Tag Archives: intention

Delilah and the Philistines

My mental image impaired
Undid the braids in my hair
I rain destruction in the fight of my inner feels
Remove the tricks of the trade
You’re just alone on the stage
There’s no witness fly your soul
Through the windshield…

~*~

She breaks all your fingers and she calls it love

She’s got the eyes of a demon with the hands of a god

A delicate masquerade, dress lined of backbones

Sentencing the innocent to hang by her good intentions

.

She sleeps in a bed of casualties, a murder house designed

To lure in the chains and incarcerate her psychosomatic desires

Picturesque saint with a stolen halo falling off asphodel hair

Lips of asbestos and reflections of disaster on her morning wear

.

“It’s all for your good,” a sultry lie, “have faith in no one but me.”

Keep the strings attached on your neck, deflecting her own failed sun

“You’re never going to be satisfied, why do you even try, sweetie?”

The automatic letter for the clockwork machinery she calls her lungs

.

She breaks you down and breaks you apart and she calls it love

She’s a philosopher without the sagacity, she’s a surgeon without the blood

A desperate manipulation, exposed body lined with cheating scars

Sentencing the world to hang by her bad intentions just because she lost the war.

~*~

Damaged pride and vulnerable
All my fears are open now
Never thought I could hurt you so hard
Staring at my hollow phone
Wondering if you’ve found your home
Feel like I deserve to die alone again…

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Worthless Words from a Worthless Wreck

You’re too kind to me, you know that?

I don’t deserve absolution, or warm comfort, or reassuring words, or a steady shoulder to lean on when I cry. I deserve atonement, a punch in the face, a cold scream to strengthen up, I need tough love and tougher hate, because I’m far too spineless for my own good and I shouldn’t be stagnantly melting and caving in to that unwieldy trait anyway.

Do you like hearing about my problems? I don’t honestly believe that. Even I’m so sick of listening to the same old shit that I speak over and over again. Whining about problems so trite and unreasonable, even the purest of angels will certainly hate me for it. Oh, I’m sad again. Big fucking deal, so are a million other people out there, but do you see them complaining? No, so I should just suck it up and shut up about it already.

But I can’t, and I don’t. And you unknowingly get caught up in the middle of this ugly mess.

Just like any other rational person out there, you must think I’m rather obnoxious. Petty. Disgustingly needy. I know that’s not your nature, but still, I understand that, though. On the contrary, I understand it more than anyone else ever will. I know I push everyone’s patience to their breaking limits. I hurt and I hurt, and I’ve hurt other people, and I’ve hurt you, and I’m not worth my time or space, and neither should I be yours.

I’m sorry, but the truth is the truth, no matter how much it makes all the repressing lies in my fucked-up brain seethe indignantly. I’m always so pathetically selfish, but I sincerely never wanted this for you. You’re a decent soul with the best intentions and better people to spend your life on. I’m a bad person. I’m a bad friend. I’m always going bad. So why, just why are you being so good to me?

You’re too kind to me, you know that?

That’s being too cruel to yourself.

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Filed under Prose

here for nothing

Watching as the fire starts
I could be here all night
Never really wanted much
Only ever asked for flight
It could be you…

~*~

i have

no desire

to read

into your

messy mind

as if there

was anything

i would find

taking turns

at insults

like our

hurtful words

don’t mean

a thing

like it was

just another

bee sting

i’ll be okay

i have gravity

to keep my

heart right

where it

should be

but your ribs

are broken

and ransacked

yet don’t you

even see?

i have no

intention to

watch as you

trip again over

your own

callous tongue

but i have

to admit, it’s

actually

kind of fun.

~*~

And I could be fire
And I could be rain
And I could be caught in
Everything that’s in between…

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Ash & Tongue

Ash is just a word, but why does it taste so ironically bitter in my mouth? Does it hurt to say it, because the conflagrating embers originated from my pharynx, tactlessly ignited after I accidentally swallowed phosphorous nitrate and it corroded against my sandpaper throat and set me on fire? Who would kiss a person with a mouth this filthy? Even the most affectionate of mothers turn their backs away from my chapped sooty lips, bleeding of halitosis and ashes and lies lies lies.

There it is, that word again, pulling my voice under hell and waking me up when I’m having the sweetest dream in my acerbic existence. The exit signs are glowing softly in delicate overtones, yet my bloodshot eyes perceive it as an uproarious neon scream, blinding my eyes, deafening my sight, blackening my vision. The water’s getting colder, I’m caught up in the rip, and my footing has slipped away. I’m swimming, no, drowning in the hazy fumes, dizzy from the medication-addled ozone, and still I could not hear a single truth amid all the false accusations.

He was a man until you destroyed him. You were a girl before I desecrated you, cautiously building you up brick by chalkdust brick, all the while as I’m hiding away the solitary intention of vulgarly demolishing the body that is your temple. And it was all too late for you when you found out. Did you survive all the devastation I caused and rose up from the rubble like a newly-reborn phoenix? Or have your devout worshipers fled the havoc and left you suffocating and buried under all the debris and ashes? Ash is just a name I used to call in my sleep, but why…why does it taste so painful between my teeth?

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May Is Not Enough For Me To Stop Bleeding

And as the sun went down, we ended up on the ground
I heard the train shake the windows
You screamed over the sound, and as we own this night
I put your body to the test with mine
This love was out of control, 3-2-1 where did it go?

~*~

My wounds cry for you alone

I wish to hell I could stop them

But my body is too out of control

From the thought of your oxygen

As your voice broke over the sound

Of the love that tasted like the skies

All my questions effervesce in evergreen

Heart shaking at the thought you’ll arise

And when you spoke of good intentions

Breaking again from my transgressions

Sorry was enough for you but not for me

As my lost lips faltered at “I’d rather be…”

I can’t own the thousand nights you have

I can’t keep it alone under my key and lock

I can’t collide twice with your perfect world

And all I have is your melting flesh to hold

A million and one miles ain’t enough to bring me home

And my floral pink dreams tear up as I cry for you alone

To where you’re waiting, as your shattered voice stops breaking

Walking as I close my eyes and clot at the thought of never waking.

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Burying Nevus

It was a few steps forward, twice removed, seconds away from pulmonary distress. The rough patches of ocher blisters felt like frozen ice lodged in his windpipe, a cowardly conviction that he wouldn’t dare speak. His fault. His mistake. His responsibility. Him, a filthy traitor. The constricting bracelets felt like bleeding handcuffs, prosecuting him for his blithe misunderstanding. This was never my intention, yet why am I riddled with disorienting guilt? One voice asked in attrition. It’s not you to blame if you didn’t know. Awareness is key. Another reasoned out calmly. Ignorance is the enemy of reason. A third entity argued in hostility. Every choice made sense, thus, he told them all to shut up so he could think. He bit down on his raw cheek until bile flooded his throat and metastasised as an abrasive lump. The bloodied bruise tasted like a salty alibi in his mouth. He submerged his soberness in liquid regret until it drowned, and sunk in inebriation. After he could think no longer, he made his final decision. He carried through. He knew it was unfathomably wrong, fatally so. But it was warranted.

It was just another scar tissue he had to permanently hide.

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Filed under Prose

metal & skin (xvii.)

the guilt

of the fault

is not in

your hands

somewhere

inside me

this is always

what i want.

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Filed under Poetry