Tag Archives: heart

Cížek

i.)

there’s chemicals

on your lips, a toxic

shade of purple—

blood and oxytocin

acrid aftertastes

burning a hole in

my tongue, but i

still thusly refuse to

d-i-s-c-o-n-n-e-c-t

ii.)

claws unsheathed

fingernails dragged

down shivering flesh;

you starve me far too

much dear, and yet i

still crave for so little…

iii.)

you’re the enticing mystery

i desperately deign to solve

and when i finally do, i’ll keep

all the answers for myself

iv.)

¡ scream louder now

rupture my lungs

and send my head

reeling, from migraines

and ringing ears and

the bitterest irony of

my fucking addictions

(sing louder now) !

v.)

you are pure perfection

with dimpled mistakes

myriad colours festering,

of butterflies and cosmos,

limerence and transience,

infatuation and repression…

you’re so goddamn beautiful.

vi.)

[if only i knew

that i’ll never be

your pale luna,]

[only a forgotten

freckle in no one’s

lavender skyline]

vii.)

dear lost lover,

if only i knew

b e t t e r.

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27 – musings on gil puyat station

oh, she’s like this cardboard city, with the subtle way she’s barely holding herself together.

she’s an anachronism, of late-night guilt and freshly-brewed coffee; no sugar, no cream, barely sipped. she intertwines her deepest confessions inside my vulnerable chest cavity and suddenly constricts without warning, completely sucking me dry of resentful consciences and clever second thoughts.

though i talk with corroded shackles beneath my tongue, i care not for the sharp tang of rust. while she solemnly weeps for fictional infinities on the other side of the country, i impatiently await that impending reply as i absently gaze outside the window of a clattering train, basking at this city, built upon centuries of dusty grey smog and busy promises—of fragile bodies barely touching, barely stopping to breathe, barely existing.

she has an irrational need, that insensible girl, to save what can no longer be saved, to control what is far beyond her means, to create as it destroys her. the pleading words on the dull glow of my screen are a tangible whisper, tasting of colliding tears and bitter shame. “i want to help you, like they always did for me, but—i fear…i fear i cannot.”

can you not, indeed? my ulterior rejection is swift and bordering on impolite; but i still listen, and descry for mutual understanding. for though i shall never admit it out loud, your blithe persistence undoubtedly plagues me; to the very throes of my lavender dreams—resting beneath the stars as i turn my back upon that flimsy conversation and that paper metropolis, and allow myself to think clearly again.

to her, i am the eternal glue that holds her together. to me, i am the stranger who mercilessly ripped her apart in an attempt to reconstruct her to my own selfish beliefs.

who is right? what is the relative concept; of wrongness, of forgiveness, of sudden change and reconciliation, of the flismy trust that you broke, and the tested faith that broke you?

and who am i to tell?

the verdant landscape of laguna finally greets my wandering eyes and thankfully pulls me away from the echoing cries of that city, that poster past of a coalescing city that fills up my thoughts with a charcoal haze and renders everything else an unfamiliar slate of grey. my sighs are comforting once again, and she no longer appears to be just another one of the million impostors i came across today.

she means well. she meant well.

though—call it nihilism if you may—at the very least, she should be tolerable to her qualms and fear not the fortunate reality of losing me; arms unfolding, heart reaching, mind forgetting.

and fade away, i will. a plastic boy like me has no place in a cardboard world like this.

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1 – hope your heart gets soon

it’s all coming back to me now…

that laugh, half-remembered.

vicious dreams, buried under deep

in an attempt to submerge

my own brain in a vat of denial.

your charm; reckless, relentless—

so fucking interesting to me.

i thought i’d already let you out of

my system, but sometimes i still

get a little sick of myself and the way

you swim under my tangled veins

so that i can’t bleed you out.

oh, we did have some good times,

before my distractions tumbled down

the stairs and it shattered along

with the fragile illusion of you.

it never mattered much, but i tried

to hide it away until then, and before

now—shameful, pathetic, deluded.

but i try, h. i don’t know why i do,

and i don’t know why you’re returning

to the shallow depths of my mentality

when i least expected it—it’s been

three years now, i have counted.

and still; when the countdown ended,

when the ball dropped and everyone

kissed their friends and bubby glasses

and cheered at deafening fireworks,

i still found my midnight sky to be lit up

with your most distant memories.

it’s all slowly coming back to me now—

that youthful smile, half-forgotten.

violent dreams, making me scream

in an attempt to capture my attention.

the doubt and insanity of it all…

i don’t know if i mind having it back again.

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I’ve Got All This Blood On My Hands (And None In My Body)

Stay out of the light or the photograph that I gave you
You can say a prayer if you need to
Or just get in line and I’ll grieve you
Can I meet you, alone, another night and I’ll see you
Another night and I’ll be you
Some other way to continue, to hide my face…

~*~

I wanna turn your insides to white (say it ain’t so)

So it looks good on my bedroom walls (black, blonde, red)

My heart’s been bleached by the tidal waves (so wash me out)

I wonder if it had any colour at all (maybe not)

.

(So they say that the switchblade is better than the sense)

Well then, let’s see how you look in basketcase drag

(So they say that all this praying won’t make you a saint)

Well then, let’s see how you look when it goes bad

.

It’s not profound or romantic (it’s a mechanical interlude)

And I’m tired of (waiting for) all the infinite eulogies

(And they all put words in my mouth that) make me feel sick

Babe, I just wanted to sever a vein (but you made it plural)

.

(The incineration of another night, the gunshots rang clear

The townspeople screamed as a body fell out of a windowsill

Sirens wailed and ambulances crashed to the beat of my heart

Screaming “fucking save me!”, but it was all a nightmare thrill)

.

‘Cause Magdalene’s desecrated (and her scripture womb) now ain’t sacred

‘Cause all your best friends will only get together when somebody starts to die

‘Cause you can have your fucking funeral but still end up running late for it

(‘Cause you might) say grace all you want and still throw up (pure lies)

.

(Say it ain’t so) I wanna turn your insides inside out

(Black, blonde, red) And end up drunk on your bedroom walls

(So wash me out) My heart’s been drowned off by the tidal waves

(Maybe not) I wonder if it meant anything to you at all.

~*~

And we’ll all dance alone to the tune of your death
We’ll love again, we’ll laugh again
And it’s better off this way
And never again, and never again
They gave us two shots to the back of the head
And we’re all dead now…

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aromantic

but darling, just

what is love

but another word

for the feeling

i could never have?

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sanguine

When everyone you thought you knew
Deserts your fight, I’ll go with you
You’re facing down a dark hall
I’ll grab my light and go with you…

~*~

you kicked up reckless dusk,

and for a moment, time was yours.

i sat on the kerb and wept,

lost in the haze of fog and music,

watching the years go by with

nothing more than flammable illusions

cutting open the stars because you didn’t bleed,

waking up with dead skies because i couldn’t love—

letting the alarms go off hour after hour

but never letting the nightmare end, melting

away into paranoia and humiliation,

red lips a soundless “darling, i’m fucking cold.”

ignorant eyes couldn’t see the last of us

until it’s held at speculated gunpoint…

do you have to cross the start of the horizon

before they could see that you’ve died?

do i have to cross two lines off my hand

before i could ever try to live?

~*~

And go with you, I’ll go with you
I’ll go with you, I’ll go with you, yeah
Stay with me, no, you don’t need to run
Stay with me, my blood, you don’t need to run…

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Danielle’s Falling October

Oh yes, she’s my redhead darling

The rarest kind that makes autumn feel so jealous

From her button freckles to her pumpkin-spice skin

She dances vivaciously in a riot of fireplace colours

.

Oh yes, she’s my redhead darling

The rarest kind that always makes my vintage heart feel new

When the pages are torn to cliffhangers and wishful nothings

Her camera smile captures every quaint blush of my pale hue.

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nocturnes, numbers, nyctophilia

It meant nothing to him any longer, only a faint tinge of sadness—and somewhere within him, a drop of pain moving briefly and vanishing, like a raindrop on the glass of a window, its course in the shape of a question mark. ~Atlas Shrugged, Ayn Rand

~*~

i.) the jealous penmanship

clever words left tears forming in my brain

ones that i have to open up my healing bruises

just so i could let them out somewhere

somewhere my veins wouldn’t be affected severely

(it was late at night, and my stars called out from nowhere)

sensations poured out from every letter and departure,

as it entangled itself with my nerves and wore them down,

and wore them like a dirty dress, and wore them out to town

until they were worn-out; nothing but a few stray threads.

i burned half of my journals when i turned 16 and stopped trying

to imitate being an author, because writing for me isn’t an expectation–

it’s nothing but another puzzling lock without a skeleton key

and because the most delicate daydream wasn’t mine

because selfishness, to me, is not just another bland adjective

because my bones screamed with the weight of a black hole

because your reveries were enchanting. and mine were f a d e d

n o , i ‘ l l  n e v e r  b e  a s  g o o d  a s  y o u

~*~

ii.) softness, like his heart in the shape of a newborn galaxy

i faded into an ugly shade of something that’s neither monochrome nor coloured;

on the verge of collapsing onto the other side of the fence, threatening madly

but never quite having the contemplation to choose a losing side

as i fell down into the blue of a stranger’s wanderlust eyes.

someone else had taken most of that vibrant shade already, but i managed

to steal away just a sliver, a glimpse, an infinitesimal shiver

and it was the kind of lasting cold that froze summer hurricanes

and kept my breaths visibly foggy and crisply sharp with every inhale

(you never warned me. you don’t know me, but you knew me too well. and i never listen.)

i’ll always be an insignificant detail in the cyan tapestry you painted for yourself

and i’ve accepted that long ago when i said i loved you in my nightmares,

tossing and turning on the bed covered in plastic arrogance because

no other blanket felt warm and comfortable enough for my body to sleep on

until then, i could only sink deeper into the fathomless wish that this universe would end s o o n

i t  w a s  a  k i n d  o f  l o v e  t h a t  m a d e  s u i c i d e  s o u n d  l i k e  m u s i c

~*~

iii.) an abrupt goodbye/the guilty party often disappears first

i was mad at something. i didn’t know what it was, but it was foolish enough

for me to take it out onto the embracing autumn sky, on the taciturn smiles that

were supposed to hold me when tempestuous desolation grabbed at my twisted throat…

and on you. you never meant anything. you just wanted to talk, and so did i,

but my tongue was a spilling box of blades, and every time i opened my

wounded mouth to make you laugh, i always ended up cutting you by accident instead.

(friend, even if i said i’m sorry, can you ever forgive me for what i’ve done to you?)

it was an unreasonable apology, and i erased myself because of my own self-hatred,

but not before leaving footprints of a migraine in your head, which you will inadvertently step on,

slip at, and hurt yourself…fuck. i don’t know why i’m like this. i don’t know why i have

to push and pull apart the only semblance of logic in my life, the only anchor

that keeps me from towing away from the tides, the last person that still feels real to me

when everything else has blurred into an amalgamated indistinct static background;

i don’t know why i feel so smothered, when you’re the only attention i’ll ever have and need.

at this point, the only thing we have is each other’s problems, and the way we both

jeered at it, taunted it, and blocked it out with our own shared playlists until we felt better—

but now that summer was just a distant memory, and so was the scarlet artwork we made of it.

you also needed comfort. but did even try? no. i ran away from the colliding wreckage

as if it wasn’t my fault, and i numbed myself out because i couldn’t do the same for y o u

i ‘ m  s o r r y  i  m a d e  y o u  s a y  s o r r y  s o  m u c h . . .

i  d i d n ‘ t  m e a n  t o  d e s t r o y  e v e r y t h i n g

~*~

iv.) the midnight closes. the violent curtain falls.

the cold glow of my computer screen was rude and restless

and it made my fingers promise, crossed and uncrossed, that i would

stay with it until it slips into comatose. i have rinsed my mouth with lukewarm water

a hundred times to try to wash out the taste of stale coffee, but it never came out and now

i’m stuck with it until morning, until another astrological moon cycle, until i lose

myself in the chemical moments of something that’s so artificially natural.

i’m constantly starving myself, stuck between confidence and relapsing withdrawals of

my past life that i thought i discarded when i finally held on to my shooting star,

but it was always tethered tightly to me by a crimson string. and it always probably will be.

i’m alone. i’m friends with people that talk shit to me in the mirror, and when i bite

my chapped lips and draw blood by accident, it almost feels like atonement. almost.

(i got what i came for and i can’t try again. this is what i want…..isn’t it?)

i know that there are people out there making fun of me and rolling their eyes

petulantly as they bask in the trite, whimsical “perfection” of their storybook existence

but not everything has a happy ending, and not every sad story has to end badly.

i don’t know. i’ll never know. i’m tired and i have responsibilities that i’m not

built for, and every crack turns into a break, and a break into shattered p i e c e s

t o m o r r o w  i ‘ l l  d o  t h i s  o v e r  a g a i n  .  u n t i l  i  r u n  o u t  o f  t o m o r r o w s .

~*~

v.) nocturnes.

( a n d  i ‘ l l  s t a y  h e r e )

u n t i l  i  r u n  o u t  o f  n u m b e r s  t o  c o u n t ,

a n d  t h o u g h t s  t o  f e e l ,

a n d  n i g h t s  t o  s t a y  a w a k e .

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The Devil’s Vision

Must I denounce myself as a monster while you refuse to see the one growing inside you?” ~Hannibal Lecter

~*~

He drips blood from the corners of his sightless eyes

And wipes it off silently, praying no one has seen his lies

But the devil drew smiles just as he drew out red water

Devour the mind and heart, teeth a grim rorschach splatter

“What do you see?” asks he, as the clock begins unraveling

He pretends the blindfold is tight enough to obscure sin

Enemies will flee as their friends are turned upside-down

The blunt instrument glints, a masquerade of gruesome frowns

And at the edge of the madness, the verge of suspended hell again

The devil sits with discretion, adjusting his veil of human skin

As he tends to the fear, crying in vain, losing their very humanity

And the devil is hungry, oh-so hungry—“do…you…see…?”

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Filed under Fandom Poetry, Poetry

phantom boy

don’t you go,

phantom boy

i’m still not done

painting your portrait

to hang in my walls

long after the house rots,

long after i’ve passed away.

they said to let you go

for you’ve already found

your bluest heaven

where you can sleep with

fleecy floral angels,

but i don’t think i could

let you go that easily.

i want to capture you,

your ethereal silhouettes,

your faded outlines,

your scars and scepticisms,

your details and blurs,

and your coalescing heart.

because i still have mine,

phantom boy

and it beats angrily—

refusing to let me rest

until every colour, linework,

and careful brushstroke

is immaculate and

tastes tangibly of you.

i know you wish to leave soon,

phantom boy…

but won’t you please stay

and spare me just

one last masterpiece?

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