Tag Archives: heart

Interstellar Lovely

Interstellar lovely, with the plaited halo down your back

You make me kinda crazy, you beat my flaxen heart to black

With the way your bow lips move to make a spinning retort

Colliding with my asteroids, tonight’s forecast screams abort

.

Interstellar lovely, won’t you give this girl another chance?

I may not be too pretty, but I’ve still got a fighting stance

Crooked glasses and stray sweater sleeve driving me insane

But she’ll shoot past the stratosphere before I could say her name.

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Cosmic Comatose


ʟᴏᴠᴇ, ʜᴜɴᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴅᴏᴡɴ
ɪ ᴄᴀɴ’ᴛ sᴛᴀɴᴅ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ sᴏ ᴅᴇᴀᴅ
ʙᴇʜɪɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇʏᴇs
ᴀɴᴅ ғᴇᴇᴅ ᴍᴇ, sᴘᴀʀᴋ ᴍᴇ ᴜᴘ
ᴀ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ ɪɴ ᴍʏ ʙʟᴏᴏᴅsᴛʀᴇᴀᴍ
ᴄʜᴇᴡs ᴍᴇ ᴜᴘ
sᴏ ɪ ᴄᴀɴ ғᴇᴇʟ sᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ…


am i insane, stars?

i made exposed promises to you that i am far from keeping,

melted cosmos and calliope leaking from the corners of my eyes

as his fickle thought is ever missing from the warm embrace

that you provide, only for me to find out that it was just a lie.

flowers grow from my pink bones, the longer i starve myself

and soon enough i have a lithe bouquet with a pretty bow

thorns and boughs left in virgin snow, where heavy cherry

blossoms couldn’t hold out ’til spring to shake off the cold

like me. like me with my corrupted lungs and corrupted lovers

and mute corruption in my light, so much so that when it passes

through the stained glass windows of our unmarried chapel, all i see

is grey. and yet, i still pray. i still cast my bruised eyes to the ground

and wipe away the profanities from the corner of my mouth, where he

left them festering, evergreen, so sweet, bittersweet—where he never

was at all. but god, he didn’t cause this! i caused this, most this

lost this, i took the losing chance and loved until my bastard heart

choked with dopamine and plasticine and oxytocin and strychnine and

still…and still! it just wasn’t enough. no. all i could see is the faint outline

of his hands and his cloying laughter and his blurry eyes so blue you’d

have thought an ocean was trapped beneath it. i would know. i would

have drowned. maybe i’ll still have drowned. i’m already drowned.

skin. finite. nothing. the current that carried souls along to solace

love in the time of scarlet fever, and him, and him, and you? and you.

nothing more. nevermore. neverwhere. we’re all here, now.

so tell me this, stars. am i insane? or am i just too human for my own good?


ɢɪᴠᴇ ᴍᴇ ᴛᴏᴜᴄʜ
‘ᴄᴀᴜsᴇ ɪ’ᴠᴇ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴍɪssɪɴɢ ɪᴛ
ɪ’ᴍ ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍɪɴɢ ᴏғ sᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀs
ᴋɪssɪɴɢ ᴍᴇ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ɴɪɢʜᴛ
ᴊᴜsᴛ sᴏ ɪ, ᴊᴜsᴛ sᴏ ɪ
ᴄᴀɴ ғᴇᴇʟ sᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ…


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Caramel Oreo Milkshake (for Artemis.)

It’s only late, you have time
With any reason that you find
Somewhere in slumber
Is someone who didn’t see it coming
If all this leaves you behind
And everything starts to rewind…

~*~

gentleness in the crook of my left arm

sweet coffee and tasteless milk, dripping

against the pale of graphite and in

sleepy moving pictures, just some tired

faces tumbling through colder haze

of unfamiliarity and restless curiosity

from not really knowing what to do, but

a tiny heart beating against mine, it

guides my senses into instinctual concern

for a companion which replaces the love

i cannot truly keep; that similar butterscotch

twist against marbles of innocent aegan

another clever yet cruel coincidence

still speaking to me, to you, to us, to the

furry little darling dreaming of better days

like i have, like you will, like no one else

has ever dared to wander before…will my

arrow collide with the bullseye in your

chest, or will it miss its mark once again?

only time can intertwine these loose threads

pulling at empty air, until we find ourselves

finally curling up comfortably in quiet belonging,

saving all of our leftover warmth for crestfallen rainy evenings.

~*~

Tell me you’ll feel better
When you’re sleeping through the day
And I’ll tell you how you missed it
When you wake
It doesn’t mean anything…

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Cityscape

“You take delight not in a city’s seven or seventy wonders, but in the answer it gives to a question of yours.” –Italo Calvino, Invisible Cities


cities crawl with small plastic cars

and termites heading home after a long day

nevermores cast off to sycamore roots

with the darling of knowing nothing else

only the headlights in front of them

transient light guiding wornout concrete

in this merciless grid stuffed with shadows

they crawl without knowing why

and the city skin is beginning to itch

with the burden of perhaps one too many

small feet pitter pattering on their veins

right into the chambers of an ancient heart

that’s starting to slow down

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Asteroseismology

I see no stars in the sky anymore, darling

That’s because they’ve all fallen to the ground now

And lodged their nebulous shards in between

Those tiny beating hearts and empty restless souls

And names and cities and sidewalks no one will ever know

And these stars are long damaged with love

But they look just as exquisitely pretty as when they

Were once strung up in that infinite tapestry

We call the universe—the same universe where

I wonder why I’m still so caught up in you and I

When we’re only stripped-down parts of a woeful quintillion

An unknown number with hydrogen in our breaths

And I want enough pieces for a constellation, darling

Just like you and them and us and the rest of this galaxy

Will you have slowly mended everything together for me

Or are you just another faded light I will soon have to bury?

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The Amputee

Wonder why I wake up living in a made-up
Dream of you and I, together there
Baby, wake the fuck up
Time for you to grow up
Don’t you know that life is rarely ever fair?

~*~

now i should cease

with my attempted wars

involuntary romance

could only get me so far

.

i’ll cross black holes

for the simple soul i adore

they won’t recognise

such a dark helpless horror

.

pulled back and forth

maybe i’m a piece of string

pirouette me overhead

perhaps you’ll hear me sing

.

it was never their fault

i’m aware i have fallen victim

to the hell of taking light

as the other is still rekindling

.

now i should stop myself

while control’s on my fingertips

an accidental devotion will

only make me lose all my limbs.

~*~

Ice cold, baby, I’m ice cold
You’re the only one who could make me fold
I wouldn’t ask you to take care of me
Oh, I wouldn’t ask you to take care of me…

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Fallback

If I had another girl,

Would that fade you from my chest?

You are like a bad heartburn

Would she finally grant it some rest?

.

If I had another girl,

Would she love me the same way you’d have done?

Even though it hurts to think

Would she finally stop you from being the one?

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a cup of warm tea; and the aftertaste of trauma

Sometimes I feel cold, even paralyzed
My interior world needs to sanitize
I’ve got to step through or I’ll dissipate…

~*~

the bitter of tea, the tang of lemon—and that subtle hint of summertime sweetness, melting into my tongue in one drowsy haze.

paint-stained hands clutch at the warm mug for dear life, and i take tentative sips and let the aromatic seasons dance around my mouth a bit, as if this very dark liquid itself was my final tether to this plane of existence.

perhaps, in some ways, it quite is.

the effect of sleepiness arrives to swoop me back in sluggishly, allowing me to momentarily lean back and stare blankly at the faces on the wall, all eager teeth and pastel craft paper, curling and fading all the way to wandering oblivion; but only a single smile really captured my absent mind’s attention. i wryly picture how it would look against later impressions of dirty blonde and crystalline azure, peeking rather shyly behind deep laugh lines and a few animated freckles peppered across pale skin, endearingly elusive.

sinking in; and sinking still. the effervescent mania that violently grabs me by the shoulders and dares to push its reckless fingers right in the middle of my tender ribcage, refusing to cease digging around until it finally hits something vital. lung, artery—the unfortunate heart itself, perhaps?

but—as i am melancholically assuaged—i am sure it will find only a hollow cavity where a beating organ used to rest. disappointed? not really. i’m painfully aware that already long ago have i been deemed one of the young naivetes who willingly sold it away, to someone who didn’t even know they were searching for damaged antiques. i practically gave it away for nothing.

and yet, where is it now?

is it gathering cracks and dents in someone’s mantlepiece, within a dusty old bungalow? is it buried lost under a child’s messy closet, along with broken toys and past innocence and all their other outgrown things? perhaps, has it already been traded away by its secondhand owner without a brief hesitant thought or a pause of chagrin, in exchange of a better, prettier, newer one?

ah, no matter…no matter. i no longer feel it anymore, anyhow.

cosmic snapshots. a feline grey and glimmering yellow eyes. lilting snatches of an unwritten song dedicated to the moon. murky rain dripping rhythmically from the plastered holes on the ceiling. a perfect pink photograph more potent than any flavour of tea or dosage of coffee, keeping me up well into the witching hours and then some. just another wordless poet. just another tired pen.

your bitter blue. my summertime sadness. the promise of morning, and nothing else.

~*~

And you know
You’re a terrible sight
But you’ll be just fine…

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Temporary Weather

and i’ll catch up.

i’ll stumble out of this blackout, even if it takes more than a few scars and stars and more than a few yesteryears

falling apart and over and down and out and again but never giving in and saving the old lies for the worst parts of my life

left in the past not made to last

i used to believe in you but i don’t believe myself

but now maybe there’s a sliver of faith left over for the both of us to have, if you’re willing to share

you’re doing better now. you’re doing fine more than ever. though you know that stability won’t always mean permanent happiness, you’ve found your comfort in the cold

and the sun, little darling, is slowly warming up to you

and i’m happy for you. i really am.

with your pretty floral dreams, in technicolour. beyond the vale, no longer fit to be called mere dreams. sweet pastels. exquisitely tangible. mine still exist only at night

hiding beneath the darkest shadows and crashing through shut jagged windows and seeping deep like charcoal into my nervous system

and most nights, i can’t even sleep at all

but i’ll shut my tired eyes and make a wistful wish, i’ll keep my sleeves clean for the magic tricks, i’ll bare my levitating heart for the ones that i love, maybe they’ll be amused by it and raise their lips, maybe they’ll simply dismiss it and hate the cheap theatrics but

i’ll hope, still. and i’ll wait. and i’ll create. until nothing becomes something becomes everything becomes

infinities. a second of a lifetime. time. i have time.

and i’ll catch up.

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Mirage

Alright. Alright.

Let’s keep it simple. Let’s dissolve the convoluted hyperboles with a dose of sedating fentanyl and simply look the problem straight in its eyes.

Blue.

Not just pastel or skylight or marine or brilliant or midnight or cobalt or baby blue, no. But the kind of blue that makes any other shade of blue look lifelessly grey. The kind of blue you left me with watery gazes and sinkholes, when you left your thoughts to fester unstoppably in mine. The very kind of blue I never thought I’d hate to love.

Until now.

Sometimes, it faintly tastes of the tranquil oceanic breeze, and I could rest easy by the lonely bayside as I let my wandering thoughts ponder cautiously. Tiptoes clumsily traipsing against curious hope and lukewarm sand, fallen horizons blushing a pallid sunset orange, caught smiling unaware whenever I chance upon the nuanced way you adored every delicate brushstroke on the canvas I painstakingly laid out for you; an artist cursed to draw the same portrait forever.

Sweet. Bitter. Nothing.

Sometimes, it’s destructive blizzards all at once; mental violence haphazardly spitting ammunition directly into my targeted chest, turning me into a tattered tapestry of miserable fury—barely fit to be called human. My mind wails and shrieks as it rakes its bladed nails down my spine, coming undone at the uncontrollable paranoia that the very same paintings which brought your attention to my existence would now cause you to draw loathing deep into my skin; an artist blessed to despise their own creations forever.

Tantrums. Bloody. Everything.

My convictions are constantly wavering, my tessellated identity shattering into stagnant fractals if I even so much shed a sliver of you off of my armour, and the overgrown thorns that once quietly infected my lungs sting a whole lot worse when I try to pull them out. So I lie between my gritted chemical teeth and pretend it’s for the best, but no amount of feigned reassurance will ever quell the tormented pangs writhing inside of me, wrenching badly-stitched arteries apart again and crushing my fragile bones to silver dust. Irreparable.

Useless. Helpless. Hopeless.

And still, that blue—god, that damned kind of blue—so vividly engraved behind my closed eyelids like a restless epitaph. Keeping me wide awake and screaming silently in the cramped jail cell I call my home as it softly lulls me off into perpetual sleep. Far away from the echoes of the observable universe, and everyone else, and nothing else. Your inimitable shade of blue.

The kind I hate I love.

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