Tag Archives: madness

say that the night sings along

tiredness

melting my bones

into bitter milk

and liquid silver

melting

like an icy dream

trapped in an

iceberg madness

madness

of a turbid crown

piercing my

screaming flesh

screaming

a laryngitis screaming

as the strangled

bracelets acted

acted as manacles

melting into reverie

melted over

like a thousand

sleepless nights

caught up in the rain

a rain

rain of blood and

agony on the

spiral staircase steps

footsteps

every step an arrow

lodged in my achilles heel

tearing ligaments

striking joints

lacerating tendons

lacerated

like the crying veins

serpentine in my

bloodshot eyes

blinded eyes

don’t close my eyes

i might never wake

never arise again

again i fall into repose

falling—

and if you do

do not disturb me

from the everlasting sleep

i don’t deserve

s l e e p . . .

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Vincent’s Starry Night

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, and 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…

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Insanitorioum

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.

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The Ballad of the Arrogant Hearts

THE BALLAD OF THE ARROGANT HEARTS: VENTRICLE

Prologue Eins:

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…

—————————————

-i-n-t-e-r-m-i-s-s-i-o-n-

—————————————

THE BALLAD OF THE ARROGANT HEARTS: AORTA

Prologue Zwei:

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.

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Impatience

Waiting is

So irritating,

Maddening,

Excruciating,

Boring, and

Time-consuming.

And in the end,

What do you get?

Much ado about

Fucking nothing.

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PSA Filmstrips Disregarding Sobriety (Rondel)

(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…

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Filed under Fixed Poetry, Poetry

Calypso Syndrome

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—

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Will Graham

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?

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Filed under Fandom Poetry, Poetry

A Morbid Ail of the Finest Society

If I held my ground would you ask me to change?
This drought bleeds on now we’re dancing for rain
We drink the air but it’s still not the same
These worlds collide but the distance remains
We point the finger, never accept the blame and I know…I know…

.

Florence satirically stole, no, earns, no, gains her bejewelled silver crown today

So all hail King Edward the III and his decaying head served on a golden plate

We’ve caught a disease, passed on a threat worse than the blackest plague

We’ve caught dementia worse than death, sixty-six times a millionfold degrade

.

You’re selling me a bandied broken arm for a dime and a square of sloppy bandage

Churches trading stained-glass windows for plot graves, say, they’re all the rage

And we’re dancing madly sopped in puddles for a rain of just a little more blood

And I’m asking Heavens for another sign and to bless a prayer of dehydrated flood

.

Let’s make a toast tonight, clink poisoned glasses, remember for the dead

On crystalline wares, we drink and intoxicate with the finest carafes of silver lead

A song for the ages, twirling twists of a humming playing quick-paced tarantella

Beating the crowd’s madness, thump drumbeats against their raging paranoia

.

You’re calling crawling falling failing waiting wailing hating growing deep

You curse the firmament with your silly sickness, taste dust and rust as you weep

Caught the disease with a single sneeze shared among your elitist peers

A lacy hanky ain’t enough to cover and contain the spread of insanity and fear

.

We’re selling our theology for a penny of advancements and a gaggle of slaves

And we’re trading our morality for motheaten lingeries and lusted golden gates

And we’re dancing madly sopped in puddles for a rain of just a little more blood

And I’m asking a prayer of eulogy, holy keep your paradise and your angels safe from all of us, God.

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Briarcliff Manor

We’re defective, we’re elective, we are the good boys and girls gone bad

So restrain me and cure me now with *buzz* *buzz* electroshocks

Cane me and lock me up within the corners of grimy limestone walls

Torture me to your own whims Sister; why not? It’s a madhouse after all

.

Boiling baths to condense your soul of all its black smoking madness

Solitary confinement to expel the numerous demons you possess

Colourful characters to see, like greedy priests and a Santa Claus defaced

Mexicans and devilish nuns, and here comes ‘ol infamous Bloody Face
.

Scarlet Rorschach tests that the psychiatrist provides are spattering

Patterned rusty blood and brown faeces on the floor are freely dripping

What do you see? A knife? A heart? A person? Or a shiny gun?

Worry not, my dearest patient, you and I are going to have so much fun

.

Screams and chants and yells and thudding heads in a morbid symphony

A terrible storm is brewing, so let’s just go and watch a old Christian movie

Demons, monsters, angel of death, Nazis, aliens, all this sheer nonsense

So go ahead and take a pick from this varied roster of utter madness

.

Now it’s time to take a side; are you a victim? Or the victor?

Do you want bitter pills to cure your ails, or retribute with a glinting razor?

Decide your fate, come what may, but in the end, surely you’ll still fall

Oh what the hell everyone, shut up and deal, it’s a madhouse after all.

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Filed under Fandom Poetry, Poetry