in little sips
gin and water
mine to keep.
in little sips
gin and water
mine to keep.
the thoughts that confine
and slow down the
softer sounds of pain
as the beast in my mind
slips and slurs again
tonight; it shall sleep
but the sky is still
spinning under zero gravity
and the madness still
tastes like alcohol forbidden
on my hanging tongue
with every stupor prayer
that releases and unleashes
itself under my nerves,
the weakness manifests in
forms of darkness and
silhouettes and bulletproof
hearts lying under a pressure
and severed lust again
no more shall serpents hiss
about the aspiration and
initiation, all subdued into a
in the vigil of a ghostly moon
reflected under a lake
like a hallucinated mirror
glimmering in blades
swinging its pendulum knife
downwards, inch by inch
until the thoughts that
confine and slow down the
softer, senseless sound of pain
reaches the beast in my mind
and it bleeds out again.
melting my bones
into bitter milk
and liquid silver
like an icy dream
trapped in an
of a turbid crown
a laryngitis screaming
as the strangled
acted as manacles
melting into reverie
like a thousand
caught up in the rain
rain of blood and
agony on the
spiral staircase steps
every step an arrow
lodged in my achilles heel
like the crying veins
serpentine in my
don’t close my eyes
i might never wake
never arise again
tagain i fall into repose
and if you do
do not disturb me
from the everlasting sleep
i don’t deserve
s l e e p . . .
Starry, starry night
Paint your palette blue and grey
Look out on a summer’s day
With eyes that know the darkness
In my soul…
Vincent, the lost pastel colours, they forgot to light your golden stars tonight
Brush strokes faltering and swirling on your ceiling, a tapestry of navy sights
Vincent, you were simply complicated to fool the monsters within from the start
Your artistic chagrin and tortured soul kept ripping your palette emotions apart
Vincent, they all laughed at you and they mocked away such a beautiful mind
But if the madness was your universe, who knows what dimensions we can find?
Vincent, you fathomed yourself a disgrace, deemed creations amount to nothing
They all stumbled in your labyrinthine mind, thus resorted to insipid excoriating
Vincent, now you’re gone, and the village mourns for a sun extinguished too soon
You watch them above as you paint the landscapes, reminiscing on the blue moon
Vincent, you were always a warm summer sunflower, and my quaint antebellum art
They may not have truly understood you, but you have always rekindled my hazy heart.
And when no hope was left in sight
On that starry, starry night
You took your life, as lovers often do
But I could’ve told you Vincent
This world was never meant for
One as beautiful as you…
I wish I could have you here in my clutches
To remove the excuses from your mind
To part that haze and slice your soul to pieces
To sing a lullaby as I tied you to the slab
To shave your head with a dulling razor…
Jealous of madness
Ripping like spokes in my shaved head
Smash my ribs again
If my childish idiosyncrasy wet the bed
Kill the fucking rosary
That you clutched like bottles of tequila
This isn’t a missionary
Again unveiling your obvious dementia
Bad colours bite down
Splattering glass alongside their torsos
Whores into the horror
The cannibals filling up every meal row
Are you nauseous yet?
Spill the contents of your empty throat
Clap with sharp blades
Bodies dancing and twitching, all bloat
Don’t shut necrotic eyes
This is a madhouse, pleasure and pure
So hear their final encore
Echoes of pain or laughter, I’m not sure.
For nothing, for selfishness
In a perfect world
I would get my wish.
THE BALLAD OF THE ARROGANT HEARTS: VENTRICLE
Tear it down! Break the barricade!
I wanna see what sound it makes
I hate this flavour with a passion
And I fucking hate the aftertaste!
How does it feel? How does it feel?
Well, it feels like I’m on fire!
Wake up, I know you can hear me…
I.) A Senseless Stardom And A Playwright’s Pain.
Bury me by the open venetian windows, where I can visit you every night
You know my anatomy like a circus act, but you turned off the spotlight
My pavement kiss tastes harsh, but the scissors accentuate my sacrifice
You deceive and desecrate me far too often, but shit, I’ll never suffice
Pose like a drunk pubescent actress, come on Marilyn, show some emotion
Every boy watching television shall receive your desperate transmissions
A noose of flowers and confection confessions melting on your tongue
Your affections were transgressions, but you’re so pretty when you run
I used to write letters and poetry, but now for you, I only write obituaries
Don’t be sorry for little orphan Annie whose cellar is her own sanctuary
I’m a vagabond, you’re a bastard child, we’re a match made in angel hell
Inferno strikes under our tangled veins and the paradise the demon sells
You were memorising phone numbers like it’s the digits on my credit card
If there was a prize for a comely crass drama queen, you’ll win that award
Ignorance might be your best friend, but I’ve been dating her for ten long years
It’s a violent explosion of distractions and disappointment in second gear
As they all say, fuck the love, we’re in this game for the fame and money
Toasting our dead hearts with cocaine and expired 20 dollar champagne
I’ll scream for help, sabotage! Please don’t murder me with pleurisy baby!
And if I cry in my sleep, then you will know that I’m still dancing from pain…
THE BALLAD OF THE ARROGANT HEARTS: AORTA
Make me a promise here tonight!
Love like a tidal wave
Dreamless in early graves
I never want it to be this way
The chemicals will bring you home again
This is it, when it’s done, we can say that
When it’s sudden death we fight back!
II.) Confessions Of A Mad Stranger To An Inebriated Lover.
I confess by the altar, this is my last testament and surrendering admonition
Two souls like an orchestra, and I’ll conduct this symphony of destruction
I’m the only menace to your fugitive life, a key witness and an accomplice
I got scar evidence to lock you behind diamond bars for a million years
You said it wasn’t a crime to feel, but the police are banging down my door
I promised I’d be just a little more sorry, but it’s just been a vulture’s chore
This turbulence in New Jersey, this fucking turbulence is beautiful for me
I may be deleterious and despondent, but your Europe eyes are a mystery
I can smell clashing bitter bourbon and saccharine chocolate in your breath
You sicken me, but I feel better by shutting the closet doors and drinking late
Towed away in our underwater love, and I’ll be drifting away to abyssal death
But if I escape hell, I’ll sneak back into heaven for free, so don’t close the gate
Don’t pay for your blessing, just grind the forest ax and damn, don’t hesitate
The big bad wolf will rend you to shreds if you swing away a second too late
Stuttering from the piercing bullet bites and the blizzard cold on your tattoos
Though I’m taking, I’m taking, I’m f-f-fucking taking back Saturday from you
The jagged edges of your dress are wounding me badly as we’re locked in final embrace
Weighed down and singing our tainted names under the concrete rain like a disgrace
I know I’m a stupid motherfucker, thinking that with eternal hate, I’ll never be left alone
But darling, I’ll leave the answering machine on all night, in case you decide to come home.
And in the end,
What do you get?
Much ado about
(One, two, three…)
I remember the frozen sun
Take me back, take me back, take me
What a gift for the chosen one
Heart attack, no way back…
The madness of a mysterious night
That sobered up the theatric pain
Choked over the counter novocaine
The expense of sanity’s contrite
She held daiquiris under black lights
Until pure alcohol stark remains
The madness of a mysterious night
That sobered up the theatric pain
Under alleyways the heathens fight
Dignity they lost, bruises sustained
Fingertips were kissed like golden rain
And through it all, shadows shifted slight
The madness of a mysterious night.
Oh, the madness comes
I got nowhere left
That I can run…
It’s strange, this calypso.
I never minded it much at first, dismissing it airily as one of those Muzak or background noises that you never really notice until it becomes an unbearable itch, and only then do you start paying attention to it. But in a rather unusual case, this itch of mine grew all the more inflamed, and eventually my skin opened into bleeding sores that are unable to heal. By that time I can no longer simply wrap it with gauze and bandage and pretend it wasn’t there, waiting patiently for it to close into scars on its own accord. And the poisonous tune in my wounds began to affect not just my veins, but my neurones as well. And for a pleasantly tintinnabulum orchestration, it surprisingly hurts.
The calypso comes and goes with thrums of drumbeats and ludicrous whistling and other intertwining instruments that I am unable to disentangle from one another to properly identify, and though I must admit it’s a finessed, almost elegant tune, it’s also making me conjure the queerest of surrealistic denominations and distorted, perplexing thoughts from out of nowhere, sort of like a surrogate deconstruction, an impermeable derealisation, but gradually worse in the long run. Somewhere at the back of my mind I picture cowboys with revolver guns and Stetson hats, mounted on horses and kicking dust and desert tumbleweeds everywhere, and I’m the unlucky pilgrim that got caught by the rope and towed in their blistering lassos. But I’m not biding my time to contact lead poisoning, nor am I willing to scalp some nemesis. No siree, I shall hack away at the abrasive bonds with a silver butterfly knife, drink a round of hard liquor victoriously at the saloon, and retire by the brothel with a painted lady by my side.
What…what am I even saying anymore? This nonsensical metaphor further drives me off the exploding rocket, that musical calypso pirouetting daintily in my subconscious like a music box ballerina spinning soft and delicate in its silent gears, yet at the same time gnashing angrily like an undeterred steam train wearing down its metal tracks with a screeching discordance. The residual smoke from either grinding clockwork machines is making my head feel quite hazy and warm, to a point almost feverish, and you might see pewter whorls rising from out my ears. My bonny maiden, what have you done to my mind?
My dear, sweet, darling maiden, forgive my ideologies and spare my heart no harm. What have you done to me? Your melody is luring me in, onto a cliff, which I could’ve sworn was filled with tantric torrents of stygian waters and jagged rocks brandished mercilessly to impale me at the bottom, but now it looks like a doorway to paradise, the palest cerulean glimmering softly like a polished sapphire, a fantastic reflection of an immaculate cloudless sky, though not of the greyed hurricane skies accompanied by a foreboding drizzle, that the sombre weather has to offer today, so I haven’t the faintest where the parallel mimicked itself from. Heaven, perhaps. And if I lean in closer and dare to hang one ear off the edge, I could almost swear that your harmony’s getting quite louder, less garbled, less shrieking, more pronounced and more than decipherable. I’m almost tempted to jump right in, if only to have to listen to that perfect symphony palpably, but perhaps for even more sensible reasons as well. Or sensible to myself, anyways.
My quivering legs are beginning to dangle off into vast emptiness like a terrified child testing the cold water with his toes, and every last vestige of my dispersing sanity and gracious consciousness begs for me to back away from this dangerous farce, to catch my breath and touch my back for feathered wings that aren’t there, to shatter my delusions along with my fallen halo and walk it off, walk it off and never return. But that would be like throwing away the most decadent, succulent, most tantalising piece of fruit the entire planet has ever produced, without bothering to bite down on it and get even just a single taste of paradise, and I know once I waste it on initial hesitation, I’ll never get it back.
It’s hypnotising, this calypso…the never-ending music…that ocean of eternal aegean…this perennial phantasmic phenomena…it strains my invocation of curiosity very much…it winks at me, calls out to me, taunts and mocks and jeers at me…I cannot take this any longer…I must—no, I will know…I shall put an effective stopper to this vexatious mystery once and for all…to cease the sores from infection and haemophilic bleeding…to slash away the ropes of the rampaging cowboys…to cool down this deliriously smoking fever…and to return to my ultimate empyrean destination with welcoming arms to my elusive fair maiden…once…more.
I stare downwards at the dizzying drop as I allow it to pull me in—
Once peaceful in isolation
Will, are you sure you’re okay?
You don’t seem at all fine
When Jack told you to go play
Did Jack push you over too far
And made you stumble over?
Did Alana take your choked heart
And pluck it like a four-leaf clover?
Are you still dreaming noises?
What has happened to your head?
Did you listen to the mad voices?
Did you follow what they said?
Has your time run out for you?
Grains of sand off the hourglass
But the devil didn’t want you to know
Psychiatrist peppered in stardust
Are you over with this mad game?
Cat and mouse with Mr. Lecter
Checkmate sets the King aflame
But he moves both sides of the picture
Why did you let Jack control you?
Why did you let Mr. Lecter fool you?
Will, now what seems to be the matter?
Is your sanity crumbling like Graham crackers?