Tag Archives: illusion

Sleepyheads

Found no solution but to let the pieces fall where they fall
Even with nothing left, I’ve got more than you know
I wanna let you in and we’ll begin
I oversimplify this all the time
Somehow I think that I’m alone
I wake up every day and change my mind…

~*~

Good morning, darling sunshine, how are you today?

I’m a thousand miles where I live, and a million where you are

But it’s a little closer to you, and a little less familiar

I’m up eight floors of daybreak and shaded in viridian colours

Although it’s a quiet haze for me, I’ve never felt better

.

Good morning, yellow lovely, hope you’re having a great day

My blankets may be cold, but my dreams feel rather safe

Of insane trainwrecks and mad doctors and accidental murders

Okay—perhaps it was a little strange, but I must confess

I woke up in metaphysical iridescence, and I’ve never felt the best

.

Good morning (or perhaps evening), how do you do?

I’ve gone to places and labyrinthine mazes and incoherent disputes

But the best is where I was, where I don’t think too much

Where I’m content with overly-caffeinated nights and later-day chats

And I still constantly think of home—not the place I’ve been

But inside the illusion of infinity thereafter, where I’m contented again.

~*~

Why did I let it go? Why did I leave myself?
No explanation as to why I’m here and not somewhere else
It’s reaping what I sow, I think I need some help
I wanna let you in, and we’ll begin..

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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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the one

Only you can make all this world seem right
Only you can make the darkness bright
Only you and you alone can thrill me like you do
And fill my heart with love for only you…

~*~

how can i say

that i envy the chase

from the tip of my pencil

to your graphite gaze?

spitting my heart

onto an endless canvas

of greys and blacks,

hoping the red would stain…

but it never does.

only your floral words are

indelible on my skin

and the reverse

is just a lie i tell myself

so i could sleep a little better

every forsaken night.

the truth is far from your moon;

beyond all your pretty stars

and iridescent eternities,

it is despairingly beyond my fathoms.

but i hope, and again i hurt

for butterfly smiles

and deluding taciturn undertows

and nightmarish illusions

leaving bruises of you

on the very tip of my lost tongue

and all over my wept eyes;

a lifeless empty void

against the autumn shower

of your warm hermetic glances.

and there is no one else

to keep this rusted clockwork

ticking rhythmically to the beats

of your mindless cradle…

and that is the ultimate folly

of this ascetic destructive shale

that i tactlessly call my soul.

for a fool’s machinery,

this chemical heart is.

So indiscernible to lose itself in

such vitreous self-infliction,

and sabotaging the very blood

that my tiring arteries

now regain, thus to sustain

the very memory of your breath

in tranquil consonance…

foolish—and yet; a fool, i am.

a fool for believing that this

lie was past the dark side of the moon

and beyond my wounded stars

and lacklustre infinities…

you are despondently beyond my fathoms.

but i hope, and again, i hurt.

ma cherie, just how can i ever say

that i envy the calm reflection

from the incipience of your melody

to your coda’s revelations?

~*~

Only you can make all this change in me
For it’s true, you are my destiny
When you hold my hand
I understand the magic that you do
You’re my dream come true
My one and only you…

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La Bella Fantasia

“I swear that I can hear you in the wind…”

~*~

little phantasmic phantoms dance about

growing flowers at the garden of my mind

waiting to pluck out each bluebell and daisy

to fashion the wreaths into something kind

the playful zephyr is a fair weather friend

lulling each berceuse to sleep until the end

orbit sending me high into the atmosphere

but i won’t fall, no—i have nothing to fear

listening to the cherry blossoms that hide

in the boroughs where there’s a tinkerbell bride

and the mystical creatures would understand

with every speck of dust, a magic that enchants

.

but the delphi hearts and oracular tongues

speak of stories and brier thorns that selfishly clung

to innocent naivete still stubbornly preserved

though only to the pristine youth that it deserves

the wily eyes staring into the darkness osiris

as the nettles grow wild prevent cogent dreams

they scoured the atlas looking for eternal citadels

the nondescript pangs unaware of incarnate bevels

shrines that i pray to now submerged in irascible sins

incoherent adages leaving bruised indentations within

will the pixies be daunted? will the elves repatriate?

Quietly accepting the moiety of their unfortunate fates?

.

but beneath the black and white of underground paradise

is a fair place for scathing asters and aureole mirth alike

beyond the curlicues of charcoal smoke that paint the stars

a gossamer love decays, recording a dictaphone of past wars

in an imbroglio of lotuses, past the wafting scent of sandalwood

on the horizon, a transit of venus, a crescent smiling platitude

thoughts as crystal clear as seaglass, reflect candid illusions

show a bouquet from the spectres, a plethora of guiling ruminations

amid the taste of camphor and lead, i return to lacklustre reality

wondering and pondering when i’ll get lost again in my crafted fantasy.

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aseru

loud vivacious fireworks

and soft iridescent bubbles

little fugacious memento mori

serendipitous whimsical illusions

that i quietly wish to keep eternal

yet when it fades, only melancholy.

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Mary’s Counting Dead Sheep Again

Mary had a little dream
Her eyes were blank and cold
And everywhere that Mary went
The beasts were sure to go…

~*~

Another night spent where there’s nothing but wasted thoughts arbitrarily presenting itself behind my star-sewn eyelids, slaughtering and slandering what little is left of the fleecy drowsiness that I stared the myriad astral bodies into. Horizons blend from honeysuckle sunsets into a velvety-rich midnight, every jaded memory and faded remembrance lying somnolent on my bed, and activated by the flick of an overused lamp switch. Nondescript chagrin is pressing softly at the back of my inundated throat; later on I’m aware that this force will grow until I begin to choke and fail to intake oxygen. For now, I exhale tiredly. The weight of the world trails behind my breath and sinks in the disturbed dust, kicking up old resentments.

I feel vexed. I shouldn’t be trusted to live up to the chimerical expectations that everyone has written down for me in indelible ink, as if it was the byzantine code that would unlock my stubborn rusted heart if they sharpened their blunt needles and tattooed it under the layers of my diaphanous flesh, into my clenched and straining muscles. It hurts, doesn’t it? The bared grins sneer unsympathetically, claws holding me down with incontestable strength, and it’s all I could do to complacently nod, cautiously wary of the glinting guillotine that’s dangling only inches away from my stiffened neck. I’m merely a plaster-cast mind, deranged and cracking under the pressure of the tattered cassock’s final judgment, and someday they will unsheathe me and mock my abstract art.

Despite the vainglorious efforts, painstaking hands filling in the voided gaps with purified liquid gold won’t fix me. It may look to be a desirable effect; yes, and perhaps it would do me good to have a little bit of luminance in the bare, simple vessel I questionably call my body. But in the end it’s nothing but a deceitful playact, an illusion of smoke and mirrors, fragrant cerise roses beneath the ravenous mucilage monster waiting for dear sweet Mary to reach out her delicate hands and get her cherry blonde locks entangled in the lethal thorns. And I do not wish to be darling strawberry-cheeked Mary, adored and oh-so glorified by everyone, yet playing the unfortunate lifeless victim in the end. I won’t be the one being grieved over, I won’t be at the receiving end of the sword; rather, I’ll be the merciless hand holding the ax and wiping the poison off her pallid blue lips.

And where does the verdict of the counseling jury lie, staring down upon me condescendingly with my indelible inked-on vices and gaping neck wounds from grazing the guillotine blade and the inevitable tempered gold patching up my shattered bones, as I hide the bloody murder weapon behind my back and cross my broken fingers, still tasting little Mary’s most saccharine sin and feeling the prickling sensations dig deep into my engraved palms? Will they immediately claim me guilty? Or is my goading charisma enough to get the edacious wolves begging for my forgiveness to save the hunt for another day? The questions hang from my pastel ceiling dreamily, yet the answer rests in my lurid nightmares, I know. I know. For now, I hold my breath and slowly close my star-sewn eyelids, counting the wasted thoughts dragging into another night spent and another soul selling out. One, two, three, four, five…

~*~

…They followed her when she woke up
She woke up, she woke up
They crept into her fragile heart
And made its beating stop.

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Life and all Its Fickle Insanities

Is there a right way for being strong?
Feels like I’m doing things all wrong
Still I’m here just holding on
Confess my heart and forgive my wrongs
Just trying to show you something more…

~*~

You’re trying to keep from going insane

Biting down on your heart to keep from crying out in pain

Walking away from the tomorrow they promised

Would be a grand illusion of borrowed pleasantries

.

If nobody loves you, maybe you deserved none

Existence won’t wait for your fickle mindless derisions

Capture the scars, display them in an album

Filled with bad memories and flickering momentum

.

People might stay for the night, but won’t build your dreams

And the sunset taking back the light is more than it seems

You’re just trying to place the bets on the better

Picking the monochromes and greys in a palette of technicolour

.

Hanging barely on the tightropes by your two fingertips

And the audience might just cheer if you happened to sneeze

If nobody takes you, then maybe you’ll take yourself

Don’t bother trying to pick diamonds out of your golden chest

.

Your fractured ribs will give way to the recalescent candle that stares

Breaking the tongues of forever until you’re naif and unaware

Fighting back the night and holding on to the twisted path of right

Dying again and again until you find that final guiding light

.

You’re just trying to keep from keeping insane

‘Cause ain’t that the way of life and its arid little games

Walking towards the today no one will ever give you

But yourself, this illusion may be grand but the escape won’t beat you.

~*~

Nobody’s gonna love you
If you can’t display a way to capture this
Nobody’s gonna hold your hand
And guide you through, it’s up for you to understand
Nobody’s gonna feel your pain
When all is done and it’s time for you to walk away
When you have today, you should say all that you have to say…

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In Hindsight

Three wasted years, standing still
As you opened up, eighteen miles wide
On this country drive, I can’t keep up
‘Cause you’re so far gone…

~*~

Satin eyelids closing, obstructing castles in the air

Crestfallen subtleties, vintage postcards, cab fares

A drawbridge separating, onto evergreen pastures

Fractious obstinacy lost in throes of verdant cures

Nuanced lips haunting, a tenor’s aria in resonance

Rekindling fiascos within, spectrum in dissonance

Entreaty of moribund curiosity, transforming stars

Eavesdrop from parallel dimensions hidden in jars

Skirls of a zephyr, flumes under rehearsed streams

Ceramic heart in allusion, elusive firmament seams

Gateway to phantom illusions, fairies light up sense

Don’t open your eyes yet, it all might simply coalesce.

~*~

Three wasted years, wasting time
As the hunger pains grow inside
I can’t keep up, ’cause you’re so far gone
And it’s all too much hindsight…

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Grandeur in Bloom

You took it back
How could you go and do
Something like that

My fingernail phase
Worst has got the best of you
I ask you and I know I need to change…

~*~

It’s just another obstinate memory which I failed to reconcile

The company of your calamity makes my weathered skin worthwhile

Was I so inconsiderate to agitate the quaint peace we were sharing?

If blood washes away with the rain, then I shall keep on holding

It was a disastrous severity, my naïveté is a transparent mirror

Irises crushed senselessly, an exquisite corpse efflorescent in lavender

If only I had known the elaborate meaning of such an interrogation

What I would have done to offer faith optimally and dispose my disillusion.

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Danneggiare

tempt

under sacrifice

leaking

whispering lies

resistant

drown in thresh

piercing

its paper flesh

restrict

the blood vessels

quailing

an illusion of hell.

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