Tag Archives: money

Cursed Land

Enduring stains

On their palms

Soil and mud

And the green

Of woven grass

Like agitated vipers

Silent warning

A hiss before

Soft flesh sinks

Into cold fang

Venomous desire

All-knowing

Crimson brown

Draws landscapes

Tasting famine

The plants starve

For fresh blood

For bodies to till

For man’s plague

To ravage and

Devastate all, until

All that’s left are

Old desert skies and

Enduring stains

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Hierarchical Absolution

Just get me out of this damned place

Where the thieves and parasites all replace

The sanity and morals’ common sense

And jesters jeer at their own complacence

.

Where money doesn’t simply talk, but instead

It fucks with pleasant tongues and leaves them dead

And the messy viscera of every carved-out pawn

Is strewn to hide the sheer filth of pride overgrown

.

Expected to stand up and expected to bleed

Displayed high on the shelves like a trophy kid

Make them all happy, at the cost of your own

Suck up the complaints right down to the bone

.

And I just can’t run away from this cultural poison

Finding heaven in suicide and hell right back home

Please get me out before the familiar slaves drag me back

To a place where I’ll be forced to toil until I self-destruct.

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the house of sinners

You’ve fallen captive to what you thought would
Save you, what you thought would clean your slate
You’re in the thick of it now and you have swallowed the hook
What’s done is done, we’ll continue on with or without you
Pain must exist in order for healing to survive
Neither one will ever serve their purpose alone…

~*~

underhanded whispers

rotting foundations to the very core

flesh devoured by the ego

and cold blood sold to murder slaves—

black eye gouged for black eye

in this parasitic wasteland;

of a home built on crossbones

and mangled hearsay

swallowing teeth and anger

boiling harsh on explosive veins

devouring the starving bruised hearts

until all that’s left is arcane vitriol.

so tear my body apart to pathetic shreds,

expose the lies in my backbone

and make me believe fervently in

your hypocritical preambles,

distorted tales of abuse,

vile corrupted, asinine whining,

and the conjured-up apparitions at the

tip of your foul leather tongue…

i’ll pass it on to another fool;

taking them as you have taken me for.

because oh, i just adore

your stories of foolhardy orphans

and the secret adoptions that

you slipped in our coffee like poison

and now you have the nerve to grit

the dirty money between

your running mouth and say that

we don’t fucking deserve any of your trust

as you shamelessly go crawling back to your mistress

and weep behind red war paint.

a personal sadistic leverage,

that pathetic carnage of a temper of yours.

watch yourself before you accuse us

and don’t speak with the smoking gun

permanently lodged between your

pointing fingers like a quickly-burning cigarette,

because you’re gonna set yourself on fire.

and we’ll stand back and watch

the hostile flames convict you of arson—

among all of the other crimes

you’ve shamelessly committed against us,

because it’s the most merciful thing

we could ever do to you.

~*~

This is my goodbye, don’t worry
We saw through your trickery
And we’re coming out alive, see you at the end
What was once your life is now lifeless
What was once your life is now your jail cell.

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Of Despair and Last Resorts

So on to the ocean and into the sea
So balanced and calm now, that’s where I will be
So on to the ocean and into the sea
Wash away all my problems, wash away memories
Back then, always through the shattered glass
I stared at my life, and oh, I wished I would die…

~*~

Desperation, desperation, desperation.

A mother so desperate to pay back the unwanted debts she’s accumulated under a harrowing time pressure of “sooner than later”, that she’s tearfully begging her long-deceased husband’s portrait for help and verbally contemplating suicide in front of her children, splashed with witty acerbic remarks to conceal her true intentions.

“If I don’t go home tomorrow, just watch the news and you know what you’ll see.”

A woman so desperate to make amends with her best friend that she personally owes, not just money, but also so much of herself for, and attempting to save face from any further unnecessary embarrassment, that she takes out her unbridled anger on everyone else, including her family, herself, and even her very own infant son.

“You’re all fucking useless. Why don’t you just die if you can’t do anything to help?”

A person desperate for redemption, desperate for change, so fucking desperate to take away any further troubles and problems that they might cause to their family; so much so that they’re prepared to do anything to achieve such a goal, even if it means abandoning their education and their future ambitions just to find an easier route to support them. Or perhaps—a darker and easier solution that’s earnestly contemplated—just to completely remove themselves out of the equation.

“There’s less money to be spent and wasted if I’m not here, right?”

Desperation, it clings to the bruised necks of the needless like curved brier thorns, entangling itself inside fragile throats and lodging itself deeper and deeper with the softest cough, choking the sparest breath out of hope until all that’s left is a heartless fear—a fear of everything and nothing all at once, a fear for everyone else and yourself, a fear of the future, the present, and the past—until all that’s left is irrationality and logical foolishness; until all that’s left is reckless death wish.

Yet, even then, desperation still feeds ravenously. And it never starves.

~*~

Take a deep breath now
Pass the shallows

Stay steady and hold on
Through the darkness we all know…

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Money For The Honey, Honey For The Money

You workin’ in bars, ridin’ in cars
Never gonna give it for free
Your apartment with a view on the finest avenue
Lookin’ at your beat on the street
You’re always pushin’, shovin’, satisfied with nothing
You bitch, you must be gettin’ old…

~*~

Hear it talk, money’s got mouth, and baby it’s damn dirty

Got the million dollar tongue moving up and down to serve me

Drop the nickel down the drain, don’ worry, I’ll make it rain

Get your kicks at the bottomline and squeeze me ’til I’m drained

.

I may have a silver mansion, but you’ve got them golden fingers

Expensive aftershave may stick for a while, but cheap perfume lingers

What would you do for a taste of the good life, a for bite of luxury?

Before you get to the forbidden apple, you gotta climb the tree

.

Business is goin’ slow but we’ll spend our time in lucrative ways

If I’m already standing at the finish line, then sweetheart it ain’t a race

I’ll buy you everything you want if you sell me the one thing I need

I swear it’s a fair trade, a hint of sweet is enough to staunch the greed

.

This aristocrat has got lands to rule, but I only need your territory

Let me conquer the unknown, tame the savage, satisfy my curiosity

I’m not payin’ to see the show, I’m payin’ to have it made and built

A smile and a signed contract, and I’m yours, and so is the wealth

.

It’s a bit of a cheapshot, I know, but it’s rather rich, coming from me

‘Cause I already have a sturdy shelf, and all I’m missing is a shiny trophy

But oh no no, we don’t gotta shake hands, only bodies to seal the deal

What d’you do for money, honey? Let’s sell out free dignity for valuable thrills.

~*~

So stop your life on the road
All your diggin’ for gold
You make me wonder
Yes I wonder, I wonder
Honey, what do you do for money
Honey, what do you do for money
Where do you get your kicks?

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Pockets With Holes

‘Cause I’ve broken bones for you
And for you only
I make money but we just can’t
Keep this home…

~*~

i don’t ever want

the world to fall apart

just because of avaricious eyes

begging for fool’s gold

i’ll burn all the money i have

and let my house collapse

into a decrepit debris

if that means i could keep you

because this isn’t all about

shiny pennies and diamonds

that we try to mine under our flesh

and yet only unearth coal

this is about all those prospects

we threw to the faraway moon

how our unfortunate fates

aren’t spun into twisted infinity signs

yes, our mouths may be empty

but it doesn’t mean our hearts have to be

so set your faith past obscuring greed

and cease bleeding for the sake of worthless riches.

~*~

Give me your heart
And your hand
And we can run
(You’re my hope)…

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Chase Atlantic

For you, I chased down atlantic until it was drained and empty, consuming every last drop, and still, you were thirsty.

Xans, Oxy, gram, adderall, molly, vicodin, ketamine, codeine, amphetamine, heroin, every medication legal and illegal you selfishly overdosed on like it’s the sweetest candy, drugs and money fucking everything up, riding the waves, breathing in the ozone layer and craving the vaporous atmosphere, until all you could hear are birds singing at midnight and all your blank glazed eyes could see where pink shadows coalescing in the basement and the sound of your own synesthetic undersea voice, sewn up into crude stitches before it shatters soundlessly against the restless pastel ghosts; and you find out you were uncomfortably lying on your back in the bedroom floor all along, staring at the unlit ceiling dripping what you thought were your own tears but turned out to be rainwater, dial tone screeching your garbled songs, trying to call nobody at half past four in the morning, worn-down carpet igniting the smoke alarms with your interminable vices. I could only wish to hell that I was there to put it out.

There was a certain elegant delicacy in your tactlessly constructed words, soft beatnik aspersion and aggressive indie slurs romancing and entrancing my chilled spine, humming saxophone amid the alluring amalgamation of incoherent voices intertwining together into a strange, tangible, panicking tranquil. It was an art form in itself, inimitable, one of a kind, scattered accentuation your personal intricate signature. Every careless lilt about the dangerous pseudonymous girls you slept with last night, Angie, Cassie, Roxy, and the pill-popping pharmacists you’ll hold up with a gun as soon as the sun hits tomorrow. All these unsettling courtesies set in three parts of pastel grey and explicit roses, the dalliance and the nostalgia of everything, you were speaking in a foreign language only the truly sick in the head could properly understand, and the way you talked about all the mental pressure and self-esteem and choking anxiety so goddamn beguilingly, the way you talked about addiction as if you weren’t an addiction in itself, the way you just fucking aren’t, it got me overdosing on the panoply panache and sovereign shit on your bedside, but I was so into it.

How many times have you made my pulse beat when it was no longer mine? Every single afternoon, I wake up with a stabbing jolt like a guillotine’s rope pulled tight against my throat, gasping and desiring desperately for more, more of your prevarications. It was a talk show tactic, and you were the host telling me to talk slow and tell no lies, and I was your prize trophy, spilling my secrets and picking my battles cautiously, even though I knew that you were probably lying to me all along. The world was on your shoulders, angels hissing temptations under your skin, and we danced to the beat of your laughter and talked endless miles of film spiels about friends and no friends, gravity and good vibes, church walls and dancing in the dark with the devil, indiscretions and junkie stories high on adrenaline and dopamine, driving too fast and run over by the cops and swimming and thrashing in paradise until we’re so much higher than before, and everything was rhapsodic…until you hit the trigger and got me begging on my bleeding knees again. I’m scratching my nails, shivering madly, abusing my liver, and tearing the veins off my dead-ass heart as you killed my sanity, and baby I was only 23.

I’m obsessive. You said hold your breath, you’ll save me from the fading injections and we’ll run away right here to the underside of the world, and I won’t need to miss you and your anchor tattoo. And fuck it, but I believed all your twisted promises so fervently. I didn’t expect to fall instantaneous victim for such a scrupulous stratagem, this alternative relativity of drugs and parties not my accustomed niche, fucking up this whole thing. I was married to the screaming voices that serenade me everyday and haunt me every night, and I was theirs to render completely deaf into freedom; until you came out of nowhere and divorced me from the nightmares, and you incarcerated me—you made me even worse. You’re a psychopathic fringe wearing a smile on your face and holding a knife in your hand, you’re becoming a work of art. You don’t look too sane when you act like that, and babe, you won’t live too long with a mind like that. I was always fastidious about the taste of serotonin that I place against my lips, but even though it’s fire I’m kissing now, I’ve already been burnt, I fucking have. And I love counting the cigarette stains in my fragile marred skin, sepia-shaded nicotine tattooed permanently between my fingertips, branding me with your whispered name. My parents say I’m crazy, but I only wanna be buried six feet under your bed, ready to meddle about and smoke the cancerous stars away with you anytime. They say be rational about these things, but I stopped being reasonable the moment I listened to your drugstore symphonies and drowned in your cheap perfume. This chemical destruction is beautiful. I’ll keep it up, and I’ll keep riding the waves, crashing into you once more. And why stop at all? Okay is all I know right now. Mama I’m sorry, but reality’s boring.

For you, I’ll chase down atlantic until I’m drained and empty, consuming every last drop, and still, I’ll be thirsty for your eyes.

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Backdoor Unlocked

She got her head in the dirt
And her neck in my hands
She won’t live too long with a mind like that
I can’t hang every day, baby, I’ve got plans, oh woah
I won’t waste her time with a life like that…

~*~

There’s a smile in her eyes

And a laugh in her knife

That wouldn’t reach me

When it’s a quarter past four

“Will you get the door?”

.

But I don’t wanna open it up

Afraid that the sirens won’t stop

And they’ll find me high on oxy

Sleepin’ on a bed of money

They’re knocking, screaming more

.

But it’s all I can do to slur and speak

The colour of her name makes me so weak

I didn’t know how I got so obsessed

They told me they’ll take care of the rest

And the doorbell rings a mocking score

.

I thought tonight was just a nightmare

And you gave me quite a damn scare

When you told me that your heart stopped

And you spit blood in your red cup

They won’t cease banging on my porch

.

But there’s a sweet smile in your eyes

And you hid behind your back a knife

When you said you couldn’t reach me

And it’s ten past five when you killed me

Hiding the weapon under my lifeless body

As you said “I’ll get the door for you, baby.”

~*~

Keep your hands to yourself
Don’t put ’em on someone else’s life
Stay right there, right there
Take advice from yourself
If the energy’s dead, baby, let things die
I don’t care, oh no…

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A Letter For Future Youngbloods

As little moments fade, they come forth at night
Demanding all I think about, maybe it’s how we roll
Well, I can’t get better of stone, I won’t be letting her
Out and I can’t keep drowning this down…

~*~

Don’t let my arrival stutter this departure

Hostile eyes for bankrupt hearts endured

A balance between cosmos and dopamine

Atrium burns irascible, drunk on kerosene

.

High time to return my inimical courtesies

Retaliate and sophisticate, lavished parody

Atrophy my sanity, perversity on the floors

Convalesce as I lock up the revolving doors

.

Moments of sunshine, share words of harm

Briefcases brimmed blue, serpentine charm

Girls in the courtyard as boys make amends

Falling dollars, promises and lies to be spent

.

Cutting corners, raised stakes, paint, repent

Gamble equivocal disgrace, true half-meant

Situation at its vertex, but it never escalates

The venturers and inveterates said retaliate

.

But the end’s always the same as all the rage

Lying all alone and sleeping on spare change

Waiting for the world to reveal its only hand

Children of men, don’t pretend to understand

.

Glowing eyes extinguished by the fading moon

Kings of contagious plagues, stonewall’s gloom

Force of habit take society’s fashionable design

What is yours is mine and what is mine is mine

.

If I gave you all of my decency, showing up my only face

Ostentate, create, but don’t spend all of that in one place

Dear unfortunate youngblood, where did your youth go?

Your future’s squandered away, there’s nowhere to be so.

~*~

Oh, your eyes they glow
So pretty, they’ve lost their word
They king me the love
And I know I’m dead inside
I’m reminded every night
So girl, just know it won’t be me…

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Misstakes and Missgivings

And he will prove that he’s a man
With wooden bed posts whittled away
With the notches, they were carved in
A little too deep, and now he’s paying for it
He’s sleeping on the floor tonight…

~*~

PENCIL SKETCHES

Grey lines overlapping past chromatic predilections

Every lie behind your back a surrendering misdirection

And checkered tiles of monochrome begin to collide

Crippling your floral pastels of a spatial spectrum inside.

~*~

DREAMING FOR WISHES, WISHING FOR DREAMS

Oh, he’s the starry boy you dreamt to dream about

The lamplight is dimming, his dark is the only sound

Oh, she’s the sunny girl you wished to wish around

As midnight begins fading, but her sun is rising south.

~*~

MERCENARY AND THE MAN

Jaded tally marks that bore of no prior ill intentions

Experimental humanity, to prove one’s selfless remedy

Jealous carved notches that dug past poor decisions

Hypothetical insanity, the truth of one’s selfish disparity.

~*~

ANTICOAGULANT

I wouldn’t dare separate those traitors from the sinners

The difference is a gradual distortion of perceptiveness

If I were to dissect myself as my blood’s growing thinner

I’ll inject a dose of my own irrationality, when I confess.

~*~

THE SELLOUTS DON’T BUY IT

Attachment is not a currency made to be paid for in stacks

Clattering like calloused dimes worn out with nicked sides

It’s not a tarnished nickel abandoned in a locked cash box

Restricted only to when you need the spare change to abide.

~*~

I’ll tell my proudest secrets
Don’t mind if you can’t keep them
Well, lately it’s been mayday
So tell me, why is this your favorite sin?
Oh baby, lately it’s been mayday
So tell me why you wanna fake
Why you wanna fake it?

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