Tag Archives: idea

M a n i f e s t

i will never understand how you leave me like this.

this sorry state of mine, wretchedly piteous. i feel as though all of the pivotal sockets in my body are being violently wrenched away from their joints; every part of me is so stretched out to its very limits that if you were to do so much as to gently touch me, your hand would simply rip right through my gossamer skin.

yet this pain…it’s rather so elegant, so otherworldly, so magnanimously efficacious, that i simply can’t help but agonisingly writhe my way back to it again, despite knowing the inevitable torture that lies ahead. the sight of you. the sound of you. the merest infinitesimal sense of you—so frustratingly palpable that your conjured afterimage begins to bleed into the monochrome universe around me, until i could no longer see anyone nor anything anymore, but you.

you. you. you. you’re clinging onto me like confused kerosene to an open flame, ideas scheming ideations, screaming ideologies, spilling idle love.

you leave me like this, and yet you l e a v e .

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Filed under Prose

Purple Ink (an adventure in absentia)

You accidentally slipped in purple ink and died

Because you were busy pacing, too preoccupied

Chewing nervously on the end of your dented Biro

Accentuating every last thought with a sigh hitherto

.

Upon waking and discovery, you jolt in a dazed state

Your dirt-beaten striped sneakers noisily squeaking

As you dusted yourself and held your awaiting fate

You began your unlikely journey and start travelling

.

Wandering lost upon a forestry of a wildlife mind

Every thick foliage a verdant idea finely efflorescing

Every path an untraced road of the life you left behind

Crushed carmine blossoms plucked away and wilting

.

No sense of direction. Where are you? The lunar ostentation

Pierces into your amour-propre, setting it blindingly alight

With your foolish absurdity, in bland starless observations

Of the complacent monsters you’ve yet to encounter and fight

.

Chasing after creeping vineyards, when their wine is parched

Do you understand? They’ve nothing left to give your thirsty soul

A paucity of the former, this broken forest you vainly marched

What’s the endgame to this latent excuse of a failing goal?

.

Your sanity has turned upon yourself, hordes of screaming demons

That reach for your insatiable hunger, in a lusting of the brain stem

Where’s the exit? Where’s the exit? You attempt vainly yet stumble, gone

Reaching for the light at the end of the tunnel as they devour your lumen

.

Consciousness prods at your eyes, the form of an almost irritating light

Hear an alarm of a beeping machine like a metronome and salty liquid

Your head shall be fine, you’ll recover, doctors assure your ghastly sight

Their placated shiny smiles of false relief dripping disgustingly insipid

.

You accidentally slipped in purple ink, hit your head, and yet surprisingly survived

They said it was a nice miracle, but then again, the Vatican fabulists love a good lie

For the creatures slopped their saliva all over your cerebrum, infecting you thereon

Think it a ludicrous story? Dear, you should’ve seen that slimy ink you stepped upon.

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Filed under Poetry