Tag Archives: lonely

The Game Played Right

I keep on lying. The silent pieces remain unapologetically in my lips, melting and melding together and apart, clashing like shades of blue and gold, until my smiles are mutated and my bated tongue is in shreds. Fear is an embrace I’ve learned to take upon myself, selling myself short to it, buying away the final remaining original thoughts I’ve slaved over in myriad sleepless nights until I’m a-la carte. Change is to blame for the causeless effect, and I’m asking for more from what can’t be taken away from me, cutting corners and targeting the contrition with a bolted gun, as if that would solve my problem. Would that open the deadlocked box of hope, containing those transient reminiscences of what used to be faith, keeping my wrists from giving itself up to bladed handcuffs and abrading ropes?

No, because it’s been open all this time. I’m merely pretending that it’s fully out of grasp, stuffing the sunshine in a pocket with a hole, then feigning remorseful surprise when I grasp the cloth and fail to feel its reassuring outline. I won’t get away, just as the moon can’t break away from its cruel mistress, no matter how hard it tries. Dependence requires sustenance, never mind if one’s getting hurt, never mind if one’s just wasting time and lightyears, never mind that there’s someone who sucks on the cigarette and there’s one who gets snuffed out in the ashes of its former companions, and both are slowly dying with each harmful, addicting, nicotine drag. Perhaps it’s better to move on, burn my house down with the lighter, and stab a flag on top of a desolate mountain, letting the frigid Arctic breeze pierce my lungs, reminding me that I’m dead inside, day by day, every single night.

Yes, the truth hurts worst when you’re lying on your back in a hollowly-carved bed, watching the tick of the sagging clock draw frowns on your dripping beige ceiling, the crude notches on the bedpost your only substitute for a calendar, not even the gathering dust on your windowsill keeping track of your blunt existence, but is that really such a bad plotline to read into? After all, I’m a mere instrument of conflict, and if I do not fulfill my function, I have no point, and dull instruments are of no use to anyone but the junkyard. So, what’s the point but pointlessness? What is there to release from arrogance, from selfishness, from egocentric human needs and desires, shallowness sucking away the will to speak in freedom, constantly starving for lust and lusting for starvation and dying from either loneliness or hunger in the end?

Give me that. Give me an answer that would morph my vulgar counterfeit laughter back into a purely genuine jubilance, give me a reply that would wash away the contracting fallacies in my conflicted mind and make my craving lecherous soul finally taste the decadent truth, give me a statement to swim in and sink under as I ponder deeply upon it and spend all my cashed-in stars to figure it out until I may finally repose in peace, give me an oratorical rhetoric that would drag me out of the hands of the angels in the ambulance and shock my heart into sinus rhythm, give me something, anything at all that would set this hellish perpetual carousel in a dead jolting halt and wouldn’t throw me off the cutthroat ride, give me—give me what I want. Yet, is what I want really what I need?

Never. Because in this reality, the parallel cruelty prevents any chance of a perfect alignment or even a destined intersection between any limits, and it’s all we can do to keep walking in the thin line and keep a painful positiveness, because backtracking to the negatives would devour us whole, render us irrational, and count us as impossible. Yet, despite knowing all of those and sharing such meaningless contrivances to the eyes that refuse to perceive and the ears that refuse to listen, I still want you to lie to me. Lie to me until your lips are mutated and your bated tongue is in shreds, lie, lie, lie, until the wrong turns right, until forward becomes backwards, until the truth is the ultimate lie, and I’ll gladly do the same to you. After all, we’re just doing what we need to do. We’re just doing all we can do.

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Filed under Prose

blank slate

We went down to the shore on a day that was warm
With the end of my fist, I thanked you for this
Over watch of fields and feelings I’ve met
I could pray to the day, I haven’t felt them yet…

~*~

detached emptiness

lone as the cells in my blood

breathing in frigid air

exhaling ink and neurons

but is it merely a deceitful calm?

a last resort i’ve set myself

to fall into and regress upon

if so, it must be quite nice

to feel this divine zero

a voided vacancy all the time

sometimes, loneliness is

mandatory, a chance set up

against my parallel lines

but never mistake that for

fragility, i merely need repose

appeasing such desolation

is to my own volition.

~*~

The waves will watch you go
‘Til you’re gone
And you come home no more…

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Shortsighted Longviews

Sit around and watch the tube, but nothing’s on
I change the channels for an hour or two
Twiddle my thumbs just for a bit
I’m sick of all the same old shit
In a house with unlocked doors
And I’m fucking lazy…

~*~

Life is heading nowhere

Let’s beat up junkies in this dead-end shit town

I’ve smoked my eyes red

And turned my whole life and brain upsidedown

My room is a total mess

Of posters, porn magazines and week-old pizza

But I don’t have to stress

If I clean it up, I’ll lose track of my own paranoia

My remote is so worn-out

Surfing the channels but I end up watching static

A tidal wave of chips and soda

Of trash and junk piling up under this ratty sofa

There’s no bullies I could fight

No school walls I can spray paint with fuck you

And I’m sick of thinking right

And looking for a father that I never even knew

My skateboard lost one wheel

And my knees are too skinned to recover now

Afternoon heat’s suffocating

I hate having to go out and have a blast anyhow

There’s nothing else to do

All my friends are busy making out behind diners

I can fake my own death

But I’m just too lazy to think about it any further

Soggy, bathed in apathy

Wasting time by counting the hairs on my head

Being a creep to the girls

Acne on my face spelling loser, I’d rather be dead

They say I’m being dumb

But I’m just another stupid kid who has the right

And I just wanna be numb

To the pain of thinking of growing up overnight

Am I whining again, mother?

This broken home I live in still hasn’t fixed itself

My head cracked like the streets

You don’t have to care if it’s all bad for my health

Playing the same old cycles

I’m just a hairy dog trapped under the summer rain

So where’s the motivation?

It’s fucking lonely, and I’m the only one who remains

I lit fireworks ’til I burned out

There’s no light at the end of this suburban purgatory

Nothing but a juvenile doubt

Picking scabs and bleeding, let me escape this misery

Maybe I will run away again

Hitch my way or maybe jump over the turnstile train

Until the pighead cops catch me

And send me back to bed, busted-up and beaten badly

I still wonder what the hell to do

They say it’s teenage angst, but I’m too fucking angry to listen

I don’t know if I’ll have a better view

When I come around the noose, and I’ll still be jaded even then.

~*~

Bite my lip and close my eyes
Take me away to paradise
I’m so damn bored I’m going blind
And I smell like shit…

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Lonely Light

As lonely as the falling stars

That I fail to catch each night

The moon hangs by a thread

I’ll steal its pale spectral light

As lonely as a midnight clear

I embrace as I repose in peace

The silence ensconces me near

In the reveries I dream to please.

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Filed under Poetry

introvert

always

alone

but

never

lonely.

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Filed under Poetry

Second chances, they don’t ever matter

I’m an impossible person, a total mess

I haven’t got any clue

I lose my grips on foolish contrivances

That much is all true

But I found someone, a damaged man

Though I never knew

You are the only one who understands

And now I lost you too.

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Filed under Poetry

☆ you’re ★

♫•*¨*•.¸¸♪

a masterpiece painting

hanging on the halls of

louvre

critics dissect you with

every brush stroke and

colour

they point at you and

line up to buy souvenir

keychains

yet none of the aesthete

you’ve captured within

remains

you’re a lonely painting

dusty on the dark louvre

halls

another forgotten beauty

left to fade on the dimmed

walls.

♫•*¨*•.¸¸♪

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Filed under Poetry, Southern Constellations

Avoirdupois Tragedienne

But don’t believe
‘Cause yesterday I found her
With her clothes still wet
Crying in the shower
On her knees she screamed
“Why the fuck am I falling apart?”

~*~

Tapes of your your static voice sounding like the stitches you swallowed

A concave complex life, and a Seraphim’s beating wings you followed

Shot like a satellite, burning rapidly on the veil of the thin atmosphere

As soon as your phantasmagoria began, it all became much more clear

.

All they ever do is talk with saccharine bleeding broken tongues

Hoping to discern some logic from a common sense long gone

As you scratch tally marks on your hand silently with a garnet pen

Wishing badly that it was a pair of scissors you were holding then

.
Needle skin and paper hair, and the ashy cigarette butts that you wear

Serotonin tears and that sloven stare which says “I don’t fucking care”

But when the coarsely outlined nightmares all come crashing down

You’ll feel vibrations and aftershocks of the rueful bottomless sound

.

The screaming moon sends all its best from the collapsing space

Torn down like coloured magazines with a single aegean gaze

Bite down on your pencil until your tooth breaks and souls bleed

Whoever said you were gonna fit in this sophisticated puzzle, kid?

.

Another shot bullet, another shot of vodka, cold injections and interjections

Another tearstained pillow muffling and numbing your pained sensations

Sunny post-it notes stuck on a paper bag, for a manufactured inspiration

It’s giving you a nasty sunburn, who wants a blinding optimistic illusion?

.

Parochial drops of burning gold, learn to read between the parallel lines

Midnight nails and garage sales, can’t they read the perspicuous signs?

Tinted shades that block the tainted world away from their callous naïvety

Shaded rose like a melodramatic pose struck in a ludicrous inscrutability

.

Bitter lemon groves with souring hearts, and they close the equidistance

Collapsing off the words that sent your life spiralling into a malfeasance

Too late did I tell you to hold on, when you’re already falling off the rope

With no net to catch your neck, you’re a human aviation that’s out of hope

.

Selling pieces of candy bars and gasoline for the faintest leaks of light

Colliding into dead ends to the empty weekend, and you gave up the fight

Eye blink, don’t think, remember that you’re coalescing gossamer being

Fading fast into a sobered demise, and still, would they even start to listen?

.

Zero gravity infinity, your diminishing fragile tether to an elucidated clarity

Now you’re gone forever, they’ll mourn you in verses of glistening poetry

Your sweet strawberry lips are bruised to purple and forever closed the gates

And I’ll only have the stars and myself to blame, why the fuck was I too late?

.

One casual phase, and the flowers curled and melted into a defiant serendipity

Gory over glory, your scarlet shoes are dripping away your evanescing vitality

A derided heretic, a bland predicament, that living was your terminal etiology

Now you’ve taken the easy way out, and I never even got to say to you…I’m sorry.

~*~

‘Cause you don’t even know you’re an angel
Foolish am I for the times I’ve come and gone
These stars defy love, so close my eyes
And sleep inside your worn-in bed
And it woke me up like a heart attack
When you talk in your sleep I’ll be there
To slow your breath.

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Afternoon Tea for a Fresh Start Fever

Let’s make resolutions
I’ve only got problems and no solutions
You’re just someone to the world
But you’re the world
To someone else who told you
Oh heart of mine
Sing a sad song, sing a sad song…

~*~

So there the two of us were;

Caught in silent meditation

Sipping hot elderflower tea

Heaped with a dash of sky

Minty wisps of teal clouds

And comminuted sunlight

To expel the common cold

The infirmity that bothered

You and I into a contagious

Decrepitude and debilitation

.

You didn’t wish to be a man

Chasing sunflower’s whorls

Spiralling deeper into a lazy

Oblivion, you need a change

I didn’t aim to be that person

Watching her pace when she

Walks, chasing the tiled gaps

‘Til I slam headfirst into a wall

Blindly, I had needed a change

.

I deigned for a fresh start fever

Perhaps I could sweat one out

You sat in a chair of oak wicker

Already setting the kettle down

You’ve added spoonful, for two

Of well-wishes to your already-

Overflowing cup of coppertone

As I asked galaxies, precipitate

Some stars so I can taste lights

.

So there we were then, you and I

Daintily relishing our own cuppas

Patient, taciturn, in piqued smiles

Waiting for sunset to drown us in

Waiting for nightfall to kill us both

Never mind it is way past our teatime

Never mind that I’m using your spoon

Perhaps leaves weren’t the resolution

But the company we’ve both savoured.

~*~

Warning you
Oh, heart of mine
Sing a sad song
And it’s a fresh start fever
Who wouldn’t want to be here?
Welcome to the future
Dream a little bigger…

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Filed under Poetry

I can’t buy you a black heart, you already have mine

I will buy you black dahlias for when you’ll soon return

When the jacks top the pile and all the judges adjourn

I’ll play you a tune, strum empty space in my theremin

You’ll be blushing carnation posies, a flushed melanin

.

I will buy you black kittens for when you can concede

When the auctioneers play their life, into the final bids

I’ll slay you a djinn, I’ll make xanthene stars disappear

You’ll be drowning in silver, and drinking day-old beer

.

I will buy you black shoes for when you jig and show up

When the most futile of molasses spill over their cusps

I’ll relay a broken melody, perhaps a lost Liberace score

You’ll be avoiding tears on the checkered linoleum floor

.

I will buy you black scarves, keep your arterial blood warm

When the conspiracies falter and gypsies lose their charm

I’ll pray you a stale Angelus, and wait for the Lord to rapture

You’ll be in an open field, awaiting your last inevitable capture

.

I will buy you black snow for when you can finally find your way back home

When I accept the fact that you’re quiescent, resting under loam and stones

I’ll drink my hot eggnog, open presents of shadows, and I’ll solemnly remember

You’ll be cold and white as winter night, like my soul is in this solitary December.

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Filed under Poetry