letting go of the scalpel, he stared upwards into the motionless corpse in equal parts terror and curious confusion, his heart pounding like the beat of a sovereign marching drum, throbbing head dazed and heavy with blood, breaths shallow and ragged like the edge of her torn dress. He absently held his head with his bleeding hand, smudging his temples with the glistening scarlet liquid. His soul filled with a shuddering dread. No. This cannot be happening. His worst fears, have they been finally realised? Was he regressing into what everyone had warned him fervently against? Was he…was he beginning to grow mad?

Take your hatred out on me
Make your victim my head
You never ever believed in me
I am your tourniquet…

God no. Please, no. Stop. Stop. Stop. The piteous chant in his head was depraved and overpowered by his other detonated senses, the other discordant voices in his head, uproarious and painful to hear, as the radio static gnashed and screeched cruelly, amalgamating into a demonic caterwauling. He dropped to his knees and held both hands against his ears, trying to block out the overwhelming noise but failing to do so, for, he realised, the source was not external. Amid the clangorous dissonance, he could distinctly and vividly hear her sweet, soft-spoken, splintered voice, laughing shrilly and squealing in excitement as he spun her around on the playground turnabout, cheered her on to complete the monkey bars to the very end, and pushed her down the peppermint candy-striped slide, shouting all the way down. But the slide never ended, and the ecstatic shouting turned into a bloodcurdling scream. She was waiting for him to catch her at the end of the slide, but he didn’t show, only empty faith gone to hell, and she fell out of the mouth and collided with the rough concrete ground, skinned her elbows and knees, and cried. Cried alone in the ground as the children around her sneered at her, as she still vainly searched for her absent father that walked away from her, away from her life. The horrid mocking grew angrier, barbarous, louder. The screaming intensified. The muffled crying turned into inexorable wailing, imploring, beseeching, beleaguering as it endlessly asked him why why why why why WHY

What I wanted, what I needed
What I got for me
What I wanted, what I needed
What I got for me…

His daughter. Her crying. His hands. Her throat. His wife. Her mother. The abandoned rundown house at the end of the town street, his abandoned rundown house, infested with restless phantoms and ghosts of the visceral past, raising question marks and concocting urban legends and horror stories under hushed voices and sussurous muttering, passing it on and on and on without ado. The perfect happy family that was immediately shattered on that fateful night much like their photograph that he furiously threw on the wall, and the sharp shards choking reality, the same way the broken glass did as it caught in his spouse’s screeching throat. The fight. The madness that took over. The knife. The screams of NO. The gun. The woman. The girl. The chase. The first shot that reverberated in his skull. The slash that slit skins open and lacerated the beige patterned wallpaper to shreds. A shaky hand doused with vodka. A penultimate warning. The wrong target acquired. The second gunshot that finished the story. The end. The collateral damage. A man dropping his weapons and passing out drunkenly on the stairs. A wounded mother bleeding out and lamenting such a cursed fate with shuddering howls. And the girl. His girl. Dead. Fucking dead. And it’s his fault. Him to blame. His guilt. His conscience. His life, forever locked away in all the insanity like his confined wife in the mental asylum, and buried down along with her darling sweetheart child. God have mercy and damn me, what have I done? WHAT HAVE I DONE?!

Take your hatred out on me
Make your victim my head
You never ever believed in me
I am your tourniquet…

The radio thrummed, piercing through the manic hysteria, His psychosis abruptly ended. The vivid hallucinations and insane delusions faltered back into the crepuscular room he huddled upon. The vehement tempest gradually dragged down into a catatonic still; a quite disturbing calm. The oil burner dislimned into a sombre light, flitting and flickering restlessly against the unpainted cemented walls of that frigid, haunting basement morgue. He held his breath and hitched. Breathed deeply and composed himself. Murmuring deliriously, he removed his madly-trembling hands from his ears and slowly opened his eyes in suffocating fear and trepidation. Dark morgue. Inanimate corpse. Damaged man. Distressing relief.

Lulling himself, he attempted to stand up, steadying himself against the oaken table. But as he clumsily straightened his legs, his besmirched coat sleeve accidentally snagged on the metal tray and he went down again, lightning pain shooting up his spine, the rusted clangorous metal instruments clattering dinningly and crashing down with him, and the vintage radio pulled along with everything else and hitting the ground, its tiny plastic pieces coming apart and effectively killing the only palpable sound in the room.

Take your, take your
Get up out of me
I’m not proud with me…

A subdued silence ensued. He broke down and collapsed into overwhelming contrition and mournful madness once more, this time never recovering, and he crouched there, on the verge of guilt and trauma, sobbing and frantic, face buried in his bloody hands, whispering splintered apologies amid the occasional sickening laughter that escaped his pale split mouth, as all the while his deceased companion watched with her empty glass-blue eyes. His broken watch ceased ticking. The lost song faded away. The cadaver’s lips twitched. The gas lamp hissed once, twice, and instantly snuffed out against the volatile wind, leaving the grieving mortician and the dead girl in total darkness.

I never ever believed in me
I am your tourniquet.

Leave a comment

Filed under Prose

Glock Girl and Bayonet Boy

Nothing changes but the weather
You just think that you got better
Time doesn’t heal, it scabs the wound
I won’t cover, cover my scars for you
Victim of deceit, weighed down by your
Heavy hand; a constant battle
Between who you want, and who I am…

~*~

Here’s step one, don’t you dare run and tell me what the hell I’ve done

Elucidate and face the stars, don’t fuck around with me, say it’s all fun

You say that you’re a cannibal baby, damn, you’re eating out my heart

Don’t choke on my gristles, don’t shock me then say it was for a restart

.

Maybe I’m being assumptive, your paranoid best friend is going insane

I’m a cordial next door neighbour, and I’m just being a bastardous pain

Ironic electricity on your sweaters and the thunder shoes that you wear

You weren’t being cheerful when you let that cyclone catch in your hair

.

Discretion was not your apex marauder, and you pushed me in the moat

You testified for perjury and starved to death and I fed you my scapegoat

A headspace is what I need, thought you’ll clear my skull, not sick up on it

I’d love to interfere in your pathetic dramaticisms, but I got too much shit

.

If psychological pawns are your opiods, guess my hit wore out in one drag

I’m tired of the way I’ll have to confront the ravine if there aren’t any crags

If it’s schematic or systemic, I don’t know, my reputation’s a goddamn mess

I guess you’ll never acknowledge the bromide you slipped me under duress

.

So then fine, let’s play this game, let’s be bitching and stalking with binoculars

If I upset your shriveled tiny soul, you can find me in junkyards declaring war

Just let the alcohol subside, we’ll be as sober as rocks crashing against the tide

I’m glad to have someone to load the ammunition when all my guns have lied.

~*~

I’ll see you at the fucking crossroads
I’ll make you bite through your tongue
When you see who I am today
I’ll make you hate what you’ve done
Cover your tracks, let revenge flood
You’ve made your mark, blood will have blood!

Leave a comment

Filed under Poetry

Just Look At The Mess You Made

Another knife in my hands
A stain that never comes off the sheets
Clean me off, I’m so dirty babe
The kind of dirty where the water
Never cleans off the clothes…

~*~

flies on your shoulder

blood in your sundress

darling girl of the hour

did you make this mess?

spelling decayed wrists

a blade for the clergies

vomit on blonde tresses

did you make this mess?

makeups smear breakup

a suicide note in lipstick

clean is now so careless

did you make this mess?

bathroom tiles shattered

pills and mirror scatters

a beauty fed to the beast

did you make this mess?

broken bones and skins

as agonist lungs scream

darkness she confessed

did you make this mess?

monsters devour a mind

it’s nothing you can find

a darling girl, mum’s best

why are you such a mess?

~*~

Only go so far ’til you bury them
So deep and down we go
Touched by angels, though I fall out of grace
I did it all so maybe I’d live this every day…

Leave a comment

Filed under Poetry

Oh, She’s a Handsome Melody

Allow me to exaggerate a memory or two
Where summers lasted longer than, longer than we do
When nothing really mattered except for me to be with you
But in time we all forgot and we all grew…

~*~

Oh, she’s a handsome melody

Singing as butterflies

Shimmer down her lips and

Leave traces of soft kisses behind

The wind tastes like summer

When that girl makes up her mind

And oh, she just reminds me

Of the dancing willow tree

In the daffodil garden

That we used to count the stars in

Like the seconds of eternity

As the hazy veil of smoke obscures

The beliefs and milestones we observed

Under a faithless smile

Of neverminds and lost boys awhile

A lemonade serenade

A penny for your thoughts

Your citrus heart may be bitter

But I’m coming back for more

And if the autumn leaves don’t rain

Your firework eyes will remain

Chartreuse grass wilts with a touch

But I don’t think your bloom was too much

So laugh along with me

And with the stubborn weather

We’ll catch a painted reverie

With our open palms and fragile fingers

And find our way back home

And let the world sing our songs

.

Oh, she’s a handsome melody

Imagining new colours as she walks

Leaving lavenders behind her

Spilling sunshine when she talks

As the sunset buries itself in her hair

Clashing scarlet and the darkness

On the tangled ribbons that she wears

We have what-ifs and perhaps

And slow motions in a time lapse

The birds that nest themselves in the clouds

Are halo dreams we don’t say aloud

Oh, if paradise must not be you

I won’t bet my cosmic dust that it’s true

Toss a coin all the way to the moon

To see if evening falters soon

Northern lights explode in pastel stage

Baby blue against ancient beige

Of the sepia films we worn down watching

With butter eyes and late-night flings

The memories and pinkish stains

Of sugar canes and rusty weathervanes

Capturing skeletal affinities

In ochre negatives and perfect peach skins

But if your camera doesn’t wink back

I’ll fetch you a canvas and a paintbrush

Let the fairies light our way home

And let the world sing our songs

.

Oh, she’s a handsome melody

That whistling pirouette of a symphony

At the back of your thoughts

Cotton and silk voices singing reminiscently

Melting the headache with a cough

Simplifying the sea for me

The ocean waves flood my ducky umbrella

And we will sail on a little boat

In a rustic countryside river

As pleasant zephyr makes her shiver

On a sluggish Sunday afternoon

Let’s toast the scenery with our spoon

And hope not to tease the playful downpour

Of a melancholy foreign storm

Patient throes of our drizzling repose

I’ll be her divine capricorn

Let’s look for our cabin in the woods

Careful not to swallow cobwebs

When the rusty door creaks open and before

She tiptoes in her yellow Mary Janes

Around the silence of the wooden floorboards

And we’ll light the chandelier

With pink peppermint-scented candles

And warm the sooty old fireplace together

And if the scarecrows don’t disturb us

Tapping faint on the windowsill

We’ll count calendar days on our way home

And let the world sing our songs

.

Oh, she’s a handsome melody

My dear spinning music box ballerina

Found her missing puzzle piece

Under bronze cogs and silver machines

Hid away a lost golden promise

She’s like accidental poetry

The clandestine sonata under my bed

With her jewelry elegance and pretty mouths

And billowing scarves of vivacious red

As she dances to the march of broken clocks

She’s as memorial and as divine

As an overused book spine

The lilting laugh of the chimes

Her curlicues of static giving you vertigo

On an afternoon station of a radio

We’ll find an obscure carnival

And fly along like entangled kites

Drop our car keys on the berg of the pier

Toast wine and champagne all night

Visit each stall and play silly stuffed toy games

Dizzying in carousels and ferris wheels

Have a repast of friends and pageants

I’ll hail her as the crown princess of the hill

But the galaxies in her ice cream cone

Chilled her to the ivory bone

I’ll tuck a blanket around her shoulders

Perched delicately like mockingbird feathers wise

Dissolving traces of an efflorescent heliotrope of a smile

And smudged ink on her drowsy eyes

We’ll sleep the horizon night

And if the blue coast doesn’t close away

We’ll go back and have our swan song someday

Of our eternal farewells to the summer

That wouldn’t exist, we’ll stay that way forever

And if this love isn’t enough to put your fears at ease

The innocence will be yours to keep

And if we don’t find our way back home

We’ll let the world sing our songs.

~*~

Your melody sounds as sweet as the first time it was sung
With a little bit more character for show
And by the time your father’s heard of all the wrong you’ve done
Then I’m putting out the lantern, find your own way back home…

Leave a comment

Filed under Poetry

What’s Her Name

She’s a rebel, she’s a saint
She’s the salt of the earth
And she’s dangerous
She’s a rebel, vigilante
Missing link on the brink
Of destruction…

~*~

She won’t leave until the lights turn red

Troublesome girl, rebelling past the bed

A softspoken tongue, serpentine temper

Stories of surprising anarchy and terror

A saint with horns, little girl with a knife

A lace veiled bride, a bruise beating wife

Rules don’t concern her, A-game’s about

Bosses and bitches, she can take ’em out

Perspectives changing as it tore the walls

I guess I never really knew that girl at all

Past her charming smile and demure eyes

The beast to be feared when unleashed lies.

~*~

She’s a rebel, she’s a rebel, she’s a rebel
And she’s dangerous!

Leave a comment

Filed under Poetry

The Girl Who Dreams of Sun

She’s the smoke
She’s dancin’ fancy pirouettes
Swan diving off of the deep end
Of my tragic cigarette
She’s steam
Laughing on the windowpanes
The never-ending swaying haze
Oh, that ever smiling maze

~*~

I lost the light

Under my pillow

Where I hide candy

And all my sorrows

I believed that wishes

Will find their way home

Despite the planets

And these broken bones

Just kiss my reveries

Paint me another song

And if field flowers bend

I shall dance along

My peach butterfly skirt

Waves for the wind

Calm necklace of carnation

Grazes my tender skin

So fly with me, my angel

Don’t wake me now

I’m talking in my sleep

Silk curtains flutter as I bow

Innocence and foxes

Waltzing under a moon

Where shadows don’t exist

And stars nurture noon

The dreams I stole for you

In nights of silver sky

Infinity takes slow breaths

And we shall never die

I lost my light again

Under my soft pillow

But I’m too tired from dreaming

I’ll look for it tomorrow.

~*~

And oh, how the piano knows
The piano knows something
I don’t know…

Leave a comment

Filed under Poetry

The Girl On The Train

“I have lost control over everything, even the places in my head.” ~The Girl On The Train; Paula Hawkins

~*~

The start was the year

The broken was the fall

The night was the fear

The murder was the call

Caught into a secret lie

The witness exchanged

In the blink of her eyes

Her perception changed

On darkness and vomit

Stalked a nuclear family

A crime witnessed writ

Eyes unfocus unreliably

Screaming for their life

And blood hits the floor

Twist that dulled knife

Burn down all the doors

As a love goes screwing

The confessions infest

A person goes missing

Dug into a ruined mess

When a heart runs wild

And the pain sets again

The suburbia is defiled

Alcohol always listens

It screams like the train

And burns down tracks

Of their mistaken pain

And a gruesome attack

On shattered memory

The suspense gets lost

Divorces, drunk sorry

And all that it has cost

The blackouts are gory

Stale violence so grim

Can’t tell the full story

Only the ones on skin

But pieces will unlock

And truth can be found

Of a nice liar that knocks

A mistress under ground

The start were the lovers

The broken were the sins

The night was the horror

And the murder was within.

Leave a comment

Filed under Poetry

Come on Holly, Put the Gun Down for Me

Love me as you lay
Dizzy and falling, y
our legs dangling
Accidents happen, they happen to me
Try to forget the beginning and end…
Forget the world!
Without removing t
he glass from your lips!

~*~

Make me another promise

About the seven sins I spilled

All over your faded grave

And the starry innocence I killed

I know I haven’t been the best

But I did it when you were at your worst

Holly, you’re making me choke

I’m steering off my turnpike course

Don’t let me go away now

When I’m about to ask you how

Everything under the roses

Makes me think in bloodred guesses

This rage is highly contagious

It’s severing my every vein quite vicious

The candle lights mask your tears

Only your sunny friends never hear

Holly, you’re killing me here

Your ambitions are craving my envy

Dysthymia’s slipping on your lips

Like cold Novocain and an apology

But don’t call me then hang yourself

Trying to reach for the dollar on the moon

Playing hooky’s bad for your health

We’ll grow up, but not too soon

These fingertips left marks on my throat

With every white lie that you spoke

Holly, I still love the way you murder me

I’ll offer you my doubts and maybe’s

But life can be a cruel farce to envision

I’ll keep the gun from my mission

Your necklace of bullets complimentary

To the blood falling on my gurney

You won the fight Holly, and no pet names

Will taint your rallying soul anymore

And I spent all of my what-ifs and initial fame

Simply trying to attempt to keep score

I have got nothing else left to give but my never

‘Cause I thought these two hearts called a truce

Now tell me Holly, when you say that it’s all over

I understand, but what have you got to lose?

~*~

Doll up and sleepwalk
Until we have some teeth marks
Narcotic sweet talk
Until we have some teeth marks…
(This whole place is gonna burn!)

Leave a comment

Filed under Poetry

Allegories in the Curious Case of the Breathless Gentleman

I’ve never so adored you, I’m twisting allegories now
I want to complicate you, don’t let me do this to myself
I’m chasing rollercoasters, I’ve got to have you now
Endless romantic stories, you never could control me…

~*~

Parking lots crumbling against an apartment of beige

In a wasteland of boys and girls, this will be my stage

I’d pull you a mouldy leather chair, or do that yourself

Screaming for hotels to keep the change wouldn’t help

.

There’s no control to be gestured in graceless romance

I’ll tip my hat at your beauty, give the bellboy a chance

There’s a luxurious room that’s reserved for two bodies

Over silken blankets ma cherie, let’s amuse the vagaries

.

Adrenaline shot like cocaine hearts of a powdered nose

Abandonment issues left me but it never felt more close

It’s nothing but anger dripped in crystalline-frosty blood

What makes you think you can seduce the angels of God?

.

The tightrope you used as floss, it snapped in your fangs

And I’m the funambulist that falls away as you have sang

Hiding all the abraded blisters from holding butane knives

For you I’ll devour inedible love, I’ll find the sharpest lives

.

Falling asleep on saline soldiers and flying sordid strangers

Your neck is getting bruised but you love imminent danger

If we wake up at all, I will look for a way to cancel your luck

But if the bullets still pierce you, I’ll yell out harsh, oh fuck

.

I was never quite crass, but this disease makes me so reckless

You’re stepping on my tailcoat, don’t worry about it, princess

I always adored your stories weaved on your lace web gown

The way your blonde hair billows back, shatters your crown

.

Here we are now, crashing and colliding in orbits saturnine

I’m burning cold, and you’re deathly hot, but we will be fine

I’m such a sucker for the rain and each of its mercurial pains

Hell and if I pull the trigger, now, what will be there to gain?

.

So I’ll dance in my boundaries and I’ll stay on the thin lines

If my arms don’t cry again, then I’ll take that as a good sign

For a sunset I chased and the chimera monsters not allowed

As the sky’s pulling me back for the nightmares I said aloud

.

Help me say goodbye, it’s the curdled poison in my delegation

Like contempt on champagne glasses and dwindling devotion

But don’t miss me too soon, have no fear, shed no wasted tears

I was never too charming, but in my wake I’ll be regally austere

.

So inhale infinity deeply and suffocate sanctity on an obscene eternity

Shame you have no shame, my beheaded queen don’t lose equanimity

I won’t be here in a year anyway, so you and I have got the most to live

I’ll provide you half of my oxygen, love, so you won’t be able to breathe.

~*~

Well I really never thought that you’d come tonight
While the crown hangs heavy on either side
Give me one last kiss while we’re far too young to die
(Far too young to die) Far too young to die…

Leave a comment

Filed under Poetry