Tag Archives: lost

hello, shooting star

send my mind

into deep space nine

to reach for stars

that keep on lying

i’m dumb on dreams

and on unpleasant hopes

my neck is screaming

“hand me the rope”

but i won’t be dragged

by one or two mouths

this is all that i have

my body’s naiant south

and one day i will be

dancing with galaxies

i used to gaze upon

locked in wishful reveries

so send my lost mind

into bright circles of heaven

i don’t need angel wings

i’ll find my own way until then.


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after the lobotomy

mind your head

can’t concentrate

i want you to go

don’t stay away

i’m being feisty

my smile is numb

you got me walking

saying “goddamn”

you’re in my line

of sight and range

but duck your head

before it’s too late

my voices are all out

i won’t say a thing

but i’ll hang around

till i get what you mean

pardon, i lost my mind

when you came around

you’re far too high for me

so let me go, let me go down.

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A Momentary Lapse of Judgment

Dissonance playing rhythms in my mind

My mouth is barely touching the ground

Both my eyes cannot find their way down

Back again, I am drifting without a sound

In momentary distractions, unmemorable

Surface words leaving the barest of ripples

On the distilled clear of the glacial lakeside

With every lambent flourishing and withers

Silver lines tying and intertwining intricate

Then colourblind separation falls apart like

A shower of collapsing glasshouse, piercing

Opalescent, as shatters of astern fragile skies

Alluvial perspectivism resting itself on hearts

That have never once touched pure rainwater,

The magnitude concealing itself within caprice

And presenting in caustic dyes of oasis failures

Cacophonies dancing tarantellas in my thoughts

And my lilting lips are barely tasting the sunlight

Both of my hands can’t pull their own weight up

Back again, I’m crashing violently without a sight.

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Inside Jokes

They’re speaking in foreign tongues

Like a lost league or a dead language

To my native ear, it’s all new and naive

Unknown to me, unfamiliar and strange

But for all of us, it doesn’t really matter

If I don’t understand a single thing at all

For their genuine smiles are contagious

And the art of laughter is always universal.

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Filed under Poetry

Hold On, Fall Away

Do you know
I count your heartbeats before you sleep?
I bite my fingernails to bone
And then I crawl back under the stairwell
To a place I call my home…


Hold on, she says, and her suspended voice feels like a serpentine blossom, mutinous choking thorns wrapped gracelessly around the wall of my deflated lungs’ chambers, puncturing them effectively and leaving me gasping for the air that never enters my mouth.

But I can’t breathe anymore, I implore.

Hold on, that simple phrase again, manipulative and senseless, gently caressing the convoluted scars on my wet face like quietly-raining feathers from a fallen divine being’s cast wings, the burning touch barely grazing past decrepit flesh, ethereal and gossamer.

I didn’t want to miss anything, but the wind is chafing my dehydrated eyes. So I blink. I suddenly feel dizzy and nearly fall flat on my back, reveries resting as I attempt to steady myself. Sleep would be so merciful right now.

Hold on, another rousing round to jolt back the drowsy senses of my rapidly-decaying nerves. Each uttered word is like the sweetest taste of corrupted fruit in an exegesis dream, and I can’t allow myself to swallow it anymore, even if I took the first bite of sin.

Don’t make me do this. A foreign voice breaks the muffled barrier, and I flinch in static shock before shamefully realising that the unfamiliar sound was my own. Who…who was I now?

Hold on, the conversation hits like a loaded shotgun with a chipped bayonet, bullet penetrating the back of my head and cracking my skull once, before the sharpened blade cleanly slices through my wandering brain, a merciless double kill for certainty. Bang. Crash. Slash. Crack. Death.

I’m forgetting the colour of your hair now, the dainty lavender scent that follows you around everywhere you flutter, the way your plush lips mouthed serenades that collided and lit up fireworks in my reflection; I’m forgetting the sensation of seeing you, of wanting to see you again.

Hold on, the promenading whisper has amalgamated into an earsplitting scream now, dangerous hedonism dancing in demons and demigods around my shattered ears, past my constricting throat, relentlessly waltzing in wearied circles over and under what used to be the armistice memory of you.

No—My deteriorating vision blurs and falters, cascading and collapsing in iridescent shades of gold and silver, coalescing in glistening hues of diamonds and rubies, fluctuating in pastel blossoms of jasmines and forget-me-nots, all before shutting down into that damning void of sempiternal blackness. The last thing I saw with my weakening sight was her colourless ashen eyes tear up once, twice.

Hold on…was the last thing I ever heard.


Murder the moment!
My god, I’m the serpent
I’m sorry, I can’t see
That you truly love me…

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in which love is just another imagined story by a hopeless writer who has dysgraphia

“and though to my arms you are forever lost,
you are a prisoner in my fantasy.”

~Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz


you are my sweetest fiction,

conjured, derived from the very ends of

the lacklustre impediment

that is my algid imagination.

light calla lips flushed pleasantly

(though, i may only be imagining it so)

elusive soul a taunting fugitive

(from which i could never hope to catch

with bare hands and bare feet)

cerise smile melting upon liquid gaze

before i then realise—the blood was my own.

missing birthdays, unsent letters

piling into sealed dictionaries upon my oaken desk

and again, i weep the night sky

in the grievous absence of your starlight.

falling, falling; lilies, lilies,

plucked like shimmering innocence

from the skin of my gritted teeth, sighing


though, your divine body is not mine

to ruin and revere relentlessly

under eternal storybooks and lost volumes of

anthologies, the empty pages

all at once interjecting: “impossible?!”

but, is it always so? must my fluttering shyness

be short-lived like your tyranny?

surely we must not always adore the

blinking butterflies, cascading iridescence

billowing solemnly into my reverie—

accidental interruption.

aralias, aralias; painful, painful;

i am to dirty fly as you are to decadent fruit

dragged down rather cruelly into

the ad infinitum of your fiery veneration

and i am unable to twist my words into cathartic

crashing, collapsing, holding it in…

but, i do not mind at all; for i lost mine

the moment you slipped from enthrallment into

the ache of my charismatic sternum,

submerging me in pacific oceans of desire—

enchantingly alluring me into the cozen, shackling confines

of the prison you call your heart.

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Filed under Poetry, Valentines Poetry


a subtle displacement

used to crash away

once always on display

now nothing more than



and our momentum

slowly lost its moment

it used to be in motion

now it’s just an awkward


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What’s Wrong?

It’s all overgrown but you’ll never know
Take the mirror from the wall so I can’t see myself at all
Don’t wanna see another damn inch of my skull
Forget the poems of saints and ghosts, I’m the one I fear the most
Little did I know that I was only crying wolf…


Lied faceless identities and lost nameless bones

Broken mirrors romancing with concrete stones

Low voices muttering in the middle of the night

Back against the wall, turned under black lights

Standing in the midst of destruction that rebirths

Sacrificing sanctity for the sake of scars to revert


I will be what’s wrong with the world.


A hundred metaphors deleted in boldface type

Swearing for the shadows, cursing lack of spite

For no one envisions a future with personal ties

Because tongues can only soar out when they lie

An arsenal of armory, walls built to keep them out

Convinced by the paranoia and mitigated by doubt


I will be what’s wrong with the world.


So call out the name that’s censored in every news station

Immortalised only in faded graffiti and youthful separation

So seek on and find now what can only be seen by the blind

To a place where wrong is right, and the heart beats the mind

I won’t be the marching guide, the black parade you’ll follow

But in a reality of common opposites and moral contradictions, I know


I am what’s wrong with the world.


No I never sold my soul, no I never sold mine
I know it’s so wrong but I’m so far gone
Don’t need you to tell me I’m so cynical
Quit being so over-skeptical
Don’t need a metaphor for you to know I’m miserable…

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What haven’t I done? What have I done?
What haven’t I done to deserve a cold war
On all sides? It’s so bleak all the time
“Stay with me. You’re alone in the center of hell. Just be.”
The longest winter I have ever seen
From hospital to hospital, repeat…


Her eyes won’t open up anymore

As the flower in her womb began to wilt tonight

Petals sifting into her nervous system

And she looks so good in bandaged white


Won’t you stay with me, please?!

The traffic lights won’t amount to the hell

That I’m driving myself straight into

Hoping to find her broken body at the end of the well


For a while, she was beginning to blossom

Delicate heliotrope blots dotting her pallid cheeks

But the intruding scarlet painted her open lips

She looks so beautiful, please let this be a trick…


Hold on, please hold on, I’ll be there with you

If only you’d take a breath if I held mine as long as I do

I could kill god for all the wrongs I’ve committed

But that doesn’t give him the right to take it out on you


Her pulsating shallow beat is slowly going thud thud thud

Like my fist on the hospital doors, I arrived in time for the flatline

As the thorns rage around her heart, the flower begins to decay

If she loses, then I’ve lost, I wouldn’t have it any other way


I can’t…I can’t believe this…why did you—why did you leave me?

My foot won’t ease on the pedal, and the carbon monoxide is choking

‘Cause there’s a light at the end of the tunnel, and I can see her face

Calling out to me, the headlights blind me as I fall into her embrace…


C R A S H.


First I need to save the life of god
So that god can come and save me from myself
If I have to walk alone I’m giving up
I can’t stay here knowing love is not enough…

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Gloom Boys in Natural Blue

I have candy floss over my eyes, and no one can ever take that away from me.

I’m a double dare away from jumping into the clouds and getting lost in heaven, and even though their motionless lips tell me otherwise, imploring that the despondent sun will burn my frail skin and my charred cape will drag me back down into the ground, I’ll simply fly over them and defy what it means to be human.

For being an angel is not made of mere matchsticks and febriculic feathers, rather, it is the catastrophic sensation of breathing in your existence from your lungs and never letting it go, holding your oxygen in so tight that your chest will hurt, and tasting the very molecule that the wind is built up of, all before exhaling heavily and letting others share the light that passed the very chambers of your symphonic heart, and inhaling that decadent love once more like it’s the only sugar high you need.

I’ll be dancing a hundred footsteps as I reverently play the halo’s mellifluous beat around my head over and over again, but I shall never get tired of laughing and listening, and the glow never fades, the glow never coalesces into a darker retrospect of aspirations and bad habits, the glow is etched at the very back of my confounded head and if I close my eyes and wish a little softer, I can see pastel whispers floating and resonating behind my dreams, smiling quietly as it tells me fairy stories about twill reveries and acrylic oneirism.

Will you tell me that much? Will you beg in blazing yellow and speak in purple hand grenades, waking up again when the water parks detonate and soothing water splashes everywhere? This is not my gloomy lullaby meant to be kept under hushed tones and clandestine affinities, buried under the bones of ‘92, rather it is an everlasting caprice that is meant to be jubilantly shouted from the rooftops, until the nightingales and mynas and bluejays and hummingbirds mimic the colours in my eyes and echoes back a chromatic rainbow to be chased.

Am I not making any sense, or is the semblance of my self-optimistic throes withdrawing like violent ocean waves? It is not their fault, and it certainly isn’t mine. It’s yours. It’s all yours. This nonsensical tirade making me backlash the usual defamation that is my wretched soul, making me passionate for what used to be desert sand and black light, now efflorescent flowerbeds and ultraviolet ecstasy, making me smile and laugh childishly at the most fickle of things like a madman staring limerently into the cornflower moon. You let a playful cyclone into my bedroom while I was sleeping, and it ravaged my closet and spun me all the way to your window until I was sickly dizzy, and you held your hand out to steady me and pulled me in, winking cheekily at the cyclone and returning its breezy grin before waving it goodbye.

Now that I’m here, will you promise to keep me? Airplane conversations and clustered entertainment isn’t enough to leave me amused. Are you laughing at my sadness yet? Are you performing odes along to me mournfully singing about the underhanded depression that makes me mad all the time and fucks my worried flurried mind up when the night is young and makes me go down the long road home? I’m a car crash that you can’t ever look away from, and I can’t ever look away from you. But don’t follow me to the site of the wreck. If your favourite set of stairs is the one up to my room, piece together the trail of love notes I left in the kitchen that say it all, and when you find me, I won’t ever have to let you go up. Let’s be lucky people, you and me.

Amid tantrums and crybabies, you’re nothing but rare. I may not be a warrior and you may think I’m the worst, but I know I don’t have to sleep alone again. So won’t you stay awake, stay awake for me? If you’re singing about la-la-la-love, my tune is more to the beat of a la-la-la-lobotomy. You’re my yellow lovely jealousy, in natural blue and viridian green memories, I’m losing my mood in a late night phone call, shading everything else from silver to pink to hiding under porches and craving territorial phantasms, it doesn’t matter. My common sense is powerless when you speak, and I’m not royal but I’m stupid for you, and 11:11 can go away because I don’t wish for anything else. I’m tired. You’re tired. Let’s be tired together. It’s more fun that way, don’t you think?

I have gloomy clouds over my eyes, and only you can ever take that away from me.

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Filed under Prose