Tag Archives: idek anymore

I Put the “Fun” in Funeral

Get down, get low, turn the radio on
You’re invited to a graveyard party tonight
Punk is heavy and the moon is full
Dead never looked to beautiful…

~*~

Don’t expect me back next morning

I’ll be busy shopping for body bags

And tagging my own fresh cadaver

The grave won’t dig itself, you’ll see

.

Don’t expect my visit this afternoon

I’ll be sniffing aroma formaldehyde

And letting my tailor sew me a suit

I’m composing my eulogy, obituary

.

Don’t expect me to sit on for supper

I’ll have a chat with the undertaker

Updated my last will and testament

For the church pastor’s wake litany

.

Don’t expect me to stay for tonight

I’m picking the colour of my coffin

And planning funeral arrangements

But you’re welcome to come with me

.

Don’t expect me to be here for forever

And stick around for this deadbeat life

Baby, don’t you see? You’re the reason

Why I’m throwing this party, honestly.

~*~

What happened to the life of the party?
I’m not kidding, we’re all dead
Now everybody’s passed out, face down
The sun is rising and the fire has faded away
And even if we have to move it to the next town

We’re gonna rock it, this week anyway.
D-I-E…we won’t be dead forever!

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Glock Girl and Bayonet Boy

Nothing changes but the weather
You just think that you got better
Time doesn’t heal, it scabs the wound
I won’t cover, cover my scars for you
Victim of deceit, weighed down by your
Heavy hand; a constant battle
Between who you want, and who I am…

~*~

Here’s step one, don’t you dare run and tell me what the hell I’ve done

Elucidate and face the stars, don’t fuck around with me, say it’s all fun

You say that you’re a cannibal baby, damn, you’re eating out my heart

Don’t choke on my gristles, don’t shock me then say it was for a restart

.

Maybe I’m being assumptive, your paranoid best friend is going insane

I’m a cordial next door neighbour, and I’m just being a bastardous pain

Ironic electricity on your sweaters and the thunder shoes that you wear

You weren’t being cheerful when you let that cyclone catch in your hair

.

Discretion was not your apex marauder, and you pushed me in the moat

You testified for perjury and starved to death and I fed you my scapegoat

A headspace is what I need, thought you’ll clear my skull, not sick up on it

I’d love to interfere in your pathetic dramaticisms, but I got too much shit

.

If psychological pawns are your opiods, guess my hit wore out in one drag

I’m tired of the way I’ll have to confront the ravine if there aren’t any crags

If it’s schematic or systemic, I don’t know, my reputation’s a goddamn mess

I guess you’ll never acknowledge the bromide you slipped me under duress

.

So then fine, let’s play this game, let’s be bitching and stalking with binoculars

If I upset your shriveled tiny soul, you can find me in junkyards declaring war

Just let the alcohol subside, we’ll be as sober as rocks crashing against the tide

I’m glad to have someone to load the ammunition when all my guns have lied.

~*~

I’ll see you at the fucking crossroads
I’ll make you bite through your tongue
When you see who I am today
I’ll make you hate what you’ve done
Cover your tracks, let revenge flood
You’ve made your mark, blood will have blood!

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Calypso Syndrome

It’s strange, this calypso.

I never minded it much at first, dismissing it airily as one of those Muzak or background noises that you never really notice until it becomes an unbearable itch, and only then do you start paying attention to it. But in a rather unusual case, this itch of mine grew all the more inflamed, and eventually my skin opened into bleeding sores that are unable to heal. By that time I can no longer simply wrap it with gauze and bandage and pretend it wasn’t there, waiting patiently for it to close into scars on its own accord. And the poisonous tune in my wounds began to affect not just my veins, but my neurones as well. And for a pleasantly tintinnabulum orchestration, it surprisingly hurts.

The calypso comes and goes with thrums of drumbeats and ludicrous whistling and other intertwining instruments that I am unable to disentangle from one another to properly identify, and though I must admit it’s a finessed, almost elegant tune, it’s also making me conjure the queerest of surrealistic denominations and distorted, perplexing thoughts from out of nowhere, sort of like a surrogate deconstruction, an impermeable derealisation, but gradually worse in the long run. Somewhere at the back of my mind I picture cowboys with revolver guns and Stetson hats, mounted on horses and kicking dust and desert tumbleweeds everywhere, and I’m the unlucky pilgrim that got caught by the rope and towed in their blistering lassos. But I’m not biding my time to contact lead poisoning, nor am I willing to scalp some nemesis. No siree, I shall hack away at the abrasive bonds with a silver butterfly knife, drink a round of hard liquor victoriously at the saloon, and retire by the brothel with a painted lady by my side.

What…what am I even saying anymore? This nonsensical metaphor further drives me off the exploding rocket, that musical calypso pirouetting daintily in my subconscious like a music box ballerina spinning soft and delicate in its silent gears, yet at the same time gnashing angrily like an undeterred steam train wearing down its metal tracks with a screeching discordance. The residual smoke from either grinding clockwork machines is making my head feel quite hazy and warm, to a point almost feverish, and you might see pewter whorls rising from out my ears. My bonny maiden, what have you done to my mind?

My dear, sweet, darling maiden, forgive my ideologies and spare my heart no harm. What have you done to me? Your melody is luring me in, onto a cliff, which I could’ve sworn was filled with tantric torrents of stygian waters and jagged rocks brandished mercilessly to impale me at the bottom, but now it looks like a doorway to paradise, the palest cerulean glimmering softly like a polished sapphire, a fantastic reflection of an immaculate cloudless sky, though not of the greyed hurricane skies accompanied by a foreboding drizzle, that the sombre weather has to offer today, so I haven’t the faintest where the parallel mimicked itself from. Heaven, perhaps. And if I lean in closer and dare to hang one ear off the edge, I could almost swear that your harmony’s getting quite louder, less garbled, less shrieking, more pronounced and more than decipherable. I’m almost tempted to jump right in, if only to have to listen to that perfect symphony palpably, but perhaps for even more sensible reasons as well. Or sensible to myself, anyways.

My quivering legs are beginning to dangle off into vast emptiness like a terrified child testing the cold water with his toes, and every last vestige of my dispersing sanity and gracious consciousness begs for me to back away from this dangerous farce, to catch my breath and touch my back for feathered wings that aren’t there, to shatter my delusions along with my fallen halo and walk it off, walk it off and never return. But that would be like throwing away the most decadent, succulent, most tantalising piece of fruit the entire planet has ever produced, without bothering to bite down on it and get even just a single taste of paradise, and I know once I waste it on initial hesitation, I’ll never get it back.

It’s hypnotising, this calypso…the never-ending music…that ocean of eternal aegean…this perennial phantasmic phenomena…it strains my invocation of curiosity very much…it winks at me, calls out to me, taunts and mocks and jeers at me…I cannot take this any longer…I must—no, I will know…I shall put an effective stopper to this vexatious mystery once and for all…to cease the sores from infection and haemophilic bleeding…to slash away the ropes of the rampaging cowboys…to cool down this deliriously smoking fever…and to return to my ultimate empyrean destination with welcoming arms to my elusive fair maiden…once…more.

I stare downwards at the dizzying drop as I allow it to pull me in—

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Fine Friends

Fine friends

Tie your noose

Tighten your blues

Titanium hues

.

Fine friends

Can age like wine

Or age to whine

Both undefined

.

Fine friends

A beastly bunch

Your head for lunch

Ignore your hunch

.

Fine friends

Like sticks and stones

They bust your bones

With broken undertones

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Fine friends

Are always there

They do, they care

But end up nowhere

.

Fine friends

And they’ll extend

Sad farewell to send

For when it all ends

.

Fine friends, crash and burn

Into vile friends they will turn

When all has torn apart, grown

Perhaps I’m just better off alone.

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Filed under Poetry