Tag Archives: limit

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

Speed Limit

Offered her a pill and now she yelling
Took her from the hills, now we rolling
Probably get her killed by the morning
Pedal to the motherfucking floor, man
Full acceleration, hear me roaring…

~*~

Driving fast, breaking traffic lights, think I’m going insane

Changing gears endlessly but never changing to the right lane

Right hand on the left end, strap yourself and swallow your tongue

The wrong turn makes my eyes spin like oxy, are you having fun?

Worrying slow, think I’m crashing on windshields and pedestrians

Changing my mind again but it’s too late, and everything’s gone

Right now I’m left behind, seatbelt off and choked on my uncertainty

The wrong way makes my car spin like xans, but who’s up for doing ninety?

~*~

Pop another, now it’s hurting
Sip and driving got me swerving
Book a table, I’m reserving
Now it’s feeling like a circus…

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Filed under Poetry

The End of an Era

Here he is, he saves a grin
He wants to be the one who doesn’t have to sink a level
Indiscrete, in his retreat
All he needs is just a taste of the bitter pride
He held in her name…

~*~

Limits have their breaking pointss

And can fall in utter disrepair

What used to be bound with ropes

Now dangles by a precarious strand of hair

.

Mirrors have their cracking webs

And when they spread, it can shatter

No matter how hard you try to fix it

It’s won’t show the same reflection ever

.

Bodies have their wounds and sickness

And we’ll always try to slowly heal

But someday no medicine could cure

And we will then be rapidly killed

.

Words have an end to their capacity

Someday you might run out of meaning

We talk and take things for granted

And in the end are left silently staring

.

People have their gentle push

But sometimes it comes to a shove

And no amount of closing apologies

Can ever return the former love.

~*~

He’s in love with an isolation from emotion
Here he is awaiting sentence
A fool to think that anyone can escape guilt and anguish
A subtlety that can’t be learned, a subtlety that can’t be taught
He is caught in the lure of second thoughts
He might still care, as he settles down well aware…

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Filed under Poetry

metal & skin (xxiv.)

one cut

a weaker beginning, but you’re just starting

three cuts

that’s the charm, as searing pain is settling

five cuts

is that all you can take? is that all you can take?

seven cuts

how much, how much more can you make?

ten cuts

easy, over, and out, it’s like riding a bike now

fifteen cuts

it’s all a distant, tranquilising blur somehow

twenty cuts

you have reached your own personal record

twenty-two cuts

and went past it; dare you break the accord?

twenty-six cuts

it’s a complete mess of blood and medicine

thirty cuts

too numb to give a fuck, you ceased caring

thirty-three cuts

your arm’s as pale as your cotton blanket

thirty-eight cuts

maybe you’ve crossed the line, but screw it

forty cuts

so indulged, and you just can’t fucking stop

forty-four cuts

because you know it will never be enough

forty-nine cuts

for it’s not really the quantity that matters

fifty cuts

but just how fucking far you dare to go deeper.

fifty-one cuts and counting…

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Filed under Poetry