Tag Archives: hunger

25 – revelations

my schizophrenic shadow wistfully overlooks the edge of the world, and i despair; and i despair.

my vulnerable screams are plangent and writhing, yet no hands clamber for salvation, only mine; only mine. the blood from my scars clot and turn into vicious rubies, scratching under my skin, entangled arteries blocked with the sound of desperate confessions and faithless escape. soporific gazes puncture my eyes like clever sin, injecting doses of pity and false concern, and my diseases lie; and they lie.

against commas and halos, only the propane in my dry mouth tastes of sleep. though the sourest hints of fire is nothing but another bad affinity, another chaotic weather, another apologetic insomnia last night; was it last night? i find myself distraught with overwhelming furore, pervaded senses intruding the compromised chambers of my chest and colliding against my ribs, my painfully-starved ribs. my taut insides churn and hunger against me angrily. i deserve nothing less.

my bruised fingers are mere cowards for not pushing the rusted knife in deeper now, and deeper still. my tender flesh is weak for buckling and shivering against my final prayer for remedy, one last suffering goodbye, an unwritten note belied in self-sabotage. my crass willpower is a fledgling deceiver, for somehow fully convincing my desensitised mind that it can leave no warmth, no life, no breath inside my poorly-shattered spine, by the time she finally arrives too late to wonder why the hell i did such unspeakable actions; oh, she must wonder why.

failure, again; and again. i can do no harm—god, why can’t i?

as cascading chains of sunlight eventually incarcerate my catatonic body in an overwhelming apoplexy of pain, i simply sit in the suffocating confines of that final concluding silence, and morning awaits. mourning awaits.

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17 – urge

today, he woke up after four hours of a very restless sleep, his cold bones craving madly with the overpowering desire to simply cease existing.

it wasn’t his usual run-of-the-mill panic attack or anything he could handle. it felt…different, somehow. more threatening. more accessible. more tangible.

it felt strange as hell to him, and considering that his main thoughts consisted of daily morbid jokes about demise, that was already saying a lot. all he wanted to do then was to go back to sleep, but every time he shut his eyes, he could vividly envision his own warm blood liberally pouring out of his arms and spilling all over his bedsheets, dripping from the edges of his stained white pillows, and finally pooling all over the floor, where it patiently awaited for someone else to stumble and get hurt on it.

it felt real. it was almost too real. he wanted it to be real. this time, this time, this time

he was so tired and confused; still muddled by the coalescing haze of heavy medication and sleep deprivation. he didn’t know what to do anymore. he wanted to physically call out for help, to chat up a casual friend and tell them about everything that’s running on his mind, or perhaps to dial his estranged parent’s number and finally confess that he couldn’t take it anymore; anything but keeping it to himself again. this was dangerous. he’s in danger. he should save himself.

but he didn’t do any of those. he couldn’t. after all this time, he still could fucking not.

so instead, he gave way to asinine distractions and a different kind of pain to bide him by, hoping that what he was doing is going to be enough; waiting, waiting, waiting.

it’s been eight hours since he first woke up. he’s still all alone and staring dully at the darkened walls of his bedroom, and the immense hunger is carving his protesting flesh into a sculpted gauntness, but he doesn’t dare move. he barely even dares to breathe.

now, he’s calmed down considerably—but not in the way he should have been. he’s too calm. he shouldn’t be this calm.

and it scares him.

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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

Lie to the Truth

When I started out writing you this song
I was heels over head in love, but you had your doubts
‘Cause it took too long to finally see what I
What I’d been doing wrong…

~*~

My brain no longer contracts

Or twists in circles at the thought

My blood no longer circulates

And my heart fails to leap a beat

.

Oh, this tragedy of fugacious whims

Beating down the numb with too much sense

Compromising to entangle red strings

Hoping that two souls would starve the same

,

But three’s a crowd, and the painful hunger persists

It’s time to throw one or the other to the tides

The way of happy reality is just a sorrowful mystery

As double half-truths last longer than the truth

.

I attempt to convince myself of the erroneous fact

As if that would save the submerging illusion

Pretend I’m not drowning under as I take on water

And hold the hands of the heavyweight elation

.

Feelings disappearing before orion storms wash away

Agitated pulse screaming of kerosene fires and laudanum

Pulling my drifting self behind in a cage of indecision

Before all that I have is confiscated from my faltering eyes.

~*~

We tried to be true but you still loved him so
I’ll keep my distance and lie to the truth
I lie to the truth, I lie to the truth’
Cause you lied to it too…

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Come, Morning Light

The fire that left your blanket in ashes

Won’t trouble your cold heart anymore

And the angels that carried your parents

Will not return to take your heart to soar

.

As your little grey ragdoll sits by the ruins

Of the playground you once called “home”

And the shadows that used to play with you

Have disappeared, and now you feel so alone

.

Your tears have mixed with the relentless rain

That put out the wild flames alighting the city

Blossoms wilt and thorns flourish in the grass

The bloodred sunset is more scary than pretty

.

Your brother and sister went off with toy guns

And never returned even after they all promised

So now you sit by the orphanage’s cellar stairs

With others who lost their mummies and daddies

.

Are you alone in this world of detritus and rust?

Every light is killed with a dropping bomb again

Death is your lullaby, quiet music behind the dust

Faithless, will there be someone to save you then?

.

But no, don’t you cry now behind that gas mask

I’ll keep you safe from all the questions unasked

I’ll sing you a song, as this sky falls in fragments

Shield you with my wounded arms from the glass

.

Please don’t fear, you will never have to be hungry

You might dream of hell but heaven is yours to see

Asphalt grey and storms of gloom, as wind billows

Muffle every disaster, sleep soundly in your pillow

.

The war was never meant to be fought by innocence

Just machines to tear apart and men with losing sense

To your damaged soul, fettered with doubts and fears

No one will hurt you now…you’ll be alright, I promise

.

Someday the battle will end, and hope shall soon arrive

We can’t take back what’s lost, but we can change our lives

Open your eyes when the sun returns to shade the dawn

To see the rising daybreak where all your nightmares are gone.

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Filed under Poetry

Escape From Hell

Or would you say that I had a part of it?
Well, I guess we’ll never know
Constant recovery
I see you choke and it takes my breath away
But all is good, we close our eyes
They all accept the lie…

~*~

Now, don’t you dare say I had any part of this

That assault was undisguised and remorseless

When the faces in the mirror melted into ghosts

If I can save our hunger, guess we’ll never know

.

Next up, constantly crossing staler thresholds of recovery

As I bruise my bones, uncertainty slips between my knees

Don’t stop, shaking and breaking against painful demands

And you could make the sugar taste like salt in your hands

.

Before the hearts of the heartless burn down the bloodless

Trapped in the spinning spokes, and crushed in failing tests

Neglect reckless ambivalence, amplify the screaming angels

Elusive degeneration suspended back to a contaminated hell

.

A procession of painkillers parading in my tumescent tongue

From carotid to clavicle, this concussion hits like a blank gun

Treachery will never leave your ears, no matter what the cost

The invalid and confined crawl in damned realms, forever lost

.

Reject habitual vindication, accept their saccharine lies that feed

To the unresponsive eyes craving desperately for what they need

And we’re tangled in this fucking mess our veins will never show

If I’m still innocent, if you could be saved, guess we’ll never know.

~*~

I let you down, and I started to run
Never meant to be your pain
Oh my god, what have I become?
Show me and show me the way back
Show me the way back home!

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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

It’s Never Over

Despite all my rage
I am still just a rat in a cage
Then someone will say
What is lost can never be saved…

~*~

REALITY STAGE PLAY

Crafty pickpockets and sickly grey puppets

Thieving rats scuttling around the broken set

Lose your depleted wallet, cause a huge racket, try to defend

Get beaten up, the curtain drops, but the show never really ends.

~*~

DEAR CHARLOTTE

Writing sweet letters to his dearest Charlotte

Never once discovering that she was a closet harlot

And whispering false promises in desperation to another John

Burning useless money for the company of anyone.

~*~

EXTINGUISHED HOPE

Her child cries wild, his stomach screaming of hunger

As she struggles to balance on the bridge they live under

Cradling him, saying promises, singing a lullaby to soothe

Even though the stars had already gone out in her universe.

~*~

PARASITE FARM

Germs of society, no one is safe from harm

A ground full of bloated worms, a parasitic farm

Bacteria masticating away at the resources like a rabid pig

Eating at the core of the world in their frenzy of greed.

~*~

BUTTERFLY WINGS

Living in a crimson world dominated by guns

Where the criminals are free and the innocents run

And all a child could do is attach butterfly wings to a bullet

A last-minute innocence before they get murdered by it.

~*~

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