Tag Archives: hazy

Rise and shine, sleepyhead

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Good morning, sunshine.

You are a slow sip of icy coffee on a sweltering summer day, sweet and bitter and decadent and satisfying all at the same time. The yawning sun is barely peeking out of the horizon, still playful and forgiving; bathing you in childish glows and warm reverie. Life is nothing more than a bite of honey-dipped pastry and freshly-made ham and cheese sandwich, a shared table with an aged stranger, a silly dream full of friendship and fast times and flirtation—life is nothing more than fleeting polaroid snapshots of blurry smiles and quiet contemplation. Now melt the ice between your teeth, let the chill run down your lungs, and let the wandering words on your pen speak for themselves.

It is only morning, after all, and the universe is still quite hazy. Breathe it in. Make it last.

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Filed under Prose

Sedate

I’m starving for medicine—

For a thousand clattering

Pills indulged all at once,

Dropping like snowflakes

On my withered tongue…

.

I’m starving for some sleep—

For a million hazy dreams

Coalesced softly all at once,

Showering like hail and sleet

Impaling my withered soul.

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Filed under Poetry

Opioid Daydreams and Narcotic Nightmares

Maybe I could swim into your thoughts like your drugs do
Paralyze your body, sick and tired of waking up to
Burning eyes and cigarettes, I’m falling through the couch like
A suicide mission tonight, my god, here comes the downside…

~*~

The fumes I breathed in

Are as delicate as my polluted lungs

As frail as my state of mind

.

I look for a way into the dark

And step on cigarette ashes

Unaware of the inferno I might find

.

Crushing acetylene with two fingers

And heating the water a hundred degrees

To boil away this senseless rut

.

Inhaling, exhaling, once…twice…thrice…

And one more drag for the long run

Calm until the first punch hits my guts

.

My throbbing heart goes a’creeping

Into my trembling hands comes a’knocking

Painting butterfly psychedelia

.

I’m waiting at the foot of my deathbed

Staring at my lethargic lucid corpse

Tasting a million shades of phantasmic deliria

.

Anesthesised until I no longer feel myself

I no longer feel my broken bones

I no longer feel the pain like the ashes

.

Blowflies turned to pretty birds

Concrete floor turned to rainbows and raindrops

Until paradise wears off and slowly passes

.

But despite the exclamation points

Scribbled all over the blank walls, I won’t

No no no no no, I won’t ever ever panic

.

The blood and oxygen flow

Falling and reversing until my system

Is senescent retrograde and manic

.

And I’m hanging upside-down

On a cross, crucified by my lighter

Flesh pinned with syringes

.

Scourged and castigated

By angels and roman hallucinations

For my sins and perpetual binges

.

But I won’t die tonight, no I won’t

I won’t die yet…die yet, I think

And I’ll exalt those whorls of smoke

.

Submerged in a tempestuous sea of euphoria

Until I sink deeper and deeper into the hazy currents

And I begin to choke.

~*~

Trigger my nightmare once again!
And it’s fucking loaded in hand!
And we’ll let the fire rage
The smoke and the drowning flames
My bedroom computer light is the only
Menace to my new faux wooden blinds…

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Filed under Poetry

Caja de Música

i have broken

all my fingers

trying to count

the countless

nights i’ve spent

spilling tears on

my drowning heart

over the intoxicating

hazy sound of your

music box reveries.

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Filed under Poetry

Vincent’s Starry Night

Starry, starry night
Paint your palette blue and grey
Look out on a summer’s day
With eyes that know the darkness
In my soul…

~*~

Vincent, the lost pastel colours, they forgot to light your golden stars tonight

Brush strokes faltering and swirling on your ceiling, a tapestry of navy sights

Vincent, you were simply complicated to fool the monsters within from the start

Your artistic chagrin and tortured soul kept ripping your palette emotions apart

.

Vincent, they all laughed at you and they mocked away such a beautiful mind

But if the madness was your universe, who knows what dimensions we can find?

Vincent, you fathomed yourself a disgrace, deemed creations amount to nothing

They all stumbled in your labyrinthine mind, thus resorted to insipid excoriating

.

Vincent, now you’re gone, and the village mourns for a sun extinguished too soon

You watch them above as you paint the landscapes, reminiscing on the blue moon

Vincent, you were always a warm summer sunflower, and my quaint antebellum art

They may not have truly understood you, but you have always rekindled my hazy heart.

~*~

And when no hope was left in sight
On that starry, starry night
You took your life, as lovers often do
But I could’ve told you Vincent
This world was never meant for
One as beautiful as you…

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Filed under Poetry

i wish to stay in daydream.

it’s always

the finer moments

of your life

that feel like

a daydream, hazy

and surreal as

it rushes past you

like a cloud,

all before the dark

tendrils of

reality unfold

to swoop you back

into a palpable

drudgery.

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Filed under Poetry

Listless Leisures

Rustic old town

Hazelnut coffee

Silk cream gown

Riffle decadently

Pen in one hand

Of tremulous red

Way on the stand

Singing about end

Orange and ginger

On bavarian cream

Summer night stirs

In hazy daydreams.

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Filed under Poetry

Auf Wiedersehen.

A closing chapter on a holiday

Epilogue looming near ahead

Felt like a thousand summers

That have never even existed

.

Goodbye to idyllic afternoons

Melting like a sluggish sorbet

Goodbye to those hazy nights

Under the starry skies’ blanket

.

All wistful childhood fantasies

Within a cloudy thought bubble

All shards of broken memories

A faint wispy 5 ‘o clock stubble

.

Replaced by steamed machines

Clockwork chores of daily grind

Lacklustre façades, bitterly ends

The turning key eddying to wind

.

Melancholy fever infects my head

Sands of time slip from my grasp

Final farewell to the lost moments

That I wished would eternally last.

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Filed under Poetry

Hazy Recollections; of Apocrypha and Anachronism

This place is a prison
And these people aren’t your friends
Inhaling thrills through $20 bills
And the tumblers are drained
And then flooded again and again…

~*~

These aren’t friends

In a pub crawl wend

Buying cheap thrills

With ten dollar bills

.

I trade tales cavalier

Over rinds and beer

Frothy, foamy, nutty

And turnstile revelry

.

Where you’ll end up

Inside a plastic cup

Bubbling in duplicity

Rock bottom, hit me

.

And rouse in a frock

Tick, pendulum clock

Sprawled in ballroom

Pierrot dancing tunes

.

By the candelabrum

Candlelight autumns

Feigning my glamour

When it’s all clamour

.

Confetti is cascading

Réclames showering

Stale tasting perfume

Grey asbestos gloom

.

Her silky black dress

Most gorgeous mess

Perhaps; his tie loose

Scuffed Oxford shoes

.

Clinking champagne

Metaphysical games

Kill off the lively night

Decay ’til sunset light

.

Ending in a broom closet greed

Or under the bed with a canopy

Wake up with a migraine death

Curled up in a medicine cabinet

.

Oh, but these aren’t your best friends

No more than the rules you will bend

Wineglasses refilling up until it’s tipsy

Enjoy this bona fide apocryphal soirée.

~*~

What does it take to get a drink in this place?
What does it take, how long must I wait?

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Filed under Poetry

After-Hours Run: A Villanelle

More bitter drops of whiskey on his tongue

Sad empty wineglass melting slowly in his hand

A grotesque aftermath of an after-hours run

.

Indulged in bubby champagne and endless fun

Drinking till his vision impairs, he can no longer understand

More bitter drops of whiskey on his tongue

.

Vodka, beer, cocktails, passed by his gullet, long gone

Sensibility lost and body on constant demand

A grotesque aftermath of an after-hours run

.

Lusting of women and crooning songs unsung

Hazy temptations and dry mouth filled with sand

More bitter drops of whiskey on his tongue

.

Imbalanced foolish decisions and cold sweat clung

Vertigo throwing his face down into the hard land

A grotesque aftermath of an after-hours run

.

And the blinding sun rises, his bloodshot eyes it stung

Hungover in an alleyway, nicked off his wallet and prideful stand

More bitter drops of whiskey on his tongue

A grotesque aftermath of an after-hours run.

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Filed under Fixed Poetry, Poetry