Tag Archives: lies

It’s Not The 1700’s, My Crime Doesn’t Deserve The Guillotine Anymore

Meaningless materialism lights up cities in overdrawn sighs

Catch the drip like a bad acid trip and put me under the lies

This divine persiflage only lasted as long as surgeon stitches

A prelature to nicene creeds, the preamble to salem witches

Set the sky for ignition, to suffocate the zealots complaining

Truthful traitors run the blood thin with a little bit of ritalin

Withstand isolation with a myriad riot of defective firearms

Safety only counts in guns and padlocks like sadistic charms

Let lineages be mismatched, and let sobriquet names renege

The deceivers couldn’t bring back hell without getting singed

Don’t avoid the prejudice, let it seep in like desires in clothing

When murderers become heroes, let false history be rewritten.

Advertisements

Leave a comment

Filed under Poetry

scar tissues

Baby, pour over, tell me, are we concrete?
What would you do without
My perfect company to your undressed spine?
And I can hear you drag behind my car by your broken legs
(Swallowing stitches in her sleep as she)
Stole my only view, may I never blink…

~*~

i am your bare bones

and the words that can fracture it

a faked death, disappearance

in the lonely asphalt ash

so undress my bad memories

take off that pretty, pretty, pink dress

and show me the lacerations

the lingering bruises on my spine

of your decayed entertainment

modern anxiety at its brutality finest

and tell me again how bad

all of my imminent injuries were

until i can feel enough

until i am enough

don’t hesitate on backburners

simply make me believe

that the chemicals in my open veins

serotonin, endorphins, tryptophan—

are not just a lie you made up…

like the raised welts on

my broken, praying wrists

nor the unrecoverable night i came to you,

sobbing and begging for gravity

to come drag me under

underwater, underground,

because i was desperate for it to be over

but we crashed in abstract strokes

only one pair of lungs breathed again;

a sordid altercation.

you’re a lucid dreamer, love

and i have an eidetic memory

and this damn world has selective hearing

over gasoline and sunshine

and the difference that it makes

when you light the aphotic city on fire

like a paradox under my skin.

this is my mass hysteria

although i’m calm at the altar veneer

and absent blank, my mind is an

apocalyptic wasteland

and i’m the sole survivor.

so surround my lavender hands

and black out the soft sodium streetlights

and patch up these obscene bones

and simply say the words

to make me forget.

~*~

Listen, I’m the one who made you
I’ll be the one who brings you down
But this will be the last time…

Leave a comment

Filed under Poetry

Back To The Red Tapes

You are a handful of roses
Thorns and a cheap bouquet
True, I’m a walking disaster
They told you to stay away
Seems like I’m making
A deal with the devil…

~*~

I remember when we loathed each other

And what we wouldn’t do to one up and over

Subtle poison in each vindictive word and verse

Poised to hit the most vital organs and curse

.

We smeared the walls with our cold fresh blood

Leaving basilisk messages for another pitying god

And undertones of candy-coated punches in stitch

In plates of ‘hope you die, you conniving little bitch’

.

But sometimes the relapse was felt in compassion

A confusion of collisions, casting the condensation

I didn’t know if it was coincidence, or I was insane

But the universe parked parallel, changed the game

.

Passing the halls with the same songs in our mouths

Composing about the same things that gave us doubt

Secretly racing the other one for covert little challenges

And trying to push at each other’s buttons and nuisances

.

It was a mess, and the bleak battleground ain’t so pretty

But the smoke cleared up and the aftermath forgot me

Where the sun was aglow and my coffee tasted less bitter

And tears only came in the form of erupted endeavours

.

Now I read the past stories and I want to laugh out loud

Enough to disturb the anxiety that’s keeping my head out

The snide smirks, the loose lies, the entertaining electricity

Who knows what’s meant for you and what’s meant for me

.

After the sheer mayhem that came after each round of drinks

After every conversation held and confessions begging not to think

After all the chaos caused and the devastation left in its wake

It’s a lot easier to admit I’ll miss it—I’d listen again for a rewinded take.

~*~

‘Cause I feel like a bad joke
Walk the tight rope to hold onto you
Was it real? Or a love scene
From a bad dream? I don’t think
I can forget about it…

Leave a comment

Filed under Poetry

The Last Victim

We are the walking dead
Swallow the lies we’re fed
Uncover your eyes, uncover your eyes
Uncover the truth and you’ll realize
We’re hanging by a thread
We are the walking dead…

~*~

I was convinced of myself, at first.

Before mercy turned to failure and hell begged over to madness, everything seemed to be quite rational. Perfectly-planned. Dare I even say, elegantly beautiful. The conceived scenario played out in my head like an unraveling film spiel, woven into a viscid, intricate web and ensnaring naive hearts, and the sharp, unexpected twist and blunted violent stab of that final ending made the jagged suspense, the heart-wrenching thrill, the never-ending mystery and uncertainty, every slighted emotion thrown out and ravaged by the starving sharks, all of it…made everything worth it.

But now all I have is murder in my tongue, lies over my eyes, and your blood on my hands.

How did it all come to this?

Everything looks so red, even after I thoroughly scrubbed myself clean of the transgression. I made sure to meticulously tidy everything up. White walls, white floor, white bleached palms, white light pouring over the windows, a whiteness so pure and bright it’s fucking blinding, but the red obstinately stays. And it stains. On the white walls, on the white floor, on my chafed shaky hands, all over the room’s white-blanched windows like a sinner’s stained glass art, that redness so dark and demented that I can’t even clearly discern anymore where the colour ends and the shadows begin.

I have no excuse. I have no absolution from the crime I’ve committed. I cannot be pardoned, cannot be forgiven, and I’ll never forgive myself for what I’ve done. I know I deserve a punishment of nothing less than death. But I didn’t know it would come to this. I didn’t know what I was doing.

But I’m not sorry. And if I had to do it again, I would. Without any hesitations. Without thinking twice.

Without thinking about it all.

God forgive me.

~*~

Can anything bring us back to life?
Will anything make us right?
Can anything bring us back to life?
I’m willing to make us right?
‘Cause the further that we’re falling apart
The more that it breaks my heart…

Leave a comment

Filed under Poetry

The Taste Of Bad Medicine

Drag my hand behind you
Like a chain behind a truck
Sparks over your carpet while
I chase you through the darkness
Somebody’s supposed to fall in love
But nobody even calls; somebody’s supposed to…

~*~

If I held the gun that made your insides feel worse

Tell me, is it still a blessing or have I become your curse?

Your marionette body makes me fall apart again

After I’ve taken my prescriptions and adjusted my skin

.

I’m too selfish to taste all these abrasive chemicals

Forming newer lies at the tip of my pale purple tongue

So won’t you take them away and shatter up these brick walls

That’s keeping my sanity in, just another emergency man

.

In the bedroom floor where our breaths feel like the new testament

My tell-tale heart is still writhing and clawing desperately at the cement

You buried me in black and white, but all I could see is an endless blue

Starving for some modesty like it’s some unheard modern-day virtue

.

So break me away, I’m responsible for this reckless self-medication

Just to sleep and dream a little longer, just to find something to hold on

Because all I hear is anguished screaming from the other side of that door

And I could only listen so much to this overdose before I could take no more

.

If I held all the pills that made your insides feel worse

Tell me, am I your blessing or do I have to call up a hearse?

Your puppeted agony makes me fall apart, and then

I’ll take two and pass out just so I could call you in the morning.

~*~

Tear this place apart
Until you find me hiding, silently I wait
You’ll be excited just to see me someday
Everything’s okay…

Leave a comment

Filed under Poetry

The Bulls Are In Broadway

Some people have it and other people don’t
You’ve been making some threats, got my name and address
I’m breaking habits you don’t want to know
Though I’m wearing my clothes feeling cold and exposed, yeah
Don’t say you miss me, you probably don’t
Well, I’ve been crossing some lines that most folks won’t…

~*~

This is the academy of wasting second chances

And the maggots in my eyes are drying up my tears

My intuition knocked itself out on cheap champagne

As the discourse turned to an allegory dance severe

.

It’s a sociogenic alacrity, and my dress is on too tight

But I’m far too smitten by repertoire to call it a night

So remind me again, what’s my capacity for secrets?

Tell me with a gun to my head and I swear I’ll keep it

.

My lips are shivering from these hemlock-laced canapes

So admonish me for all my bad manners and mistakes

I’ll just downplay the lust for another fractured spine

The consequence for saving the best for the worst lines

.

Mismatched manipulation, but they will take it in anyway

Blink back the altercations and accusations that ricochet

With a sympathetic sigh overstepping the plague’s carnage

Like finest red wine, tragedy gets better when it’s aged

.

This transition was intransigent, an accolade for incoherence

Bent backs turned upon lacquered lies and marble-carved doors

You don’t get to die on me, not after my life has taken the perfect end

So won’t you let write the last chapter on my unresponsive monitor?

~*~

Oh, don’t say you’re more than this or above all this
With your blah blah blah and all your friends
Don’t say you think you know, when you know you don’t
Because tonight the Bulls are in Brooklyn and you’re still at home!

Leave a comment

Filed under Poetry

anatomical dissection: brain

what hurts more,

remembering to forget

or forgetting to remember?

.

you count all the wins

and all the pyrrhic losses

that take your victories under

.

what hurts more,

the scars on your shoulders

or the scars inside your mind?

.

invisible to the naked eye

but a succumbing force that

makes you lose what you’ll find

.

what hurts more,

staying for the sake of leaving

or living for the sake of staying?

.

lock the pain up in your room

and hope this house burns down

with you still trapped inside, crying

.

what hurts more,

all the words that they said

or the words you never spoke?

.

sticks and stones don’t break bones

but splints and cement puts them back

quietly mending what you always broke

.

what hurts more,

knowing too much of everything

or drowning in your own ignorance?

.

scourge for knowledge, miss for bliss

drain the oceans and fill up the abyss

self-hatred fighting your self-defiance

.

what hurts more,

this cold logical ideology

or the lying sentimental truth?

.

it’s a constant push and pull

of devastating dreams and riled reality

inspiring like the rabbit inspires the wolf

.

what hurts more,

overthinking things again

or not thinking about it at all?

6 Comments

Filed under Poetry

Let’s Talk About Not Talking About It

Well I’m sick of it, over it, however you want it said
I’m telling it straight ’cause it might be the only chance I get
Just shut up, just shut up, would you stop telling me who I am?
I’m sick of it, over it, however you want it said…

~*~

Some people find it really easy to write about themselves.

I respect them for that. For being able to express innermost thoughts and more private sentiments in articulate ways, and for having that certain imbued capability in their writings where other people could read their catharsis and be able to feel all their emotions, sympathise with their plights, and look at the world in another perspective, in their own personal perspective. Of course, even if they can’t exactly relate to whatever situation that person is caught up in, they could still nod their head understandingly, dole out some hopeful dime-a-dozen platitudes, and perhaps even offer some needed advice to them, just as normal human beings should.

Whenever I attempt to write about myself, my life, or my current feelings, I tend to drown it in cryptic nuances and fuck-all metaphors that are so incredibly twisted to the point where even I don’t find any sense in it anymore. That’s why I’m more adept with poetry than prose, and why I find music to be the most therapeutic outlet for myself, above anything else. And also why I hate the shit out of essays and formal writing so much. But in the rarest blue-moon times when I try to abandon that sort of familiar style and write something that’s concise and straight to the point, in simple words that are the closest to the truth, it always makes me so disgusted with myself because I always sound like I’m whining too much and making such a big deal out of nothing. And even then, I couldn’t help but add way too much labyrinthine sentences and complicated head-scratching quips to sugarcoat the naked ugliness of it all. Case in point, this very write-up itself. Sweet irony to further press the point.

I’ve always found it difficult to talk about myself. I don’t know exactly what what happened to me that made me turn out to be this way, but whenever I try to open up, a million desperate hands pull me back inside as a thousand alarm bells seem to scream and flash red lights inside my head, all of these, all at once, giving me a major dose of anxiety that takes a long while to wear off. I never know how to be completely honest without feeling awkwardly uncomfortable, and vice versa, it’s a great struggle for me when people start getting too real and personal with me. I tend to be a very secretive person, and I’m not a great support to come running to when you got problems and need to talk it out, because I’ll probably just intensify the headache that you already have and turn it into a full-blown migraine. Trust me, some of what-unsurprisingly-scant friends I have can testify for that fact in front of a court jury with both their hands on the bible.

(But on the plus side, being a secretive person also means that I’m basically Fort Knox when it comes to keeping the secrets of other people, so…redemption??)

I try my very best to be comforting and truthful when times call for it, but somehow, I could never completely shake off that vague feeling of uncertainty, that constant nagging voice at the very back of my mind that tells me that I’m doing something wrong, or tells me that I’m not doing enough, or tells me that I’m fucking overcompensating, or whatever stupid made-up issues it has with my attempt to act like a decent human being. I’ve always just found it easier to repress everything, every difficulty and emotion that’s going on in my overwhelmed mind, to simply keep it all to myself no matter how dire it is, rather than to bother anyone else with it, and I’ve always found it easier to keep people at a ten-foot pole’s length with acerbic witticism and sarcastic dismissals, because when they get too close, someone would always get hurt, and it always ends in a devastating fallout.

To put it shortly, I don’t know how to be empathetic. And I don’t know how to make people empathise with me. Up to now, I’ve always convinced myself that it was my biggest strength.

But perhaps…it just might be my greatest weakness.

~*~

I know I have issues
But I don’t need to hear it coming from you
It’s something that I’ll work through
The beating of my heart’s not stopping anytime soon
It’s not stopping anytime soon…

4 Comments

Filed under Prose

trapped in my headcase

i’m stuck

all alone

with my mind

to torture me

to prod needles

behind my eyelids

and call me a

worthless failure

a fucking loser

and every other

insult that i’ve

heard a million times

before already.

i want to jump off

the window of

this speeding bus

and run away

from my friends,

from my family,

from everything

and everyone

that i ever failed—

including myself…

but i just can’t.

so instead of that,

i’m stuck here

with my cruel mind

playing tricks on

my worthless self,

gritting my teeth and

telling me lies

as i’m just silently

screaming and

hating myself because

i believe it’s all

fucking true.

Leave a comment

Filed under Poetry

Thanatopsis Erebus

Soft wrists and sharp edges

A dark breath in decline

The disconcerting interplay

Performance of the sign

Moon-blanched vulgarities

Pale innocence on death

Wistful dreams for coroners

Torment thy cozen health

Sedation after manipulations

Lies of century-old adage

Contradictions the affectation

Of this cadenced sabotage

Soft minds and sharp hindsight

Provoke suffocating times

Of this disenchanting execution

Leaving only wordless lines.

Leave a comment

Filed under Poetry