Tag Archives: hurt

blood and whiskey

sin after sin

vice after vice

piling them all in

i’m done playing nice

underhanded pains

underage drinking

do i give a fuck

i’m slowly sinking?

being sober is too taxing

feeling is such a drag

overthinking is caustic

my heart is making me gag

bitter tastes good

and wrong feels right

let’s screw up my system

one by one tonight

one for flesh, mutilated

two for kidney, bathed in salt

three for liver, fried away

four for system, sleep default

five for the soul i thought

i could finally save then

but i revert into misery

again and again and again

where’s the harm

in a little indulgence

when all life’s given you

is bullshit and nonsense?

don’t know what i’m doing

i don’t want to even mind

all i care about is transgressions

and i’m falling behind

so numb i couldn’t even feel

the sound of my voice

and i laugh without smiling

a horrible fucking noise

trying to forget the mistakes

that i tallied in crimson

i’m cutting my pain in half

taking advice from king solomon

because innocence is fragile

and soon it will goddamn shatter

until your regretful stupidity

is all that even matters

sin after sin, vice after vice

it gets better they say, but fuck, it’s all lies

and i’m only trying to have some fun

in a hellhole of an existence that offers me none.

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Filed under Poetry

slipping back

please don’t make me do it

i only wish to remain untainted

until the end of the year

my scars still hurt from time to time

and i know i could never wash them away

with the strongest dose of sorry

.

please don’t make me do it

i’ve been scot-free for almost a month

i want badly to believe i can make it through

but i close my eyes and see flashes

of a gleam and spurting blood

painting my bedroom walls with delirious laughter

.

please don’t make me do it

i promised them my life that i wouldn’t

but it’s so difficult to grasp onto fragile straws

and it’s so easy to lie about these malignant stains

splotching my pleading skin with colours

chromaticity of the worst kind

.

please don’t make me do it

the voices are starting anarchy in my head

and it’s giving me a painful headache

i don’t know which one will drive me insane first

and i don’t want to go back anymore

but i’m so tempted to give in—it’s all so easy

make it stop. make it stop. make it stop…

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The Game Played Right

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.

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Stomachaches

My body’s weak, it gave up on me
This time I don’t think I will get out from
What I’m underneath, it’s hard to believe
Another day of rain has come and gone…

~*~

curled up compact

as shockwaves of pain

twist daggers up my sides

doubling over metallic tang

as i coughed up rust

breaking, breaking

.

coiled within and writhing

as the shock slithers into aches

breaking apart in sulphurous acid

tearing holes in my viscera

as i’m blistered and vitriolic

hurting, hurting

.

contorted inhumanely

as the irascible aftershocks

flowed magma on my insides

burning me internally

as i waited for it to be over

dying, dying.

~*~

“Don’t go” she said
I wouldn’t mind but I’m cold inside
I’ve felt so bad for so long
I’m scared I’m fine…

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Filed under Poetry

eye. see. you.

and your eyes

are toxic

i close my own

and see

glimpses of that

wary glint

digging daggers in

my sockets

hurting me badly

the longer

i stare, the longer

you glare

shade of the pupils

snap fibres

blinding me again—

and i miss it…

i miss dying in your

violent gaze.

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There’s Something About Her

Am I eccentrical? 
Exactly what you want
You’d rather give me up
I’m all alone, yeah, I’m alive
Just see how I arrive
Am I someone that you adore?

~*~

What is it about you

That makes me believe

That I’m always less

Of me than I need?

.

What is it about you

That makes me vain

To throw bricks at your

Window when it rains?

.

What is it about you

That makes me stare

To spit in my own eyes

Frustrated that I care?

.

What is it about you

That makes me envy hurt

As the sting of your apathy

Tastes like bittered ice curt?

.

What is it about you

That makes me feel bad

That makes me feel anger

And shitty love in a ballad?

.

What is it about you

That makes me remember

Conversations hostaged by

A gun, memories never over?

.

What is it about you

That makes me see myself

In the chasm of your eyes

Drinking me in to the death?

.

What is it about you

That makes me ask again

Even though you ceased

I’m tempted to keep you in?

.

What is it about you

Making me loathe you thorough

Tell me, just what is it about you

That makes me deign for you so?

~*~

I don’t care, don’t let me die here
Wait, you know I wanna, wait, you know I’m gonna
It’s like you want me to, it’s like you want me to
Stay, you know I’m gonna, stay, you know I wanna
It’s like you want me to, it’s like you want me to fail…

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Filed under Poetry

melting point

please leave

me alone

i don’t wish to

mould a candle

wax smile,

dripping off into

an ugly shapeless

mass the longer

the fire burns,

and i don’t want

you to get hurt

by its scalding

remains.

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metal & skin (xxxiii.)

it’s a banal addiction

it’s a hurting poison

it’s nothing but a self-indulged fight

it’s mindless, wrong

and they say be strong

but why does it feel so fucking right?

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meta; & skin (xxxii.)

i used to keep count

of the crimson lines

a bleeding notch for

each one of my sins

but now i lost track

of the number, both

arms exsanguinated,

and i ran out of skin.

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Filed under Poetry

Headlines & White Wine

I could never tell what’s on my mind when you are inside it

Lenient limerence against the lashing lacerations, on repeat

Over a cypress tree you painted in grey and told me to climb

Vagabond heart hiding behind a million branches, I can’t find

Elusive footprints you left in the virgin snow sing a soft melody

Defying the limbo I’m trapped in, fugue nightmare of my vanity

Your cinder block notes and forte strings cut me to the very bone

Orchard chasing sunset, counting sparrows until we end up alone

Undersea glow that drowned my eyes in a steady gurgling cadence

Victory you’ve held apart from me, my darling southern enchantress

I see now the sky you perceived, the suicide reds and sweetest scarlet

Clairvoyance of the words you tucked in my head, I won’t ever lose it.

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Filed under Poetry